The Reaper: No Mercy
Author: Sean Liebling
Date: 2013-12-21 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies
Description: Reaper: No Mercy is the beginning of a standalone series based on the characters and environment from the Blood, Brains, and Bullets series by Sean Liebling. Captain Jason Scott had retired from the United States Marine Corp as a Force Recon sniper with the 1st Marine Division. Now a hard-working family man, his life revolved around his wife, children, and grandchildren. Upon arriving home after working third shift on the day the undead rose, he found his entire family slaughtered. Berserk with rage, he killed every zombie in sight using any means at hand. They truly died under his wrath, and
Publisher: Permuted Press

A PERMUTED PRESS book

Published at Smashwords

ISBN (trade paperback): 978-1-61868-1-881

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-61868-1-898

The Reaper: No Mercy copyright © 2013
by Sean Liebling

All Rights Reserved.

Cover art by Matthew Riggenbach, Shaed Studios

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

Blood, Brains and Bullets Excerpt

The Reaper: Avenging Wrath - Chapter 1

The Reaper: Avenging Wrath - Chapter 2

The Reaper: Avenging Wrath - Chapter 3

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this novel to my mother. Katherine Rosella McCaffrey. She has been my rock and mainstay through all the turbulent times in my life and has always been there for me. Now, she is battling breast cancer and her spirits are higher than mine. I love you Mom!

To Mark Chipman, who is a great friend and also suffering from ailments, but still manages to come to the fore with sage advice and companionship. I respect you brother.

Finally, to all the brave men and women either currently in or having served in the Armed Forces of the United States of America, including all Police, Fire and Emergency Response personnel. From a Marine to all of you, I Salute You with Honor! Thank you for all that you do and have done.

My thanks, Love and Respect,

Semper Fi,

Sean Liebling,

Acknowledgements

Many people helped me in the accomplishment of this book. I will list them here. I want all of you to know that I cannot ever thank you enough for your support, timeless dedication and encouragement. Of course, the advice you gave me helped tremendously also.

Bill Ball

Norman Meredith

Mysti Holsinger-Stitt

Steven Repkie

Alethea Cat Baldwin

Michael Weller

Stephanie Lundsford

Terry Geer Sr.

Julie Jones Hearon

Andy Kiwacz

Jay Friberg

Timothy Benoit

Travis Kreuter

Larry Phelps

Shannon Sharpe

Keith Sinclair

Charles Rutherford

Monique Lewis Happy

Thank you all for your dedication.

Sean,

Prologue

Day 1: 1020 ET (30 Days ago)

"For those of you just tuning in let me repeat. It is imperative that all citizens stay inside their homes until further notice. Do not travel or leave your homes unless it is a medical emergency. Anyone with flu like symptoms should immediately go to your nearest hospital or medical facility and seek treatment. I repeat. Stay in your homes unless you have a medical emergency. There have been reports of large numbers of deaths associated to the flu virus and the President of the United States has declared the country in a state of National Emergency until further notice." Holy shit I thought. I had never heard of that happening before and it had only been a half hour since the last warning. I kept listening. "Do not under any circumstances let strangers into your home, especially if they look sick or have any noticeable fluids on their clothing or skin. There are facilities being prepared to handle refugees. Reports coming in from some of the major cities tell of widespread violence as feverish flu victims attack their fellow citizens. There have also been reports of some deaths associated with the vaccinations but everyone is to stay calm. Lock your doors and stay inside. Law enforcement is responding to emergencies and the President has signed an executive order calling up the National Guard to maintain order during this crisis."

*****

Chapter 1

DAY 30 OF THE APOCALYPSE:

Andy paused and sniffed the air as a slight breeze blew past him. No sign of them yet, but he knew the undead bastards were out here. His 5’11”, 240-pound frame was crouched next to a barn overlooking the cemetery. This was his third trip here, and each visit was as tense as the last. The undead were always a nuisance, but what concerned him even more where those within the cemetery, not those that might be outside of its tall brick walls.

Born and raised in Iowa, and after spending half a lifetime making many of life's common mistakes, Andy had finally met his soul mate ... Darcie. She was his everything, and then some. She came with two beautiful pieces of baggage: Dessa and Jacob. In the two years they had been together, he had come to love them all, more than his once-miserable life itself. Dessa at five was a cute little fiery redhead with an optimistic spirit who showed wisdom beyond her years. Her brother, Jacob, or Jake as he preferred to be called, was all boy. A stocky little shit with a heart of gold or pure love, depending on your point of view. Andy would have been hard-pressed to decide who his favorite was, if even such a guess were possible to make. All he truly knew was that he would lay his life down for theirs without hesitation. Andy did not intend to lay his life down though. He intended to kill anyone foolish enough to try to hurt them.

They had moved to St. Louis following a movie gig he became involved in through word-of-mouth on his artistic skills as a gifted tattoo artist. Andy was very good at his job. Not only could he ink your entire body in glorious art, he could do it temporarily ... and quickly. That had earned him a name in the industry, thus sought after for lucrative commissions with commercial clients. When the shit hit the fan, they had bugged out of Louie and headed north and west, and now temporarily resided in Paris, Missouri. He'd been attempting to head up to Iowa where he knew the territory, and hopefully his family and friends were still alive. After some thought, he’d decided traveling straight north on an interstate might not be the wisest decision he'd ever made, as the undead often lurked around stalled vehicles. They would get to Iowa eventually, but in the meantime he had people and loved ones right here to protect.

Now he was worried for his immediate family and the small group of survivors he had allowed to accompany them from St. Louis. Other undesirable elements were making this new existence more difficult; he had found that while the undead were bad enough, those still alive could be worse, with one such group residing in Paris. After witnessing what the others were doing to small groups of survivors, he was being very careful indeed. He referred to them as the others because he did not really know whom they were, only that they were fellow survivors who seemed bent on killing or capturing those around them.

However, Andy and his crew needed more supplies before heading further north. They had learned the hard way to have plenty of supplies on hand in case they were trapped by the undead—or zombies—for movie zombies were exactly what they looked like. That was why it had taken weeks to get to Paris. Halfway to this small city, they had been set upon by a large group of the undead, and became trapped in a service station for several weeks. There, they had all almost starved to death as they waited for the bastards to drift off. All had lost weight during that harrowing experience, with Andy himself losing over forty pounds.

Once freed, they had been set upon by survivors holed up in a supermarket when they attempted to enter in search of food. After a brief firefight with no casualties, they’d managed to get away and decided that resupply through homes was the safest course of action. Andy could not allow them to be caught in a situation like that again, so as bad as it was here in Paris, he was not leaving until they had adequate food supplies. Weapons were not an issue, for this was Missouri, and many if not most homes contained a rifle or handgun along with ammunition. Andy's group had even come across a small, overrun National Guard roadblock during their journey northward, and while the crew’s weapons had been depleted of ammunition, they had lucked out with the discovery of several grenades along with several functional M16A2s, one of which Bruce had instantly fallen in love with, the others Andy had distributed to the women. They had quickly gathered everything useful, from and around the chewed remains of men sworn to protect, and continued north.

Resupply should have been a simple task, for the zombies were light here in Paris. Instead, the city was in a partial lockdown by the others. What he had witnessed that first day they'd arrived had shaken him to the core of his being. Savage, murderous acts of evil that had left him in shock.

*****

When they first arrived in Paris several days ago, their first task was to find a secure location that would provide protection from the zombies, yet was close enough to homes or other facilities where food and supplies could be gathered. An old Methodist church was found, made mostly of brick and concrete, situated directly in the middle of a housing area. After carefully searching its interior, they found it devoid of any form of life, or nonlife, and quickly settled in. The vehicles they'd arrived in, they parked out back.

They now numbered fifteen souls: three men, five women, and seven children all under the age of ten. Leaving Jake with the women and children confined within the safety of the church, Andy and Bruce had gone in search of supplies. Bruce was a godsend, another survivor with two women and four children in tow. This ex-cop-turned-construction-worker had the skills necessary to survive the initial viral outbreak, and teach them to Andy. He and Andy had met on the outskirts of St. Louis as those still alive were fleeing, and had been friends and comrades since.

Together they had developed a system of their own in the aftermath of the virus outbreak. They would enter homes through the back near the kitchen, then carefully check for food and other supplies that were needed. Those homes that held plenty of provisions were marked with a piece of chalk to the back door. Part of their system also involved canvassing homes furthest away first, and then heading inward. Andy did not know why he preferred this method of gathering, just that he liked to save the easiest for last. Eventually, when they had enough sources marked, they would use one of the trucks to load up quickly with everyone helping.

This method of gathering was not without its dangers, as it was common to find from one to several zombies in each. So, when they did enter, they entered carefully, on full alert. They carried heavy machetes for this purpose, and both men were proficient in their use.

Now, heading east and south, they were three blocks from the church when they first saw smoke from the chimney of a nearby home. It was not the first sign of activity in the city, as they had also seen four other trails of smoke rising into the sky as they carefully scouted outward. In the distance, Andy saw a small pack of feral dogs: three canines of indiscriminate breeding skirting around a home further down the street. He frowned, as more than once he had been surprised by the wild beasts, and not in a good way. Once man's best friend, they were becoming a dangerous nuisance whose barking could give you away to any undead that happened to be nearby. He knew that wherever they ultimately settled, these wild animals would need to be disposed of.

"Well, what do you think? Should we contact them?" Bruce asked. He and Andy were hiding in a porch heavily screened by thickets, two doors down and across the street from the occupied home.

"I don't know. Maybe. Let me think," responded Andy, deep in thought as he dismissed the dogs and turned his attention back to the larger dwelling.

"You know they might not be glad to see us. Remember what happened at that supermarket," Bruce continued.

"I know, it's what I'm considering. Be quiet for a minute, hear that?" In the distance, they heard the roar of racing vehicle engines; crouching lower, Andy and Bruce turned, looking back the way they'd come. A large number of big trucks were coming around the corner at the end of the street, headed their way. Andy could see the stick-like forms of rifles pointed out of windows and held still, not wanting to be seen.

It was soon obvious these trucks were headed to the occupied home, as a half-score or more of the large vehicles pulled into the driveway and yard and over two dozen men spilled forth, all with rifles pointed. The men looked dirty and unkempt, many with bottles in their hands. Some of those bottles they were drinking from, others had wads of cloth sticking from their necks.

"Come on out and let's see who you are!" shouted one of the new arrivals. He was larger than most, with a heavy black beard and a leather jacket. Some kind of pistol was strapped to his side, and he appeared to be the one in charge.

"Go away, we don't want any trouble." The muffled voice obviously came from the interior of the home, and was so faint Andy had to concentrate to make the words out.

"You already got trouble, man, so open up or we'll burn you out!" With that the leader gestured at one of the men near him, one of those holding a bottle with rags poking out the top, and nodded. Instantly the makeshift Molotov was lit and thrown against the side of the home to one side, away from the front door and near the corner of the building. Flames immediately splashed outward, engulfing that quarter of the house, and high-pitched screams sounded from within.

"Okay, we’re coming out. Don't shoot!" The voice from inside was louder now and almost masked by those inside still screaming. Suddenly Andy saw the door opening, a balding older man walking forth, his rifle held high overhead as others followed out behind him. As they left the front entrance, each was grabbed, disarmed, and thrown together into a small group where they huddled. Some of the women were crying, as were most of the children, causing Andy to tense up. Beside him Bruce was breathing heavily, and Andy prayed his friend would not make a sound, as there were too many of the obvious bad guys. Andy instinctively knew they would be killed almost instantly, or captured, if they tried to intervene. Now he listened intently as the big bearded man started shouting again.

"I said, shut the fuck up! I'm tired of hearing crying. You!" He was pointing at an older woman, who was maybe in her mid-sixties. Arms outstretched in a plea for mercy, while wailing nonstop, she was obviously pleading for them to be left alone, though it was hard to make out individual words. Still the intent was clear. "Shut the fuck up bitch!" The bearded man had drawn his gun, and Andy noticed now that it was a revolver of some kind, and it was pointed at her head. "I said shut up!" he screamed. When she did not immediately quiet down, the man pulled the trigger, Andy watching helplessly as her lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

This caused another wave of screams and entreaties from the captives, which were ignored. Almost simultaneously, some of the other newcomers started grabbing the captives, and it was soon obvious those held prisoner were being sorted. The older adults and very young children were pushed into one group, and the younger women, men, and older children into another.

"What are they going to do?" whispered Bruce beside him.

"I don't know, but I don't like it."

"Maybe they'll just take their guns and supplies, and let them go?"

"I don't think that's gonna happen, bro. Now be quiet or they'll hear you." Bruce quieted again at Andy's words, and together they watched powerlessly as the younger men and women and older children were first tied at the wrists, then loaded into the backs of the waiting vehicles. Those left behind continued to huddle together, the older adults asking what was going on, and the small children crying for their parents who were being forced into captivity.

"Finish it!" called out the bearded leader. Instantly, shots rang out as the surrounding crowd of captors fired into the much smaller group of captives left behind. Andy felt gorge rise in his throat as he witnessed innocent, tiny children, even infants, slaughtered in cold blood. He started shaking and the rifle in his hands half rose, his finger tight on the trigger, as his mind moved at hyper-speed in an attempt to figure out a way to save these innocents. But it was too late, and Bruce's arm was suddenly around him as they watched the last figure collapse. One of the assholes then threw another Molotov onto their blood-drenched bodies, causing Andy to turn away with a sick feeling in his stomach, for all were not completely dead, and faintly he heard a few small cries from younger children. He had to get away from here. He had to make sure his family was safe. Beside him, Bruce was crying, silently, tears streaming down his cheeks. His silent sobs of grief for those who did not deserve to die so young were a testament that at least some had not lost all vestiges of their humanity. Those young futures cut short by the murderous acts of these others, was an evil unbelievable. Andy could not vow vengeance though, for he would have had no chance against such numbers. All he could do was keep those under his protection hidden and get out of this rat-fuck as soon as possible.

*****

Sighing, he brought his mind back to the present, as now was not the time to be caught up in daydreaming. He was alone, as the chances of one man being spotted were much less than two ... that was the theory, anyways. Glancing behind his position again, he neither saw nor heard any indication of the living or undead. Andy knew this did not mean that something was not out there, only that he was not aware of any presence close to his position. Just now, he needed to get inside the barn he was beside, and then look out over the cemetery. He needed to see how many of the others were there. If most were inside the cemetery grounds, he could send his foragers out for supplies, but if the cemetery had few present, they would hide and wait for a better opportunity. Andy hoped these others were having another drunk fest as his previous spying had indicated they often did. If confirmed, his group would gather as many supplies as possible and get the hell out of this shit hole. Over the last two days they had been slowly gathering supplies from nearby homes, and almost had enough to make a run for it.

Ironically, the best time for gathering supplies was still during the day. If you went out at night you were seriously risking your life, for night was when all the undead roamed the streets and countryside. That the bastards hid during the day, just waiting for unsuspecting prey to approach their positions, had quickly become obvious after several close calls. The undead were cunning and had somehow realized their prey was easier to catch at night instead of during the day, when the undead, themselves, were easily spotted and disposed of. However, foraging in daylight had dangers of its own, as the others were out in packs like wild animals and you had to be extremely careful.

Quickly Andy crept to the boards he had loosened the other day and, lifting them, slipped inside the dark interior. He had his machete out and started swinging it wildly before him as he prayed for his eyes to adjust to the gloom quickly. If one of the undead attacked him, he hoped to take it out with a few lucky swings before it could latch onto him. Bastards were strong as hell, and he'd already tussled with them more times than he could count.

Empty. He breathed a sigh of relief. You never knew where one could be hiding, and they were very good at hiding. Finally his eyes adjusted well enough to see, and as he made his way to the ladder leading to an upper loft, he sidestepped the two decomposing bodies of former zombies lying directly in his path. Those two he had taken out days ago when he first entered the barn in order to spy on the others’ compound.

Andy made almost no sound despite his bulk, and once in the loft, he gently laid his rifle down, then his machete, as he neared the slanted metal roof. He only needed to lift the corrugated metal sheeting a few inches, just enough to peer out with his binoculars and gaze into the interior of the cemetery. This he now did, slowly and carefully, after propping the slanted sheet up with a board he'd left there for this purpose. Then the binoculars came out, and Andy started scanning the interior of the cemetery.

First, he focused on the mausoleum because it was the closest, and yes, there were several of the others carrying boxes of supplies into its marble interior. A huge pile of caskets lay in haphazard fashion to its sides. Evidently, the others were using the crypts to store their supplies, which made a kind of sick sense. The smallish chapel further down was next, and like the last time he had checked, there were only a few men loitering around its stone exterior.

Then he shifted his gaze to the combined seminary and administrative complex on the grounds. It was three stories tall, and had originally been used to house visiting Catholic priests, along with a small school for the children of local well-to-do Catholic congregation members. The administrative end had probably been used for coordinating all the Catholic churches and activities in this region of Missouri, but right now it was being used as the sleeping quarters for the others. At least he assumed that is what it was for as it was too large for such a small church by itself.

Yes, as usual, there were almost two dozen out there, gathered around a large bonfire and obviously drinking even though it was still early morning. He often wondered if they had even slept the night before because of their wild antics, then dismissed the thought from his mind. It did not matter. What did matter was that most of those within appeared to be occupied with their 'fun' here within the confines of the cemetery and its structures. He shifted sideways to view the mausoleum-like structure near the back of the cemetery. He could barely make it out from his vantage point, but he had seen these small structures before. Catholics, by and large, were creatures of history and tradition. Though an outdated concept, many branches of the Catholic Church had the beginnings of catacombs on or near their cemeteries, prepared for eventual body internment of high-ranking church members. A casket in the ground was not adequate for those who had been powerful for most of their lives.

The entrance was easily recognizable, and Andy could only assume this was where the captives were being kept, for no other place seemed reasonable. Occasionally, he had witnessed what looked like large quantities of food being delivered there, which convinced him that his suspicions were correct. Only four men stood outside, warming their hands over a flaming steel barrel, and Andy nodded to himself at their predictability.

He then let his gaze shift to the front gate. There were usually a few guards there, sometimes as many as a half-dozen, but he wanted to be sure. As he twisted the focusing knob on the binoculars to bring the bus that was blocking the front entrance into sharp focus, he saw ... Oh shit ... another pair of binoculars staring right back at him. Busted! He needed to get the hell out of there and now!

The time for stealth was over, and he snatched his weapons up on the run, then slid down the wooden ladder, ignoring the splinters gouging into his palms through the leather gloves he wore. Out the back, through the loosened boards, and he was off like a shot to the woodline fifty yards away. Suddenly a shot sounded behind him, then another as he felt something tug at the shoulder of the camouflage jacket he wore. Immediately, more rounds began hitting the dirt and trees all around him as he sprinted into their thick midst. Thank God the bastards appeared to be drunk, and thus shitty shots, but he was trapped, for the woods were only so thick before the houses started and he could already hear the sounds of engines roaring in the distance ... and getting closer.

*****

Chapter 2

The Reaper took another bite, savoring the taste of homemade flour tortilla wrapped around refried beans, then frowned as nearby birds stopped chirping in the woodline to his south. A normal wood animal would not have frightened the birds, so this had to be something else. With deft movements, he stuffed the remains of his meal in his mouth, pulled his Navy Colt six-shooter from its holster, and picked up the machete lying on the ground beside him. He considered his rifle for a split second, then decided to leave it for now. The chirping soon started again, but he was not fooled for a second. He knew signs of danger when they were so apparent.

He was born Jason Scott, though he went by the name Reaper now, and was a big man at almost 6-foot 200 pounds. His somewhat neatly trimmed gray beard surrounded a strong face set with piercing brown eyes. Being a large man did not necessarily mean he moved slow, for after pulling the Colt he quickly sprinted to the woodline to the north and went still with his back to an old oak, resting the flat side of the machete blade against his right shoulder. He waited and listened, as his military training had taught him stealth, allowing him to move as one with nature. He would be neither seen nor heard unless he chose to be, and while he knew the Lord would protect him, the Lord helped best those who helped themselves, so the Reaper was cautious.

While he watched and listened, the Reaper’s mind drifted back to his very first encounter with these spawns of Satan. A family man, and retired from the United States Marine Corp as a Force Recon sniper with the 1st Marine Division, he had taken a job as a machinist to supplement their family income. Upon arriving home after working third shift on the day the undead rose, he found his entire family slaughtered. Going berserk, he had killed every zombie in sight using any means at hand. They had truly died under his wrath, and he, the Reaper, had survived. It was then that he realized the Lord had a new mission for him.

Jason had always been deeply religious, even as a child. He knew the Lord had a purpose for everything that happened in life, so the fact he had lived indicated God's plans for him were unfinished. He had prayed to the Almighty, and realizing his mission through divine guidance, he once again donned his old tools of the trade—the tools of a Marine Corps sniper—and set out to eradicate the spawn of Hell from the surrounding Newaygo, Michigan area. After weeks of combat and slaughter, along with more than a few signs from God, he realized his mission had changed in a subtle manner. No longer was his mission to hunt only the undead, but also the evil men living amongst them, who in many ways were much worse. These incarnations of evil preyed on other survivors, and the Lord had spoken loud and clear. The unspeakable acts of murder, rape, and immorality he’d witnessed had shown the Reaper where he could best use his talents.

In the weeks since the world as he’d known it had ended, the Reaper had done many things. He had gained a new best friend, Jay Scarmon, who was now the interim governor of Michigan, and as far as Jason knew, the leader of the largest group of survivors, both civilian and military, left in the United States. Jason had saved hundreds of people, killed thousands of the undead, and had even participated in a raid on a secret shadow government fortress to rescue hostages. It was during that last action he’d learned that the rise of the undead was the result of a biological longevity experiment and power grab gone wrong. Instigated by a secret organization known only as 'The Order', their attempt at the fountain of youth, along with world domination, had instead decimated the world.

They had learned that 'The Order' was part of a larger shadow government within world governments, all tied together through money and power. These Godless, power-hungry men and women had instigated the tainted vaccine following a world-wide flu epidemic (also contrived), and in the process had caused the largest act of mass murder the planet’s history had ever witnessed.

The released virus, through the medium of an innocuous vaccine, had killed off over seventy percent of the world's population. Another twenty-five percent had turned into what everyone was now calling zombies, leaving five percent of humanity whole. Unfortunately, two things really frustrated the Reaper. The virus was mutating. What had started out as typical slow shambler zombies had turned into fast walkers, almost runners. Then a certain number regained the skill to climb sloped surfaces and even tilted ladders, and that had turned deadly for many of the remaining survivors when you combined it with a unique pheromone sense of primordial communication. Still others could exude a gelatinous substance that made them impervious to submersion in water. Overall, it was bad for the survivors’ chances. The only good aspect of the virus was that it could not be transmitted through bite.

Then, if that was not bad enough, with just a few percent of the population left, too many bad elements within the groups of remaining survivors seemed determined to further reduce the chances of ultimate survival for the human race. He sighed at the sick antics of too many left alive and set his mind back on the current task.

It was times like this that having a backup companion would have been a nice luxury. His normal partner, Travis, was back in Newaygo recuperating from wounds received at the shadow government's compound they had recently destroyed. With Travis was a woman, Shannon. The Reaper had rescued her during the last moments as their assault force escaped from the compound’s subterranean depths. It would be a months before Jason had his protégé back, and he was content to wait. Right now, speed was not of the essence, and in fact, speed was normally the toll of death in the craft of stealth. Out there, somewhere around him, was one or more two-legged minions of Satan, either alive or dead, and the Reaper would find them. Skeptically, the Reaper surmised it might simply be an innocent refugee, but recent history had taught him that those without evil intent usually announced themselves sooner vs. later by calling out a greeting before approaching. Briefly, his thoughts again drifted back to Shannon, the woman he had rescued, and her willingness to accompany him, though also wounded. He would explore that more on his next visit to Newaygo, for he had a strong need to see Emma, his new godchild and Jay's daughter. Emma was the twin of his dead grandchild, Heather, and the Reaper had promised that tiny munchkin that at least once a month he would try to visit.

Now the Reaper had three missions in one. Fight the Lord's fight and take the battle to the evil minions of Satan, both living and undead. Help survivor groups band together into cohesive assemblies better able to survive this new world, and finally, to scout westward into Colorado in order to recon the shadow government's stronghold there. This he had been doing for the last two weeks. The original plan had been to airdrop him on the Colorado border, but staging areas for the final assault against the shadow government would be needed further east, and the Reaper had a desire to check on those still surviving in Missouri and western Illinois. He had taken his leave of Jay, Emma, and those others he had come to respect and love just west of Jacksonville, Illinois, and slowly moved westward, ten to twenty miles at a time. He stayed on foot as he had no desire to announce his presence, and there was no rush.

This soft recon had been needed, and as he left each small community, he ensured they were in touch with either Newaygo or other small groups near them. It had not been an easy task, as suspicions ran high, and more than once he’d found himself on the other end of a weapon held in the shaking hands of a frightened survivor. Ultimately it had proven worthwhile though, and vastly improved the chances for survival of those left alive. Now he gathered basic staples from nearby homes, and knew that if he needed heavy support he could count on Newaygo for an air drop or landing, as long as he could contact them. They had planned for this, and the Reaper was in his element.

The Reaper gave himself an internal shake. In the here and now, such thoughts were a distraction, and he would think more about them later. He concentrated on the job at hand and waited. Twenty minutes passed before he decided to get this over. His faith was in the Lord, and if the Lord decided it was time to go home to his family, then he was fine with that. Dropping into a crouch, he silently crept through the thick undergrowth of the forest and slowly, with caution, made his way around the clearing to the spot where earlier the birds had indicated danger. Every few feet he would pause and slowly breathe in and out while flexing his thighs to keep them from cramping. He was sniffing the air around his location and it did not help that there was no breeze.

Then, he suddenly smelled the sweet arrested decay of the undead and his lips automatically curling into a silent snarl. With experienced eyes, he examined every tree before him, and that was when he saw them. Four of the devil’s spawn were standing against the giant bole of another oak, motionless. It was a favorite tactic of their limited intelligence, and it was sad how often this tactic worked on unsuspecting survivors. He gritted his teeth and prepared to attack them, slowly raising the heavy machete for a killing stroke on the first, when he heard shots.

Three of the creatures turned in the direction of the sharp reports, the three with intact ears that is, and he could see them preparing to move fast as the fourth finally turned with them. The Reaper did not hesitate! Instead he used their distraction to his benefit and launched his attack silently, taking the first through the neck, his blade partially lodging in its shoulder on the far side; but the cut had been true, and the beast’s head rolled back, hanging by a strip of skin. With a yank, he jerked the blade free, then hamstrung the second that was starting to turn towards him, followed by a quick overhand angled slice through its skull, cleaving the brain within in half.

The other two spawn were upon him, and this time he did snarl in fury as their rushing forms pushed him backwards. His blade was in the wrong position to strike with its razor-sharp edge, but the tang with his fist wrapped around it was almost as good, so he lashed out in blind fury, striking the foremost in the center of its face. His left hand reached out to grasp, then jerk the other creature by the fabric of its coat, throwing it off balance to the ground as he desperately tried to finish off the last one before him. The punch had also thrown it off balance but, quickly recovering, it launched itself at the Reaper, mouth gaping wide. His blade was still angled wrong but he thrust anyways, its sharp edge piercing the neck, thrusting up into the brain only to lodge at the top of the skull.

A sharp pain exploded in his left arm; turning, the Reaper tried to wrench free of the last spawn of Satan whose teeth had fastened on him, while pulling his Colt at the same time. His arm would not come free but his Colt did, and lifting his arm with a grit of teeth, he shoved the barrel under the creature’s chin while pulling the trigger, the back of the head blowing outward in a spray of blood, brains, and bone immediately following the Colt’s muffled report. The jaws of the devil's spawn instantly loosened as it dropped bonelessly to the ground, and Jason straightened, then critically examined his jacket where the creature had bitten him.

Thank the Lord! The teeth had not penetrated the tough fabric of his brown Carhartt, which meant he would not have to dig into his limited supply of antibiotics. A bite from the undead might not transfer the virus, but they'd give you a hell of an infection if left untreated. The Reaper flexed his arm and shook it to dispel any lingering pain while peering around his position, looking for more of the Godless. There were none that he could detect as he surveyed his surroundings.

Multiple shots rang out to his west, and the Reaper frowned. Someone was in danger and in need of help. Perhaps it was a small group of survivors being attacked by the undead, or one group of survivors being set upon by another, which seemed to be happening all too frequently lately. Jason decided he would figure it out when he arrived at the location of the gunfire.

"Don't worry, I'm coming," he muttered under his breath as he quickly sprinted back to his campsite and gathered up his already-packed belongings. Then he turned once again to the west and headed through the dense underbrush, his machete out and ready. Shots sounded yet again, this time, a veritable barrage of gunfire, and the Reaper picked up his pace. Whatever was happening had just taken on urgency. He could sense it.

Two hundred yards further to his west, he came upon a road. The shots were not far off, and it was sounding more and more like a pitched battle. The Reaper put more speed on, hoping he was in time to save lives, when suddenly he spotted something on the ground ahead and froze. The Reaper crept closer, then stopped and crouched. Before him on the ground were the stripped bodies of an older adult male and two older females, along with those of three small children. From the signs, they had only been dead a few days; gently, he turned one of the children over and grimaced. All five were the victims of gunshot wounds. The tiny ones each had a hole in the center of their chest. He frowned, then his face twisted into a savagely angry mask, remembering the bodies he'd found the previous evening scattered along the road heading into the city from the east. Suddenly it was not looking good at all for somebody, and he rose at the renewed sounds of gunfire ahead.

After taking a moment to close their eyes, he said a brief prayer over the bodies and continued onward. He had seen these signs before, and once again he realized the Lord was just reaffirming his mission. As he had told Jay, he was on the Lord’s mission and he would continue without hesitation, without reservation, until that mission was complete.

The Reaper sprinted along the roadside towards the sounds of battle, and along the way he was forced to leap over the naked bodies of other small groups of men, women, and children, each appearing to have been gunned down, most recently. Anger burned bright within him as he closed to within a few hundred yards of the conflict. Ahead, he could see a beefy, camouflage-attired male, running while firing behind him. The rifle he held in his hands pointed at the stand of trees, where barely half-seen figures were appearing. Blind shots and the act of a desperate man, thought Jason. The Reaper needed no further understanding, and he quickly scaled the pine tree beside him while placing his modified M40A1 to his shoulder after flipping the scope’s magnetic lens covers up and out of the way. His rifle’s ten-round magazine was full with 7.62 and he jacked the first into the chamber. He was ready, but he still had to figure out who were the good guys and who were the bad guys.

Quickly dialing down his 8.5x25 X 50mm Leupold Mark 4 ER/T M1 scope, he checked the runner first. The man's face came into sharp focus and the Reaper could see desperation written plainly there, along with resignation. Then he shifted his aim to those following this unknown figure and grinned mirthlessly. In his field of vision were well over a dozen figures, all staggering around and firing equally blindly towards the runner. Many were holding bottles, obviously alcohol of some sort, and equally obvious was that fact that they were drunk, for they stumbled over each other as they wildly discharged their firearms.

This made his choice easy. The Reaper calmed his breathing, squeezed off the first shot in between heartbeats, and watched as the top of the foremost villain’s head disappeared in an explosion of blood. Without hesitation, Jason rotated another round into the barrel and fired again, taking the next in the lower forehead. Settling into a rhythm, he continued firing. Taking one with each shot, for the Reaper never missed.

These drunken assailants quickly became aware of him as rounds started whistling through the branches of the pine he was resting in, but he ignored them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the runner had fallen to the ground and was firing at those attacking him from a prone position. Jason had identified friend from foe and continued firing, along with this other man who realized he had a friend coming to his rescue. Ten down and instantly the Reaper was switching magazines before firing again. Eleven down!

Then the attackers were disappearing into the woods, and the figure of the runner was up and running towards him. As this man approached, the Reaper kept scanning the woodline but saw no others. He then heard engines starting up, and several trucks shot out of the woods further down the street towards what looked like a high brick fence surrounding a group of ornate buildings. Briefly, Jason thought about shooting into the trucks, but held back. He would figure it out shortly, as his gaze shifted to the man still lumbering to his position. He safe'd his Remington 700 sniper rifle and slid down the tree, only to draw his Colt .45 as the man approached at a run, breathing heavily.

"Bruce! Oh my God, thank you man. I didn't realize you could shoot that good. You saved my ass."

The Reaper said nothing and just stared at the man as he slid to a halt, the Colt ready in case he had misjudged the situation.

"Wait, you're not Bruce!" The runner was now before him, and while Jason kept his .45 low, he could see not only the confusion in the man's eyes, but instant wariness when he recognized a ready weapon that was 'almost' aimed at him. Jason did not know nor care in these first few minutes who this Bruce was. He only cared about finding out what was going on, right here, and right now.

"No."

"Well stranger, thank you. I would be dead by now otherwise. Thank you!"

"You're welcome. What was that all about?"

"Where do I start?" the beefy tattooed figure before Jason sighed while rubbing his face tiredly.

"The beginning is usually a good place," replied the Reaper sardonically.

"That would be a tall order and a long story, friend. Let me first ask. ARE you a friend, and if so, why did you help me?" The stranger was apprehensive, and the Reaper could see that his hand, holding what looked like an AR-15 yet bulkier, was twitching as if he wasn't sure if the danger was over yet. Jason smiled mirthlessly and holstered his Colt as he replied.

"I am the Reaper. My mission was given to me by the Lord after the devil’s spawn took my family. I mean you and yours no harm if you have good intentions. Those with bad intentions will feel the Lord’s wrath through myself, his servant." The Reaper did not hesitate to state his mission. He had no fear, for he firmly believed that when his mission was done, the Lord would reunite him with his family. The man was nodding as he listened, and suddenly thrust out a hand.

"My name is Andy Kiwacz."

"Reaper, or Jason, as you will," the Reaper replied as he shook the man's hand. Slowly Andy released his hand, then turned and gazed out over the field littered with bodies while shaking his head. The reply came slowly.

"I think I'll call you, Reaper. You're certainly effective."

The Reaper said nothing for a moment, then finally spoke as both men looked at each other. "Who is Bruce?"

"One of my group that I'd told to stay behind and help guard the women and children. When you started firing, I assumed he'd followed me instead. I really didn't know who else it could be. But, come Reaper. Let's get back to my family and crew. We can talk there, as we’re not safe here. They'll be back shortly in much larger numbers." Making sure Jason was following him, Andy headed through the woods parallel to the road and into town. As they passed each group of stripped bodies, both young and old, the Reaper took a few seconds to close the eyes and rearrange the bodies of those that needed it to provide a semblance of family. Their mortal forms should rest with dignity, he thought as he straightened their stiff forms. The Reaper knew he was taking an additional risk of being spotted with these small delays, but did what needed to be done for the newly departed. At first Andy observed his actions, then started helping the Reaper. In the end, Jason counted over forty dead, before they finally headed down a side street within the city. A church loomed ahead, this one heavy in concrete and brick, its door opening as they approached.

Just inside, a woman was waiting for them, a .380 handgun held tightly in her hands. The Reaper instantly saw an intense yet strong, caring face, filled with concern for this man before him, and he took an instant liking to her. He watched as she hugged Andy tightly, then fingered the rip in his jacket while gazing up into his eyes. Then her gaze turned to watch the Reaper without speaking, piercing green eyes never leaving his face. Others were coming up behind her, and Jason saw seven small children, along with two more adult males, and five females. Andy was the first to speak.

"Reaper, I'd like you to meet my family and friends."

Introductions were quickly made as they bolted the door and headed into the interior. One of the men stayed behind to watch through a portion of a stained window, and the Reaper nodded in approval at the lookout as he followed them.

*****

Chapter 3

"What the fuck just happened!" Ringo screamed. Five minutes ago he had been raping the shit out of a sweet fourteen-year-old redhead, whose screams of agony and terror were a real turn-on, and now he was standing in a frozen field just south of the cemetery gazing down in fury at the sprawled-out bodies lying there. An even dozen of his men were dead, with nothing to show for it. He could care less if they all died; what he did care about were bitches, farmhands, and supplies, and increasing his power. He waved his .44 Smith & Wesson Magnum around like a madman, brandishing it in the face of some of those present who were rapidly backing away from him, and punching it into the chests of others who were not quick enough to move out of the way of his furious rampage. "What the fuck do I pay you for?"

"Well, technically you don't pay us anything," quipped one young, greasy-haired man who had just taken a healthy swallow from the bottle of peppermint schnapps he held tightly gripped in his hand. Ringo rounded on him in fury and fired his .44 without hesitation, the jacketed round ripping through the bony chest, eventually coming to rest somewhere a great distance away. As his lifeless body fell to the ground, Ringo rounded on the others again.

"Nobody fucks with me, period! I'm the top guy, and I'll kill anyone who mouths off, so does anyone else wanna be a smart ass? Please talk shit, because that's thirteen dead now and thirteen's an unlucky number. I need to kill one more!"

No one took him up on his offer as all fell backward, hands raised, partially-filled bottles of alcohol falling to the ground as they stumbled away in their haste.

"No, man, no. We don't know who did it. One of our guys spotted some pervert spying on us from the barn and we went to take them out. Shots came out of nowhere, man. We were dropping like flies. Left and right, even. We had to take cover or we'd be dead too. Jesus dude, calm down, it's not our fault. Look at the bodies, man!" The new speaker was slightly older, yet still the epitome of a dirtbag by most standards. Disheveled and filthy, a .45 automatic stuck in his waist, he was beefier than the last man to hit the dirt, but not by much. His name was Duane, and he was one of Ringo's lieutenants.

Duane was a drug dealer from Ringo's home town and in fact had been employed by Ringo for several years. When the shit hit the fan, Ringo had brought Duane along out of the city. Regardless of his appearance, Duane was smart and cunning, an person of interest to the local authorities but one who had never been caught.

Ringo looked at the speaker and forced himself to calm down. He needed to control these men and be smart about it. A certain amount of fear kept the men in line, too much and he might lose some of them. Ringo had been doing alright so far, slowly expanding and consolidating his power base.

Many of his current followers were members of his old crew from Columbia, Missouri, but even more were new arrivals. Some had just walked up to the gate, or one of his scouting parties, recognizing kindred spirits when they saw them. Others were from a few of the groups they had come in contact with, who had no desire to be farmhands the rest of their lives. Still others were culled from the captives they had taken; the test for entrance was simple. Hand them a gun with one round and have them shoot one of their group, or, point to a female captive and order them to rape her. It was a brutal method of testing, but surprisingly effective in how many were willing to kill and rape their fellow man, or woman, in order to gain acceptance. And while Ringo knew that most were lazy fuckers, even drug addicts or the mentally insane, he welcomed them all. Those he couldn't trust he would use as cannon fodder, for he was making a new world, one in which he planned to be King of Missouri, or as much of the state as he could hold.

A mid-city drug dealer and loan shark from Columbia, Missouri, Ringo had risen high in the underworld, at least high in his estimation. He had quickly become known for his ruthlessness with those who owed him money. Those who owed him for drugs and had no ability to pay, he made permanent examples. The marks he loaned money to, who were late on their payments, would be dealt with more gently at first. It was true that it took willpower not to break their legs, but damaged marks didn't pay the bills. You had to be careful, and clever about it. The right amount of force and threat and your payments kept coming. Too much force and they were incapable of making payment. Payments equaled money, and money was power. A strong hand also equaled power, and Ringo was equally versed in both forms. However, this new world was all about power, as money no longer had meaning, so he went with what worked, and he was good at it.

Within days of the dead rising, he and his boys had taken to the countryside, heading north. They'd barely escaped Columbia, but that was cool, and Ringo knew what he was doing. This had apocalyptic end times written all over it, and in those brief times he had been imprisoned he had read his fair share of books. He needed a central location away from the major cities for what he had in mind, which is why he'd settled in Paris.

It did not take a genius to realize that after the crisis, many things would be needed. The need for physical labor was paramount, and that was a commodity he aimed to supply. There were many survivor groups out there, some much larger than others. Carefully he had cultivated contacts with these groups. Some he contacted himself, others his scouting parties had found. It was dangerous work without a doubt, but he had made deals and arrangements that would see his little empire expand. He wanted to be the Man. The man everyone came to when something was needed. It was simply supply and demand.

He had carefully marked their locations on a special map he kept hidden. With that map was a notebook with each groups’ needs! Girls, farmhands, construction workers. The list was almost endless, and they paid in a variety of commodities including gold. Gold had value, after all, and when everything returned to normal, he would have a lot of gold. However, other commodities were equally important: percentages of crops; refurbished windmill generators for when gasoline was no longer available; hoarded medical supplies and doctors he would have access to; the list was endless.

But not all new survivor communities were compliant. In fact, many had turned him or his men away at gunpoint. Some that did were too small to oppose his forces, and those he sent his boys after, cannon fodder first. They would beat them into submission, and then take the younger women and older children for labor or sexual slaves before killing the rest. Now, within a month of the crisis, he had accumulated an extensive list of communities that needed his services, and more that were interested, but had not committed yet. Everything was carefully written down in his notebook. After all, he needed to keep track of who needed what.

Duane had been closely examining the bodies, and now he turned back to Ringo. "Most of them were killed by headshots. That's good shooting, professional."

"Had to be those damn soldiers," Ringo said. Well over a week ago, one of his men had spotted a large convoy of survivors entering the city. With them had been a small group of soldiers with some really huge armored vehicles. They had occupied a group of industrial warehouses just south of town and after giving them a day, Ringo had gone visiting. That meeting had both gone well and not, for there were too many soldiers for his men to take on without a great many of them dying. The large guns mounted on those armored vehicles were crewed by men who looked ready to use them so Ringo had backed off, but not before arranging a truce. Leave each other alone and there would be no problems. Now it looked like the truce was broken, which infuriated Ringo.

"But they agreed to leave us alone!"

"I don't know what the fuck's going on, but let's talk to them. Gather up all the men." And with that, Ringo turned away to his waiting four-wheel drive truck, climbing in. It took only moments to call the rest of his men on the CBs, and within minutes he had over thirty vehicles lined up, all bristling with armed men as he instructed Duane to head to the military group’s position.

Paris was not a large city, and less than five minutes later they were pulling into the parking lot of the industrial complex. One of the men in Ringo's truck bed was holding their white parley flag high overhead as they came to a stop two hundred yards away. Then, once his men had lined their vehicles up, Ringo directed Duane to drive forward, slowly, until they reached a point halfway to the foremost warehouse.

Immediately two of the massive garage doors were raised, and Ringo found himself looking at the military vehicles with mounted guns, and armed soldiers standing to either side of them. One of those vehicles drove forward until it stopped twenty yards away, and a man exited from one of the rear doors. Ringo almost wished he had a grenade with him, as the door opened backward, what they called a suicide door, and tossing a grenade in would have been easy, but he'd used most they had acquired to create traps in the event they were attacked, and the others were back in his rooms at the cemetery.

"What do you want!" The speaker was the Army man who called himself Platoon Sergeant Rodriguez. Ringo scowled at him.

"A bunch of my men were killed by some of your Army boys," Ringo replied, but the Army dude was already shaking his head.

"Not any of mine, I assure you. I told you last week we wouldn't interfere with you if you left us alone. That still stands!"

"Then how can you explain a dozen of my men taken out with headshots? That has military written all over it. Snipers, man." Ringo let his anger and frustration show as he fingered the .44 Magnum strapped to his thigh, the palm of his hand resting on its grip as his fingers flexed outward, then inward. He could see the maneuver upset the man before him and inwardly he grinned.

Immediately the gun mounted on top of the vehicle swiveled around and Rodriguez took a step back before replying.

"If you really want to try something, go ahead. You have the numbers but we have the experience and firepower. How fast can you outrun a .50 caliber round? We had nothing to do with it and just want to be left alone, but if you push, we'll put a hurt on you that you won't ever forget," Rodriguez warned.

Ringo looked up into the muzzle of the machine gun pointed at him and felt renewed rage. This was too much! Then and there, he vowed to come back and fuck these guys up for this shit. He couldn't help himself. Even as the vehicle loomed over him, he didn't care. This was his turf and nobody fucked with him.

He didn't actually know what the armored vehicle was. Only that it was big at fifteen feet tall or so, the muzzle perched on top was large, and worst of all, the damn thing was aimed straight at him. That alone pissed him off even more as he rounded on Rodriguez.

"Then who was it?" Ringo scowled again as he gazed at this man before him.

"You're asking us? We mind our own business and will be out of here soon. We do not want any trouble, but we'll dish it out if needed." Rodriguez scowled back while taking yet another step back.

Inwardly, Ringo congratulated himself, as he knew people. He had an instinctive grasp on what they were feeling, and the more scared they were, the more apparent it was to him. He now knew these military assholes had nothing to do with what happened earlier. It was obvious these Army boys were scared of him, and his men, and were trying to keep the peace before moving on. That suited Ringo just fine. Not that he didn't think he could take them. Just that he didn't wish to lose half, or most, of his men doing so. It was a matter of numbers after all, and he had only so much cannon fodder.

"So you'll let me know if you figure out who it is?"

"I think not, Mr. Ringo. If someone is out to get your men, we will not interfere either way."

"Alright, fine. We'll continue to stay away from you as long as you stay away from us. I still think your boys had something to do with this," growled Ringo.

"Not us, but I can't say it's not warranted." replied Rodriguez. Damn, the man was showing some spine after all, thought Ringo, and he knew he needed to stamp this down hard and right now.

"If I see one of your boys even near our place I'll kill them, then I'll come after you!" Ringo was beyond angry. He hadn't learned anything, and had only wasted his time. He was mad, just barely able to control himself, and again vowed that nobody would fuck with him and live.

"Acknowledged. Goodbye." Just this soldier boy's smart ass attitude pissed him off and Ringo knew he had to get out of there, or it would be on!

Fuming, Ringo climbed back in his truck and signaled Duane to leave.

*****

Platoon Sergeant, or SFC Dennis Rodriguez watched as the leader of the gang sped off and the other assembled cars and trucks turned to follow. As the last one disappeared from sight, Rodriguez finally turned back to the M-ATV, breathing a sigh of relief before climbing inside. As he thumped the helmet of his driver to head back, his mind turned to the events that had just occurred. It was only moments before they were driving into the cavernous bay of the industrial warehouse to park alongside the other three armored military vehicles.

The M-ATV was a Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle, or MRAP, developed by Oshkosh Industries in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, and SFC Rodriguez had four of them. Each had a CROWS, or Common Remote Operated Weapons Station, which was a versatile platform capable of mounting a variety of different weapons for a wide range of operations. The mounted weapons could be fired either by crew up top behind the cowling in case of a catastrophic systems failure, or remotely from within the vehicle. Rodriguez had two equipped with the M2 .50 caliber Browning heavy machine guns, with the other two carrying the M240B machine gun. It was these he had pointed at the gang as they drove up.

There was only one problem. Rodriguez had been bluffing, but Ringo didn't know that. Even though the ammunition cans attached to the M2s could carry four-hundred-linked rounds, and the M240Bs could carry one thousand, they had almost completely exhausted their munitions in escaping Moberly. He was now down to less than a hundred rounds in each M240B, and in the M2s’ case, he was down to less than fifty. Sure, they could have dished out some major hurt if attacked. However, this Ringo simply had too many men, and the end result would have been the demise of Platoon Sergeant Rodriguez, his men and all those he had sworn to protect.

Dennis was 5’8” and 170-pounds, with brown skin topped by black hair scattered with salt-and-pepper. Once slightly heavyset, he was now all muscle and bone with the strength behind it, as his Hispanic heritage came to the fore.

The industrial complex they had currently secured was the best location he’d been able to find in the limited time he'd had after the massive firefight in leaving Moberly, Missouri, against the undead. The remnants of the living had needed to get away from any form of major city, yet find a secure facility to house all the refugees they had gathered in as the undead rose and started killing. They had decided on nearby Paris for its remoteness and central location to major routes and resources. Mexico City, Missouri had been considered as a better possibility, but ultimately it was larger than Moberly, thus too many damn zombies. Now their group numbered almost three hundred, mostly women and children, and he was down to fourteen men. This sucked.

SFC Rodriguez had originally been Infantry, but he was now a Battalion supply sergeant with the 143rd
Transportation Battalion at the 54th
Street Armory in St Louis, Missouri. After ten years of active duty, he had eventually married and then gone straight to the Guard. Being stationed at a National Guard Supply Depot had suited him just fine, and he'd quickly found his niche. Boring but busy paperwork had occupied his days, and the benefits were generous. Those benefits had taken a nosedive when the divorce came, but it was well worth it. It taught him that with some, distance was a wonderful thing in a relationship, or lack thereof.

Then the apocalypse arrived, and with it a new beginning. A Presidential declaration of martial law had been announced, and all Guard units were ordered to draw ammo at their Ammunition Supply Point and await orders. Rodriguez soon found himself leading a platoon into Moberly to quell not only the rising undead but also to perform crowd control in an attempt to restore order. They had their issue M4s and were given four M-ATVs, four LMTVs, and two M1114 HMMWVs, or Humvees as they were commonly called. The LMTVs, or light utility trucks, had been used to carry the munitions and supplies they had drawn, along with assorted materials designed for roadblocks and containment.

Arriving in Moberly, they'd done the best they could but their attempt at controlling the city had ultimately proved unsuccessful. In the end, the situation had quickly turned hopeless. There were simply too many of the diseased savages to combat with their limited numbers, and Dennis had been forced to pull as many survivors together as he could with the remnants of his platoon.

They had performed a lightning-quick load-up with as many civilians as possible jammed into the armored Humvees, M-ATVs, and LMTVs, along with as many civilian vehicles necessary to hold everyone. Hell, he even remembered a score of people riding atop their lone fuel truck, totally against regulations, but you did what you had to do when the shit hit the fan. In the end, it had proved a long, vicious fight leaving the city limits, the result being fewer troops and civilians. Thank God, their munitions and supplies including MREs had still been loaded in the vehicles, but even so they didn't hesitate to grab more supplies along the way.

In Paris, they had taken over eight large industrial complex buildings in total, all connected, with concrete and steel walls, and now everyone was carrying a gun. The industrial complex was almost a half mile from the city proper, and Rodriguez prayed it was far enough from Ringo's gang activities to be left alone long enough to find a more secure location. His confidence was supported by the fact that the buildings had already been ransacked before he and his men took possession of them.

Shortly after Rodriguez and his group arrived, Ringo and his gang had shown up under a flag of truce. After an hour of arguing, recrimination, and threats, an agreement had been reached. Ringo and his men would leave the soldiers and their group alone, if the soldiers left Ringo and his gang alone, while not interfering in their activities.

Times were tough, and you didn't know from one moment to the next when your ticket would be punched. Yeah, the gang were a bunch of vicious fuckers that were truly a pain in the ass, but Rodriguez knew if he took the fight to them what remained of his fighting force would not be effective enough to protect the multitude of civilians they had saved. A true Catch-22. Rodriguez frowned, deep in thought as he ascended the stairs leading to his usual guard position.

*****

Chapter 4

Andy smiled as Darcie handed the Reaper a cup of hot coffee. It was instant, but they didn't want to start up their generator in order to brew a pot, because of the others. Instead water had been heated over a propane cookstove then instant grounds added. After all, you gave what you had to the man who had just saved your life. They had just finished telling their stories to each other, and that had provided enough time for the water to heat up. Andy was feeling more confident around the Reaper as he watched the interaction between him and the children. Jesus Christ, the man had coloring books in his backpack. The Reaper had withdrawn four of them along with two boxes of crayons which he quickly distributed to the excited kids. Andy kicked himself for not thinking of that himself, as the children were beyond bored and this would help. He had just spent the last hour filling the Reaper in on their journey from St. Louis and his life in general, how he'd originally hooked up with Darcie and her children—his now—and their overall situation.

The Reaper in return had told him what he knew about the virus, Newaygo, the shadow government and survivor groups in general. It was heartbreaking news, yet hopeful at the same time. As he finished, he informed them he was deliberately heading in a southwest direction, not only to tie survivor groups together for mutual support, but also, ultimately, to spy out the area in Colorado where the shadow government’s main forces were hiding.

"So that's what's been happening in the outside world," said Andy. The Reaper grunted as he thanked Darcie for the mug and took a slow sip of its strong, black contents. Another shot rang out from somewhere outside, and all the adults jumped save for Andy and the Reaper. While he and the Reaper had carefully crept back to the Methodist church they were hiding in, the marauders had been driving up and down the streets, firing indiscriminately into the buildings around them. A few shots had even peppered the church, but those within continued to give no outward sign the dwelling was occupied.

Andy continued. "Well I haven't told you everything yet, so here goes! Like I said, we learned to find a defensible hideout first whenever coming near groups of buildings, buildings where these zombies might be hiding, which is why we picked the church straight off. We had no sooner settled in and started to hunt for supplies when these others came driving down the road Bruce and I were on."Andy quickly recounted the scene they had witnessed three days prior, and finished with, "That was more men than Bruce and I could handle by ourselves. I didn't want my family to end up like those poor folks. So for the last few days we've been gathering supplies slowly while spying on them."

"I understand, Andy. I've also seen this before. Those taken are likely goods for barter."

"Barter?"

"Yes, the story is as old as time." The Reaper sighed and looked pensive before continuing. "They keep the young women to use as sex slaves for their own pleasure, and to sell to surrounding groups for field hands, or once more as sex slaves. The same goes for the older boys and girls and young men. Some of those young men will end up joining the marauders. The older men, women, and young children are simply a drain on resources and are disposed of." Jason spoke slowly and methodically, his voice low and full of sadness mixed with anger.

"That's sick!" sputtered Andy, and Jason heard Darcie gasp, then saw her covering her mouth with her hand as he glanced in her direction.

"That is also a story told throughout recorded history, Andy and Darcie. Jay, the governor of Michigan, is slowly moving outward and dealing harshly with those who would traffic in humans. It's a problem that will ultimately take decades to solve." The Reaper had spoken more this day than he had in a long time, but the story and historical references needed to be told.

"So, you're on your way through then, Reaper?" Bruce remarked. Bruce and Jake were the other two adult males in Andy's small group; Bruce was a tall, kind-looking man, at one time soft but now all skin, bones, and muscle, whereas Jake was just skin and bones and very short.

"No, I think the Lord has a mission for me here." The last was growled, and hackles rose on the back of Andy's neck as he listened to this other man speak.

"Ahh, yes sir." Andy waved a hand at the children as he continued. "Dessa and Jacob are ours, but the others we saved. We found them along the way where their parents had hidden them. We couldn't leave them behind. They have no one."

"Agreed, and I and the Lord thank you for that, Andy. My place is here whether you help or not."

"Well, we'd like to help, but like I said, they outnumber us. There must be at least fifty of them, if not more. We can't handle those numbers. I'll die quick and I can't leave Darcie and the children all alone."

"Tell me, do you have any idea where they’re keeping the captives?"

"I think they’re being held in what I think are catacombs at the back edge of the church property. I saw them taking a large quantity of food out there once."

"Makes sense, easy to secure and defend. Now, what about other survivors in the city, you mentioned catching glimpses of them from time to time."

"Well, in the three days we've been here I think we've identified four other groups besides ours, but they're hiding, just like we are, except for one bunch I'll show you. I'm pretty sure the other groups know what will happen to them if they come out."

"Granted, but I'd like to meet them."

"I can show you where one is and where I think the others are, but with what happened to that one group we saw, I'm inclined to think they'll shoot first and ask questions later."

"The Lord will protect me, Andy. I am doing His will, and I've seen signs that indicate he is taking a direct hand in human affairs once again," said the Reaper calmly, yet he did not explain about a girl named Ashley, or the events that had led him to that belief. That was a story for another time and place.

"Ahh, yeah right, OK. Well, let me get a map of the city," and he was off to return quickly with a folded square of colored paper, which he spread out on the tabletop.

"Okay, we are here," a heavy finger jabbed the surface of the map, then moved down the street to pause at another building near an intersection. "There’s a group here. When we first arrived, we could see smoke coming from the chimneys. It looks like one of those big manor houses with four chimneys. Now you won't see the smoke, but they're still there."

"What about these others, these marauders. Why did they not attack them if they were that obvious initially?"

"Oh they did, two days ago, but this city group held them off. You can't miss the place. It's two stories tall with really thick, solid brick walls and narrow windows. One of those old manors you see here and there. They fought all day with firebombs and grenades, I think, but after losing a half-dozen people or more, the others just took off. Since you took down a dozen earlier today, I'm sure they'll assume it's this group and attack them again. That is, if this group hasn't already relocated," Andy said.

"Hmmm, well, since they held the marauders off once, they'll probably figure they can continue doing so. It's human nature after all to defend a fairly secure location. And the other groups?"

Quickly Andy pointed to three other spots on the map. "These are roughly the locations we saw smoke the day we arrived, which you won't now, as I said. Everyone is hiding and it does not help that you can only gather supplies during the day. At night, the zombies come out in large numbers, and it's wicked dangerous to be out. Please keep the map. We have more."

The Reaper nodded as he memorized the streets around their location, his own finger moving as he plotted a route down side roads and around commercial structures. Then he stood and, after glancing at his watch, picked his rifle up from where it lay carefully propped against the wall.

"It's not yet noon. I'm going to do a recon and visit these other groups to see if they're still there, and willing to talk," he stated as he started towards the back entrance shown to him earlier.

"Oh my God, Reaper. Don't go out right now. These others are out in force, trying to find whoever shot them up. They'll catch you, then kill you." Andy had followed him and was pleading with Jason to wait a few days until everything calmed down, but the Reaper wasn't in the mood to wait, and shouldered his ruck.

"Andy, you're a good man for what you've done, but if these others are as evil as they seem, then the Lord has shown me that I'm needed here, and this is a task that needs doing now, not later. They have captives, and they're killing the innocent." With that, the Reaper opened the back door, and after peering out, strode quickly to the house next to the church. This was a one-story building that appeared to be the rectory where the pastor and his family had once lived. Behind him, he heard the door shut and a bolt slam home. He grinned mirthlessly and decided to disregard subterfuge, striding boldly forward between buildings.

*****

Ringo fumed all the way back to the cemetery after leaving the soldier boys. He had just lost thirteen men, and it was beyond pissing him off. Duane, who was driving, stayed silent, which was a good thing, because crash or not, Ringo needed to shoot someone, bad!

"So who do you think it was?" he finally demanded as they pulled into the cemetery parking lot.

"Boss, I have no clue, maybe that manor place has a soldier or someone really good at shooting. Who else could it be?"

"Maybe you're right. We need to take them out. We need the cattle for trading." Ringo had little respect for anyone, and none for slaves. They were simply pieces of cattle, ready for trading or fucking, or both.

"One of the guys told me he saw them moving vehicles against that wall they have. That will only make it harder to take them."

"What do we have that would clear them out? Maybe one of the buses could ram them?"

Duane pondered for a second, then his eyes lit on the cemetery's snowplow parked near the rear of the lot and he grinned.

"No boss, don't think a bus would do it, but that snowplow might," said Duane, pointing straight ahead at the deserted vehicle.

"A snowplow?" asked Ringo, a perplexed expression on his face.

"Absolutely, boss, it's used to moving big piles of snow. Heavy weight and shit. It should do the job."

Ringo looked at the snowplow and slowly started nodding; then he smiled in an evil way. "I like it," he finally responded. "Find a couple more today, and don't let the men drink too much tonight, because tomorrow morning you boys will take them out once and for all." With that, Ringo exited the truck, followed closely by Duane, who plucked at his sleeve.

"Where you going, boss?"

"I told you earlier, and I hate repeating myself. We have thirteen dead and that's an unlucky number." Duane froze in place and watched as Ringo walked away. He didn't move because he no longer wished to draw Ringo's attention. He had no doubt someone would be dead shortly, and Duane didn't want it to be his corpse that was thrown into the woods across the street. As Ringo left his sight, he turned and walked towards the snowplow, wondering if the keys were inside. If not, he was sure they would be in the administrative office of the rectory.

As Ringo walked into the rectory, where he’d taken over the second floor for himself, he spotted his latest bitch! He didn't know her name, nor did he care to know it. All he knew was that he was angry, needed to kill someone, and her cries as he took her were getting boring. She looked up as he approached and cowered away from him, then sank to her knees with her arms outstretched.

"Master. You've returned. I will go upstairs to your bedroom and wait." And even though it was obvious from her shaking form that she was terrified, she rose and turned her back on Ringo, infuriating him even further. With hands trembling with rage, he pulled his .44 and shot her between the shoulder blades, watching as her lifeless body collapsed face down on the floor. He was no long shaking. The count stood at fourteen now, and that was not an unlucky number. Smiling, he reached down, gripped the dead body by its long hair, and dragged it out of the rectory. Pointing at two of his men who were standing nearby, he told them to toss her worthless corpse into the woods across the street, then went back inside.

As he entered the kitchen, he saw her. A honey-blonde, at least four years under eighteen. He liked them young, tender and tight. He heard one of the other women address her as Kelsey as he approached, saying something about mopping the floors when she was done with the dishes, but he paid them no attention, instead reaching out and grabbing the girl by the hair.

"You're coming with me," he growled as she shrieked in pain. This time he didn't tell a screamer to shut up, for she would be screaming for some time to come, he thought, as he dragged her up to his rooms above.

*****

Chapter 5

As the Reaper crossed the street, he saw the manor up ahead. Even from this distance, he could see the marks of pitched battle: blackened brick, chunks torn from the brick fence and building front, and burnt vegetation surrounding the front of the edifice. The Reaper never slowed, for he had little fear of Satan's minions—the zombies—and he would deal with them if they appeared. This other group of marauders he cared little about other than exterminating them in the name of the Lord. If they showed their faces, they would be dealt with like any other vermin. He was fearless as he continued to approach the manor, walking down the sidewalk while sidestepping trash and vehicles that had jumped the curb before stalling.

Its large, imposing structure dominated the corner ahead and was surrounded by a five-foot-tall brick fence with a wrought iron gate, akin to many older homes he had seen over the years. The Reaper propped his Remington against his shoulder as he approached, and swinging the front gate open, continuing to walk forward with purpose. His eyes took in every detail, sight, sound, and smell, and if the group he was approaching were also evil and it came to action, he was ready. The door stood before him, and so far he had not been challenged. He knew they were watching because he’d seen a curtain move in a nearby window; a challenge was only moments away. He reached outward, grabbed the ornate doorknocker, and let it slam home a single time.

Instantly the door opened partway, a rifle barrel poked out inches from his chest, and a surly voice snarled, "Who are you and what do you want!"

"I am Reaper, or Jason if you prefer, and I've come to talk. I'm not with the marauders who attacked you, but I'm sure you know that already just from my appearance." The Reaper spoke calmly and then waited. It was important to remain calm, as heavy suspicion along with shoot first and ask questions later was the new order of life since the apocalypse. It was only a matter of seconds before the door opened wider, wide enough to admit him, if barely.

"Come in quickly, hands raised. You'll be disarmed while we talk." The voice was no longer surly, simply apprehensive. The Reaper nodded as he raised his hands, holding his Remington upward by the fore grip, and strode forward into the dark interior. Immediately his rifle was taken from him, as was the Colt from its holster, the knife from his belt, and finally his rucksack. He waited as the hands roamed his body searching for other weapons and, finding none, a shadowy figure grasped his shoulder, pulling him forward further into the interior. Being disarmed did not unduly concern him. He could kill, and quickly, with more than the metal objects he carried.

Lanterns lit the room he was now led to, and four adult males regarded him somberly. He watched as his weapons were laid on a nearby table, then his rucksack emptied on the floor, its contents examined closely. He continued to wait patiently as the men watched him suspiciously while somewhere nearby he could faintly hear the sounds of women and children. After carefully examining the tools of death that marked Jason's trade, and running one finger down the barrel of the modified M40A1, one of the men looked up at him with a guarded expression while the others continued to remain wary. He was older, perhaps mid-forties, with a short, military-style haircut and a lined face that bespoke a life of hard knocks.

"A fine piece of equipment that you don't see very often, modified also if I had to guess. I assume you can use it."

"It's served me well in the name of the Lord," replied the Reaper. The other man nodded at his words.

"I think we should keep his weapons and throw him out!" blustered one of the men standing behind Jason. The Reaper cocked one eyebrow at the obvious leader, and decided then and there, that if it came down to a fight, he would take out the one who stood behind him first and then use his body as a shield while dealing with the others.

"Shut up, Harry. I didn't ask you to speak, so don't piss me off. So where are you from, Jason Reaper?" A boot scuffed behind Jason but no new comments were forthcoming from that direction, and he spoke.

"It’s Reaper, or Jason. Not both." The other nodded and waved a hand for Jason to go on. "I am originally from Newaygo, Michigan, but the Lord has given me a mission so I'm heading west, attempting to organize survivor groups to protect against evil both dead and alive." Another of the men gave a start at his words and leaned down to whisper something in the ear of their obvious leader, who nodded again.

"We have a shortwave receiver and have heard of Newaygo. In fact, I believe we've heard of you also, Reaper. The radio doesn't always work well, and the conditions have to be right, but we've gotten quite a bit of information about what's happening around us. So, you're here to talk. What about? My name is Tom."

"Tom, I would like to know your plans regarding these marauders and the other survivor groups in the city."

"Plans? We have few plans, other than wait until spring, and then head out to either one of the larger survivor centers, or to a region that is more secluded. The zombies and these ‘marauders’ as you call them, are simply a nuisance right now. We are well protected in here. We are also full with no room to accept more survivors, and as long as they leave us alone, we'll leave them alone. When we leave, any of these other groups that are not part of the marauders are welcome to journey with us. If you want to call that a plan, then do so." Tom sighed and spread his hands, saying, "Look Reaper, if the zombies become too numerous we'll bug out. If the marauders don't stop attacking us, we'll bug out. It's a pretty simple plan."

"I think your best chances for survival are to combine forces and remove them as a threat. It's only a matter of time before the marauders come after you again with numbers or tactics you can't survive against."

"We held them off once, and we'll do so again, and again. This is a stout building and easily defended. We've laid in enough supplies to last the winter. We'll be fine. We also have no intention of combining with the others. I can't allow our security to be compromised by new faces, people that we don’t know. Not until we're ready to leave in the spring."

The Reaper nodded soberly as he listened while wondering at the man's intelligence, and spoke again. "What happens when they breach your walls, which they eventually will?"

"Now that, we have a plan for." The other grinned as he spoke.

"If it involves fortifying your fence with vehicles and other large objects, I don't believe that will be enough. All they need is to find one large construction bulldozer, or snowplow, and they'll push aside any number of obstacles and drive right into the side of your building. That fence out there will not even slow them down. I know, because I've seen other groups of bad men do this before."

"That was our plan actually, but I don’t think any of us thought of a bulldozer, or snowplow." Now Tom looked worried, as did the other men arranged around him. All were looking at each other with guarded expressions.

"The marauders will, or something similar. Count on it," growled the Reaper.

One of the other men spread his hands helplessly and spoke. "What would you have us do? Our numbers aren't enough to take the battle to them."

"I heard they number around fifty. By everyone combining together, and careful planning, they can be taken with minimal loss."

"Your information is outdated, Reaper. They actually number over a hundred now. We've been watching them and they keep growing in size. Evidently, they're raiding a Sam's warehouse in nearby Moberly. It's a ten-minute drive at most, and I would guess they’re picking up more of their kind from that direction, or elsewhere, because we haven't seen any survivors heading in to the city in a long time. We would have headed in towards Moberly ourselves but it also has about ten thousand more of these zombies than Paris does."

"I can tell you why you haven't seen survivors entering the city in some time, Tom."

The Reaper then quickly filled them in on the bodies he had found in the ditches lining two roads heading in from the east and along the road in front of the cemetery where the marauders were camped. The men were shocked at the news, while their eyes hardened.

"Now you see why there's something that needs doing here, Tom," snapped the Reaper as he finished his story, and the other man ran a hand through his short hair in obvious frustration.

"What part of 'our numbers aren't enough' are you having trouble with, Reaper!" Tom's voice had risen and he stood to face the Reaper while waving his arms to the side. "What you see is what you get. There are only the four of us men, protecting over a dozen women and twice that number of children. The loss of any one of us would be a major blow to our group!" Tom's face was red as he expressed his frustration and helplessness at the situation, causing the Reaper to ponder that slowly before he spoke. It was obvious this leader of theirs, Tom, was out of his depth, and as far as Jason could tell was flying by the seat of his pants through most situations they had encountered.

"When you were attacked a few days ago, the four of you held off fifty marauders?"

"Well no, actually the women were firing from the upper windows. Some are excellent shots."

"Then the women will have to fight also. This is a fight between good and evil, Tom." As he said this, Tom looked down and laughed shallowly.

"What does that mean, and if so, why did God allow this to happen?"

"God didn't allow this to happen. Man did this all by himself, but I can tell you this. I have, over the last month, witnessed the Lord's hand in combating the evil spreading outward as fast as the zombies. He is taking a direct hand once again. Of that you can be assured." The Reaper’s words were emphasized, and slowly the others nodded.

"Reaper, I get it that you're religious. I haven't been in a long time. As you probably guessed, I am ex-Army, but out of my depth. I have a few skills and now I'm using those skills to try to keep all of us alive until spring. We are simply not enough to do what needs doing. If I had my old infantry platoon, we would wipe them up in short order, but I don't, and I'm the only ex-military here."

"Why don't you let me talk to the other groups and then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," answered Jason.

"Fair enough, but I don't see it happening. Good luck, Reaper, and in the meantime I'm going to hold a meeting to see if anyone has any ideas on how to stop bulldozers and snowplows."

"You won't, Tom. They're almost unstoppable. Military-grade explosives work, but I'm assuming you have none." Tom shook his head, and the Reaper nodded. "Then I'll check on the next group and see where they stand, but I'll be back."

"Well I won't exactly say you're welcome here, but we'll at least listen to you," muttered Tom.

The Reaper nodded and, after stuffing his belongings back in his ruck, gathered up the tools of his trade and departed. He had three more groups to visit, and little time to do it in.

*****

Tom watched through the narrow window beside the front door as the Reaper left, and didn't take his eyes off the tall figure until it disappeared from sight. Only then did he turn to Pat. Patrick was a tall, raw-boned man with greyish-blond hair and a very pale complexion. They had known each other since before the zombie outbreak, both having worked at the same auto parts store. Tom had been Pat's supervisor, though that didn't matter now. What mattered was that they trusted each other.

The pressure of keeping all of their refugees safe was tremendous, and when the marauders had attacked two days ago it was only by perseverance and quite a bit of luck that they’d held them off. Since that time, they had been slowly moving cars up, not as a blockage against snowplows or bulldozers, but as an additional barrier that would give them the time needed to wound or kill any marauders that attacked again.

"Pat, bring up more vehicles for the barricade. What the Reaper said makes sense. Try to get the biggest ones you can find."

"Do you really think it's the same Reaper we heard about?"

"Might be. He fits the description."

"He had some balls walking up to the front door like he did."

"That fits the description also."

"Will the extra cars and trucks really help though, Tom? Can we keep holding them off?"

Tom frowned as he considered the question. Tom was ex-military, specifically Air Force, and had been flight crew for F-18s before his enlistment expired. He barely knew what he was doing, and was going more on gut instinct than anything else. Now he turned to Pat while gripping his upper arm.

"Hell, we beat them once, right? And gave them a pounding they won't soon forget. Sure we can beat them again, now start making our barricade bigger.” Pat nodded and, throwing a mock salute at Tom, took off at a fast walk.

*****

Chapter 6

Janet considered herself tough, which was why she was out alone in a city filled with the undead along with a savage gang of other survivors. Growing up as a military brat with four older brothers had taught her to be strong-willed and clever. Her group needed supplies, and the kids were getting bored, which meant it was harder to keep them quiet. Most of the men in their party were out getting those supplies except for two, and even though Bill and Ralph had begged her to stay, Janet had ignored their entreaties as she considered herself the equal of any man. Besides, Bill was sweet on her, a feeling she did not reciprocate. He just wasn't her type, and she needed to get away from his smothering attitude for a short while.

Now she was searching for games to help the kids pass the time. She’d found them in a small grocery whose shelves were mostly bare. Probably the work of these other savages, she thought, as she located the small game section quickly and stuffed her backpack full of puzzles, Yahtzee and cards.

Janet stood 5’6” in her stockings, and her long, honey-blonde hair framing a tanned face completed a more than lovely picture. She paused to grab two small packs of #3 diapers and a large plastic box of baby wipes, and realized her backpack wouldn't be able to hold much more. She made a last stop near the front at the feminine hygiene products, where she grabbed up several boxes of maxi-pads and tampons, shoving them into the already-full interior of her pack before cinching the straps tight.

“Men never remember to get all the items women need,” she muttered to herself as she crept to the back of the store cautiously, on the lookout for the undead or anyone else that might be lurking there. She had her pistol on her belt, but what she held in her hand, directed before her, was a large machete she had learned to use very well in the preceding weeks. In the darkened interior of the store, she was more worried about the undead than the savages who were roaming the streets shooting everything in sight. She sniffed cautiously ... and yes, the undead were here.

Letting her eyes adjust to the gloom, she spotted the creature standing motionless between two racks against the wall. After carefully examining the rest of the back, it was apparent there was only one of the undead creatures. Slowly a grin split her face as she raised the machete high overhead. She moved a step closer and yes! its face instantly turned in her direction. It was all the distraction she needed as she swung downward with all her might, just as it tried to rush her. "Too late for you", she muttered under her breath as she felt the shock of the sharp edge cleaving the skull in half travel up her arms and across her shoulders. As the creature dropped to the ground, really dead this time, one of its hands grasped the rack next to it. With a huge crash, the metal shelving unit fell to the ground alongside the zombie’s prone form, causing Janet to jump quickly to avoid being squashed.

"Damnit to hell!" she hissed as she stepped on what remained of its head in order to yank her blade out. She knew sound traveled, and that loud crash had probably traveled quite a distance, even from within the confines of the closed store. Then the back door was right in front of her and she quickly shoved it open, stepping out.

Blinking rapidly to readjust her eyes to the bright sunlight, she felt a strong hand grasp the wrist holding the machete and her heart completely sank into the pit of her stomach. Oh double damn it to hell, she thought as a grinning male face with a scraggly beard pulled her closer. Instinctively she snapped her knee up in an attempt to pulverize his manhood, but he was too quick and had already blocked it, anticipating her move. He then twisted her to the side and slammed her against the concrete back of the store, causing her to grunt as the pain hit her shoulder blades, head, and lower back.

"Well what have we caught here?" he laughed in her face as she tried to recoil from the putrid smell of his breath. Oh my God, doesn’t he even bother brushing his teeth once in a while? she thought as his breath washed over her.

"Let me go," she hissed at him as she desperately tried to draw her pistol from her belt, only to feel another hand grab that wrist, pulling it to the side, while removing the pistol from her hand. With shock she saw another man. Equally dirty, with crooked teeth framed in a face surrounded by matted hair, and grinning at her. She shuddered and tried to kick, only to have both of her captors kick back quicker, their booted feet painfully pounding into her shins.

"Oh, I don't think so, lovely thing. In fact I think it will be a long time before we let you go," grinned the first as he replied to her demands for freedom. "Hold her, Mikey, and let's see what she's hiding.” With that comment, a rough hand was being thrust up her sweatshirt to grab her breasts painfully and twist them. Oh shit, she thought in desperation, this is so unfair. As strong as she had thought she was, she was no match for these two men. They had obviously done this before, and countered her every move to break free.

"Oh, very nice and firm. Check them out, Mikey." The first guy appeared to be having way too much fun, and now was loosening her belt one-handed. Her heart sank further as his partner’s hand pulled her t-shirt out and roamed upward, exploring, then reversed course and dug into her loosened pants as she tried to melt into the concrete surface behind her.

"Spit and Ned, you’re gonna have to wait for sloppy fourths, because this girl is so damn fine we're gonna have seconds before we give her to you." Spoke Mikey for the first time as his fingers painfully dug into her womanhood. Behind him, she saw two more men equally dirty and unshaven and shuddered. Jesus Christ, how many were there?

"No!" This time she screamed as she felt her sex savagely mauled by rough fingers; tears sprang to her eyes when she fully realized the depths of her helplessness. She started crying and swearing at the same time but it did no good, as Janet felt herself dragged to a stack of nearby wooden pallets and quickly tied to their surface. Rape seemed inevitable, and she turned her tear-streaked face sideways as she felt her jeans and panties yanked downward to cluster around her ankles, exposing her sex, then felt her thighs roughly spread wide against her will. She clenched her eyes shut as she felt the first unknown man push between her legs and tried to brace herself when ...

"You heard the lady. No means no!" It was a low, deep voice, filled with anger, and Janet's eyes snapped open. He was tall, mid-fifties with a neat grey beard, dressed in jeans and a brown coat. The long, bolt-action rifle he held in his right hand was angled upward at the four men while his left hand rested on a pistol secured in a holster against his leg.

"Leave off, old man. We'll get to you in a minute. Right now we're having fun," spoke the nameless one between her thighs. She could feel his bare skin against hers and shivered, looking in desperation at the stranger.

"Help me, please," she whispered. His face turned briefly to hers and she saw him give a small smile and nod before shifting his attention back to the men before him.

"I will give you to the count of three to release her and leave this city. You are not wanted here, and you've outstayed your welcome. I would advise you to take that grace I am granting you, as I will not repeat myself. Now let the lady go!" The last was growled, and the man's right hand twitched as the gun focused on the closest to him. She could see he held it tightly and that his finger was on the trigger, yet he still hadn't fired. What in hell is he waiting for? she thought.

"Fuck you, old man," shouted one of the savages as he brought his own rifle up. Belatedly she realized it was an AR-15 variant, and her heart sank even as wild hope had blossomed within her moments before. Then a thunderous roar hit her eardrums as the stranger’s rifle fired, and the man closest to him fell to the ground, twitching. She couldn’t see where he had been hit but she could hear his rifle skittering across the pavement as the remaining three reached for their weapons.

She wasn't sure how he did it one-handed but another roar sounded, a round obviously having already been made ready, and the nameless one between her legs went limp as his dead body fell on top of her. God damn it, she thought at the splash of blood and brains that suddenly coated her upper body, but this time she saw the hole between his eyes, right through the bridge of his nose, and the bulging effect a round passing through the back of the skull had caused. She felt a brief satisfaction that at least this asshole would not hurt another woman again. Then everything sped up as the stranger took two steps forward, the rifle in both hands, butt stroking the next closest and a heavy boot coming up almost simultaneously to hit the last directly in the stomach. Both men went down and the stranger was standing over them. This time Janet saw him operate the bolt-action in a lightning-quick move. Impressive, was her only thought as he kicked the second-to-remaining dirtbag again and then moved sideways in her direction while speaking to the both remaining would-be rapists.

"If you two move, you're dead. If you try to speak, you're dead. I would advise against it." Then his left hand was reaching out, a clasp knife open and clenched in its grip, and the ropes binding her wrists were suddenly cut. Both of the other men were huddled on the ground, staying quiet and not moving, she saw as she slowly tried to sit up while simultaneously covering her naked form with her arms. The stranger’s hand moved to her again, and this time the knife was gone and his open palm was stretched forward, inviting her to clasp it. She grasped the proffered hand and was helped to a sitting position as her head swam. She then looked downward and saw the first man he had shot. He also had a bullet hole between the eyes, with a small trickle of blood welling up from its opening and a much larger spreading pool beneath him.

"Thank you. I don't know where you came from but thank you!" Janet was suddenly crying, her shoulders heaving as a flood of unstoppable tears sprang forth. She hated being all girly, but what she had just been through was as real as it gets and she had just known she was going to be gang-raped then taken back to their camp for even more others. She was still trying to come to grips at being mysteriously saved, and she felt the stranger’s hand touch her shoulder gently. Her body instinctively withdrew from the touch and he pulled it back, nodding at her. She knew she would need some time before allowing another man to touch her. He smiled kindly at her, keeping his distance, and for that he had her eternal thanks as he finally spoke again, addressing her.

"The name is Reaper and I was happy to intervene. I heard your cries for help and came seeking. I'll see you back to wherever you consider safe after I deal with these minions of Satan." With that he turned from her and she saw the kindness leave his eyes. A chill instantly ran down her spine upon seeing the coldness and death suddenly appearing within their depths, causing her to shiver involuntarily. She remembered muttering that her name was Janet but did not know if this savior of hers heard or not, as his gaze was focused elsewhere. Looking down at the two men before him, the Reaper spoke in a low growl.

"You have been found wanting in the eyes of the Lord. I will give you a minute to make your peace with the Almighty."

"Screw your God!" shouted the first man, the one who had been butt-stroked, and Janet saw him attempt to struggle to his feet, a large bruise forming on his cheek and chin. Instantly the big rifle roared again, and in a fraction of a second the Reaper had chambered a new round, the large bore of his rifle centered on the face of the remaining savage. The Reaper neither smiled nor frowned, as he was Death Incarnate. Janet didn't bother looking at the one who had fallen, for she knew that if she did, she’d see a hole between the dead man's eyes. She shivered again at the deadliness of this man who had saved her, and struggled to pull her panties and jeans up, then cinched her belt tight against the chill. A quick grab and her automatic was in her shaking hand, as the last dirtbag spoke.

"Please don't kill me," begged the remaining man. He was crying and holding pleading hands up to both the Reaper and Janet. She shuddered and backed away. The Reaper never even glanced at her as he spoke.

"Did you make your peace with God?"

"No, I don't know how! Show me how!"

"Unfortunate!" The words were said without emotion.

"Wait! It wasn’t my fault! She asked for it. Ask her!"

Janet shook her head vehemently, drawing the sudden motion briefly drawing the Reaper's eyes to her, and in that moment the last scum drew a hidden weapon from the small of his back. Janet's eyes widened as she automatically raised her automatic in suddenly firm hands, and without conscious thought squeezed the trigger, putting an identical third eye in the last would-be rapist.

The man who called himself the Reaper looked down at the body, then up at Janet, smiling.

"Nice shot. Let me get you back to where you were staying. It's not safe out here with the Godless roaming the streets. Those shots will bring them running, so we'd better hurry."

Janet still held her pistol, and was now pointing it at the Reaper.

"Thanks for the rescue, but I can find my own way. I'll try to return the favor someday," she replied as she edged sideways to pick up her pack, still wary of the stranger.

"I don't think so. I need to talk to your group. There is work here that needs doing." He paused as her finger tightened on the trigger. "I mean you no harm."

"I think you should just leave." Her courage was slowly coming back and she hissed her last words.

"I told you that I cannot. I must speak with your group. There is an evil presence in this city and we need to stop it. We must band together to take care of these marauders that are killing innocent people. Either you allow me to accompany you, or I will simply proceed to your group's last known location, which was shown to me by other survivors. But talk to your group I will."

Janet sighed and nodded. Well, so much for trying to get rid of him, she thought. She was dirty, sore, and covered in bruises from her near-escape, and only wanted the safety of their sanctuary.

*****

Chapter 7

Jason grunted at Janet as she instructed him to follow and then led a circuitous route behind buildings and down narrow streets. A few of the undead tried to block their path, but he quickly dispatched them with his machete. Janet appeared shaken and her reactions were off, so the Reaper quickly took lead and travelled where she pointed. He needed to talk to this group, and he and Janet needed to get off the streets for a bit as racing engines, followed by gunshots, sounded in the distance. The bodies had been discovered and the two of them were being hunted.

"In here," Janet spoke softly as they neared what appeared to be a small professional office complex. A door stood before them and as he reached for the handle, Janet quickly moved in front of him. The Reaper paused as her small hand reached out to gently touch his chest, then withdrew. He could see she was working through something, but she looked up at him with piercing blue eyes and said, "Thank you again for saving me, but please don't hurt my friends. I'm trusting you, Reaper, and it goes against everything I've learned in the last month and more." She sighed as if considering whether to add to her statement, and then continued. "There is also a man inside, by the name of Bill. Don't be surprised if he's a little protective around me."

"You have my word," the Reaper solemnly replied, and they exchanged nods. With that, she grasped the handle and turned it, only to have the door fly open and the muzzle of a pistol held tightly in the fist of a wild-looking young man shoved straight at the Reaper’s face. Jason saw his finger tightening on the trigger as the man shouted, "Get down Janet!"

Instantly the Reaper was moving. The only solution here was direct action as the situation was spiraling rapidly out of control, and Jason did not hesitate. Twisting sideways while rotating his body to the right, he reached up with his left hand, grasping the extended hand and weapon while rotating his grip counter-clockwise and backwards in a sharp movement. This pointed the gun almost straight up as the figure before him yelled out in pain, going to his knees in an attempt to relieve the pressure on stressed joints. A little more pressure and Jason could easily have broken the wrist or dislocated the shoulder, but remembering Janet's words he refrained from such actions and contented himself with pulling the gun free with his right hand. Quickly he set the safety and held it out to Janet butt first. Idly he noticed it was a Ruger LCP .380 and briefly wondered why this man would be carrying a weapon normally reserved for women, then internally shrugged. New world and all that. Now he stilled his body and waited, watched, and listened, once again.

"Freaking stand down, Bill!" Janet's voice was low and angry as she grabbed the outstretched gun from the Reaper while imposing her body between them; the other man slowly got to his feet, cradling his hand. "He saved my life, jackass. Those savages caught me and he saved me. So just grow up a little and deal with it, and put this damn thing away!" Even more angrily, she shoved him, and the Reaper watched with amusement as he stumbled backwards, obviously dismayed at her anger, and then slowly reached out to take the proffered weapon.

"Hey baby, calm down. I didn't know. I'm cool," Bill said as he thrust the pistol behind his belt. He was young, younger than Janet, and still had his share of pimples. The Reaper at first wondered what this girl saw in a male, barely a man when she was so much older, then realized the feelings only went one way.

"Don't call me baby. I already told you that a hundred times." The Reaper saw that Janet was getting angrier by the second as her fist lashed out to punch Bill in the chest. Her shock had worn off, and it was obvious that her adrenaline had kicked into high gear. After what she had told him, the Reaper watched in amusement as Bill continued backing up into the interior. As Jason followed Janet inside, he turned, closing the door behind them, and the room descended into sudden gloom.

"Man, Janet. It's only an expression. Sorry. Everyone is here. We were just getting ready to go out looking for you." Behind Bill, five other men stood with weapons ready, but none were pointed directly at the Reaper. Behind those five stood an indeterminate number of women. All had weapons and looked determined. The Reaper liked what he saw, but seeing the hunched shoulders of the woman before him, and having an inkling of what she was going through, again reached out to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. This time she did not shrug it off or shy away from the touch.

"Well, you would have been too late. Yeah I made a mistake going out by myself, and should have waited, but if not for the Reaper here I would have been another sex slave for those assholes." This last part was hissed, and her hand instinctively reached upward and touched Jason's lightly, seeking reassurance. The Reaper mildly noted that Bill’s expression had immediately changed to one of anger as he witnessed her subconscious act, and squeezed her hand softly before pulling his own back.

As the others sized him up, Janet's story came out along with the Reaper’s role in saving her life. There was heavy skepticism amongst the others at first, but Janet's vehement attitude and no-nonsense demeanor showed the Reaper that she would not have any lasting effects from her encounter. Her execution of the last of the would-be rapists was a Godsend, and that he considered a good sign. Her fiery account soon had the others nodding and smiling in return as they gazed at the Reaper, who grunted, for this little spitfire girl reminded him of someone he had saved recently, but again he shrugged those thoughts off as one of the men finally stepped forward, hand outstretched. The Reaper shook the strong grip with one of his own and listened as the man spoke.

"Thank you for saving Janet, Reaper. My name is Scott, and you’re welcome here. Please come to the back, have a seat, and tell us about yourself." He led the way as Janet grabbed the Reaper’s arm and pulled him along.

*****

"So that's where we stand. We would love to help, but we're not trained professionals," Scott said as he finished recounting their group's adventures. For the last forty-five minutes, Scott had filled Jason in on their adventures. Some from Paris, and others that had drifted in needing sactuary, and in return the Reaper had told the small group of the outside world, and the happenings in Paris, Missouri, of which they were not aware. They were dismayed, but like both other groups considered themselves too small to make a difference, or even take a direct hand. Jason knew better and intended to prove it. First, though, he had to get in contact with the remaining two groups outside the influence of the marauders. He needed to know their numbers first before a plan could be put into motion.

"I understand, but these minions of the Devil will not go away and they'll find you sooner than later. You are on borrowed time."

"Well, we might have to relocate then. Jason, we are only six men and a dozen and a half women, along with more children than you would believe. Only two of the men and one of the women are ex-military. We don't have the resources you need to clean this group out."

"I understand. Let me talk to the last two groups who have been identified to me, and I will get back to you. Remember, Scott. The Lord brought us together for a reason. An evil presence here, in this city, needs to be put down. God would not have started us on this mission if we were not enough, or if we did not have the strength to succeed." The Reaper's last words were said with the strong passion of belief, and the others appeared taken aback at his vehemence.

The Reaper now stood at the back door of the office complex, one of the men having shown him the hidden way out. As he prepared to leave, Janet approached him.

"Reaper." The words were said softly and she held her hands out to him. Slowly he reached out to grasp them in his own rougher hands while holding them gently. Her blue eyes were large as she gazed up into his face, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss the side of his cheek beneath its beard. He smiled down at her as she spoke.

"Thank you again for saving my life. Maybe someday I can repay the favor." Her voice faltered as she looked down, and then continued in the same soft voice. "I always thought I was one tough bitch and more clever than most. Today was a rude awakening." She sighed heavily and started to speak again, but the Reaper hushed her. His mind traveled back in time to his family, and then forward to the girl Shannon he had saved in Ohio, who had voiced similar sentiments. It was a new world full of evil, and only the smartest and best organized would survive.

"Janet. I lost my entire family barely a month ago. It will be some time before I can, if ever, come to true grips with that. I know they are waiting for me in heaven, but the Lord has given me a mission to fulfill. Take your time and heal. Someday you'll be ready to take on the world, and if not Bill, then someone else will help fill your life. Now, I must leave. It's afternoon already and I have two other groups to visit, and a recon to do tonight." She nodded slowly as he released her, and after checking to make sure no one was within sight, the Reaper disappeared through the door.

Again in the distance he could hear engines, and he knew the marauders were still looking for whomever had killed some of their number again. His eyes traveled back and forth continuously as he approached each corner and, with the instincts of a predator, he took advantage of all available cover.

There! One of the Godless undead was sitting down next to a dumpster with slumped head and shoulders. The spawn of Satan was playing dead for anyone unwary enough to come close, but the Reaper was not fooled. The lack of incapacitating wounds to its head or neck told Jason the undead thing was playing possum. This creature was still very much able to devour the unwary, or anything that came within its reach, be it man or animal. Their cunning was deadly and unnatural. Anger once again burned brightly within the Reaper as he slowly unsheathed his machete after transferring the rifle to his left hand. A quick step, a boot scuff, and the spawn of Satan was lurching to its feet but far too late, as the machete descended to cleave through the desiccated muscle and bone of its neck. Eyeing his latest kill, the Reaper wiped the blade off on clothing torn and ragged before sheathing it and continuing down the narrow street on his quest.

Two intersections later, he pulled the map out to examine it. He had narrowly avoided being spotted by the marauders moments before. Only by leaping into the interior of a plundered store did he escape detection. While Jason was without fear, as his belief in God's divine will was strong, he also knew the Lord most helped those who helped themselves, and that included the basic stealth procedure of movement within enemy territory. It was surely luck that none of Satan's hellions were residing inside the store’s gloomy interior, and now the Reaper glanced at his watch, seeing that it was almost 4 p.m., and let his finger slide forward to the next circle. Almost there, he thought.

*****

Twenty minutes later, Jason was heading to the last location. He had found the third group. They had been easy to find. Unfortunately they were all dead, having been found first by the marauders and murdered. Jason had laid the two older adults and three small children side-by-side in the living room of their home before setting it afire, for the least he could do was send their ashes to heaven. He wiped away the tears that had sprung forth as he closed the little ones’ eyes. Oh, yes, the Lord was definitely telling him to complete this mission.

*****

Scott turned to Ralph and asked, "So what do you think?"

"About what, exactly?" Ralph responded, his gaze never wavering from the window he was monitoring.

"About what the Reaper said."

"Up to you, man. You're our leader."

"I want your damn opinion, Ralph!"

Ralph sighed as he shifted sideways to get a better look out the front window across from the empty room before them. The group was in the back of the office complex, hidden, and those rooms facing the streets were only occupied by guards.

"He has a point."

"We aren't enough, man."

"Maybe if we all stick together we'll make a difference."

"How can you say that? We have women and children to protect."

"All these women are tough or they wouldn't be alive. In the right circumstances I can see it working."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay, we'll see what happens then.”

Janet walked up to them at that moment. It was obvious she had changed clothing and cleaned up. Scott hadn't wanted to mention it to her, but the bits of what looked like brain fragments stuck to her forehead and neck had been a bit disconcerting. She crouched behind them as they gazed through the doorway into the vacant room, and remained silent for several minutes before speaking.

"So what do you think?" she asked.

"About what?" both men responded. Neither looked at the other, as it was a logical question, but both turned and looked at Janet briefly before turning back to their guard duties.

"About what the Reaper said?" she ground out while looking at both of them.

This time Scott and Ralph did look at each other, grinning. Scott took a moment before responding.

"Ralph and I talked. What he says has possibilities, but only that. Wait and see, Janet."

"They’re raping and killing us!" she exclaimed passionately.

"Not our group," Scott responded.

"Fucking men," she muttered under her breath as she rose to her feet and walked away. Scott and Ralph glanced at each other again and shrugged before turning their attention back to the windows.

*****

Chapter 8

Dodging between buildings, the Reaper crouched behind a dumpster as a truck loaded with gun-toting marauders drove past down the street he had been travelling. He was almost to the last location, and between the buildings, he could see a large industrial complex in the distance. Only a few hundred yards to go, but the marauders were out in force.

The Reaper rose as the engine sounds died in the distance, and headed south up the narrow corridor, away from the city. He was in another commercial district, and buildings loomed tall on both sides, along with assorted trash containers and debris of every sort scattered across the concrete. With a watchful eye, he kept a lookout for any of Hell's minions as he rounded a corner.

There they were, and too close to draw his machete. The Reaper backpedaled as he brought the fiberglass stock of his service weapon around in a butt stroke, taking the first zombie across the face. Then he stepped into the space provided, swiveled while crouching slightly to avoid the second undead, and whipped his rifle upward, connected with the chin and watching as it fell backward. The Reaper did not want to fire a shot this close to the last group, so as the second zombie fell, he fell with it, his knee coming down on its chest and the Remington 700 raised overhead, only to drive it downward in a powerful stroke of ultimate death as the skull splintered beneath it.

One down, one to go. He was already diving over the truly dead thing as the first came at him again. Jason didn't hesitate as his leg swiped sideways to knock its feet out from under it. Then he rolled over again, cradling the rifle as he did so, before raising it and with another hard thrust ending the undead life under him. Quickly he rose to his feet, barely winded. Satan's spawn really were not that hard to kill if you knew what you were doing. With detachment, he gazed down at the bodies. Both appeared to be middle-aged, of similar builds, obviously man and woman, and the Reaper wondered if they had once been man and wife. Shrugging at the irrelevancy of the thought, he continued towards the warehouses.

As he neared, he slowed and kept to cover, then stopped beside a truck and peered across the vast expanse of asphalt at the buildings a hundred yards distant. Figures were moving around the buildings, and quickly lifting his binoculars he dialed in and observed the activity.

Interesting, he thought, as he slowly panned the premises; he saw more soldiers, some civilians, and even a few children who ran out of a door before being herded back in by a female chaperone. The Reaper witnessed it all and grinned. This scene did indeed look familiar.

Pocketing his binoculars he started running, dodging around cars and container trucks until he neared the easternmost entrance. He slowed to a walk, propping his rifle once again against his shoulder and then stopped, for he could hear sounds coming from within. He shook his head and, seeing a stack of pallets off to one side of the entrance, slung his rifle and started stacking then in the center of the foremost bay. Soon he had a stack of six, high enough to sit comfortably, and propping his rifle against the side of the wooden stack he pulled his ruck around and quickly dug down to the bottom. There in a secret Velcro compartment were documents and he withdrew the top two packets. These he opened quickly, for the sounds from behind the bay door before him were becoming more urgent, and he heard the clatter of main guns charging.

The Reaper grinned as he relaxed with the papers in hand, and watched as the sheet metal door rolled upward. Two M-ATVs greeted him, guns pointed, along with four soldiers arrayed alongside them. They stared at him in surprise while wildly looking around.

"Do you men realize how loud you are when you're getting ready?" he spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "You should work on that."

*****

Rodriguez turned away from the window after watching the pillar of rising smoke for several minutes, his fingers drummed softly on the stair railing beside him as he thought about their current situation. They were in a no-win situation. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, yet here they were. A large gang that vastly outnumbered their own experienced fighters were right at the brink of attacking them. Rodriguez knew this, just as surely as he knew the sun rose in the east and settled in the west.

Shifting around to continue watching out the narrow window on the second floor of the industrial complex they were hiding in, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth to his second-in-command, Staff Sergeant Brian Schuster.

"Shue, if those jack wipes are burning down the city we'll need to relocate, and quickly. I want you to take two men out the back and scout for any large facilities to our south at least ten miles away. If you can make it back tonight, great; if not, hole up somewhere safe after radioing us. Take one of the Humvees. Those cabron will attack us sooner or later, probably sooner and this worries me, so be careful and don't take any chances."

"Got it, Sergeant. I'll take two men and leave now while we still have a few hours of daylight left," the man beside him responded. Both were wearing camouflage fatigues, just as both wore their hair short. Assault vests adorned their forms, and the M4A1 carbine in its three-point sling rested across their chests. This, along with the similar physiques of average husky males completed the picture of combat-ready soldiers.

"What's going on, Dennis?" The soft, inquiring female voice behind Rodriguez caused him to turn around quickly and smile.

"Hey hey, Nance. Nothing really. Just doing a recon in case we need to move."

"Why would we need to move? We have wounded and we've just finished gathering enough supplies for the winter," she said. Nance, or Nancy, was a nurse and a damn good one. Formerly an employee of the Surgical Center of Northcentral in Moberly, Missouri, she had been lead surgical nurse when the shit hit the fan. Almost twenty years of experience helping and assisting other surgeons had turned her into a great field doctor. Though somewhat out of her element, she had excelled when push came to shove and had saved a great many lives. Right now, she sounded worried and scared. Dennis smiled brighter as he reached out to pull her close and hug her with a hug that was returned. She may have been forty-five but she looked thirty-five with her brown hair, green eyes, and curvy figure. Since the day the world ended and they had barely escaped Moberly with their lives, he and Nance had grown close ... very close.

"Hey hey, baby. Don't worry. I'm just covering all the bases." Rodriguez smiled at her as he spoke, using his signature catchphrase of hey, hey which often put people at ease.

"Have you heard anything on your radio?"

Rodriguez grinned as his Nance referred to their state-of-the-art VRC-104 military radio developed by Harris Communications. Originally new equipment in M-ATVs, they had quickly become the choice communication between extended units without access to satellite. Using High Frequency, it could and did bounce signals off the ionosphere, allowing for secure communications between long-range outposts or positions. It was currently in all of the M-ATVs, and he was thankful to have them.

"No, chica. There has been nothing in over a week except for the daily help broadcasts out of Newaygo and a few lone stations here and there. Nobody is talking much, or it's all encrypted. Something is happening and I don't like it. I really wish I knew more."

"You will eventually. Don't worry, lover," Nance said as she leaned forward to kiss him softly. Rodriguez was in uniform, but regulations had been relaxed, for it was the apocalypse after all. "Hey, who is that?" she asked. Startled, Dennis's gaze followed her pointing finger and was just in time to observe a figure running across the parking lot, dodging between cars and disappearing near the front of their building. The figure was older, wearing a brown coat, and carrying a rifle that looked vaguely familiar, even from this distance.

"Fuck. It has to be them. They've come back. Nance, I need you to keep the others quiet while I prepare for an assault. Tell the leads to run through the buildings, taking the noncombatants to the back." She nodded and took off running in one direction, Rodriguez in the other.

"Saddle up!" Rodriguez shouted as he ran full-tilt into their squad room. Eight of his men were there, along with more than twenty male civilians. "I want all four M-ATVs readied. We have incoming." Everyone scrambled, for this was not a game, and life and death situations had a way of increasing response time and performance. Dramatically ...

The M-ATV was a small armored fighting vehicle—much better armored than a Humvee, but nowhere near that of a Stryker, yet contained many of the same mounted weapons. These had been assigned to them when the shit hit the fan and his unit was deployed.

"What's the situation, Sergeant?" Private First Class Smith asked as he ran up. PFC Smith was a remote gunner for the M-ATVs, and after recent history was very good at that job.

"No idea yet, Smith, an unknown and probable hostile force attempting infiltration. You know who it is," answered Rodriguez. Smith nodded and ran to his designated vehicle. They were too low on ammunition and barrels; however, the refugees they were protecting were more important than their own lives. Rodriguez cursed for having sent Schuster on a recon, wondering if he could radio him back as he could not have gotten far, and then shrugged. They would make do with what they had. He called out four names, all civilians: those they had been training to drive the M-ATVs for situations such as this.

"Jim, Saul, Bruce and Keyes. Get your asses in your M-ATV's now!" The four were already running to the armored vehicles as Rodriguez turned to those of his men still clustered around him. "You three, on me. We'll spot the intruders and see how bad the attack is. I'll take point and do all the talking if we can hope for that! The rest of you get in your vehicles and be ready to pour fire."

Rodriguez ran to the cargo opening and signaled Smith to get ready with the chain hoist while swiveling his M4 in its sling, bringing the stock to his shoulder and crouching, his two men arrayed, one to each side, and then nodded at Smith.

With a hard jerk the chain was pulled down and the door flew upward, while Rodriguez crouched lower as his finger tightened on the trigger, scanning for threats. Then he paused, perplexed. Before them, an older man with a military haircut but a full, neatly trimmed, iron-grey beard was sitting on a stack of wooden crates he had obviously dragged into position. A rifle was propped against the side of his impromptu seat, and he was chewing on what looked like jerky, an ironic smile on his face as he held a sheaf of papers in one hand.

"Do you men realize how loud you are when you're getting ready?" he spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "You should work on that."

Rodriguez's gaze scanned wildly in every possible direction, then, seeing no one, he approached the stranger. The rifle he recognized as a sniper’s tool of trade, an M40A1, yet slightly different.
Modified, he guessed as he continued to appraise the situation.

"Name!" he demanded.

The stranger looked at him, turned his head sideways to spit out the remnants of jerky, and standing, said, "Captain Jason Scott, detached United States Marine Corps Infantry to Army Intelligence, but you can call me Reaper. Who would you be, Platoon Sergeant?"

If his jaw could have hit the floor, it would have, as Rodriguez first felt relief hit him like a sledgehammer, then apprehension as he stared at the man before him—the man who was now pulling a utility cap over his head with embroidered captain’s bars impressed on the front, and directly faced Rodriguez ...waiting.

"Orders and proof!" Rodriguez snapped.

The Reaper handed over two sets of documents and waited patiently as Dennis read them slowly.

Rodriguez was impressed by the signatures and seals embossed on the commission along with the orders themselves, even though he did not recognize the names, then reluctantly snapped to attention while saluting. "Sergeant Rodriguez, acting NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge), of what's left of Charlie Company, 143rd
Transportation Battalion, detached to Moberly for riot control."

"This isn't Moberly, Sergeant," responded the Reaper, returning the salute.

"Granted, sir. It's a long story. Let's get inside." The Reaper nodded, picked up his rifle and ruck, then followed the man inside. "I'll want more proof," Rodriguez murmured, still very much suspicious. The Reaper nodded again.

*****

Chapter 9

Jason resealed his commission and orders in their plastic pouch, then quickly hid them beneath the small flap at the bottom of his ruck. Other documents were there also, that listed codes, frequencies, and locations of staging areas. The codes and frequencies he kept out. The locations he kept hidden. Then he turned to Rodriguez, who stood near him with a small woman by his side. Both of them obviously connected.

"Do you have any questions or concerns?" the Reaper inquired.

"Sir, I don't recognize any of the names on your commission or your orders. Granted, I'm only a sergeant, but I can't gamble the safety of the people under my care on the word of a stranger, however legitimate he appears. Those papers look official, and the words are right, and I don't wish to be disrespectful, but I'm going to need more proof."

The Reaper nodded again. "I don't blame you, and that proof will be arranged shortly. However, will you provisionally accept that I'm legitimate until proven otherwise and without taking undue risks?"

"Yes, sir. That we can do. But ... Ahh ... look, sir. Do you need hot water and a razor for that beard?"

Jason pondered his words for a moment, then reached up and stroked the coarse hairs before responding.

"No. Because Emma likes it."

"Emma?"

"As long as you're provisionally accepting my authority, I want to be brought up to date as we have work to do," the Reaper said, ignored Rodriguez's last question.

"What work to do, sir?"

Jason saw that Rodriguez was already scowling and raised a hand.

"Relax, Sergeant. Everything will be clear shortly."

Rodriguez looked at him warily before continuing.

"Yes, Sir! Well you wanted to hear our story, so here's what happened." With that, Rodriguez explained to the Reaper all they had been through, while the Reaper nodded. Finishing, he shrugged and said, "I have a three-man team out now scouting to the south for a safer place. I know those assholes will come for us sooner or later, it's only a matter of time."

"Agreed, Sergeant. What were your plans?"

"Were, sir? We'll find a better, safer place, away from these guys."

"There is no better and safer place, Rodriguez. Evil is all around us, and while you may not appreciate the metaphor, this does not lessen the fact that they are true.”

"Yes, sir, I understand, but it's not as simple as that." Rodriguez groaned inwardly. The fact was that he really had no plan and had no idea where to go. This captain was complicating things.

"It is exactly that simple, Sergeant. We will stand, and we will prevail."

"Sir? How in the hell can you say that, already knowing what you do of this situation?" Rodriguez was getting angry. This man, who called himself the Reaper, was so sure, so adamant that they could make a difference with almost no resources, no support, and almost no munitions. The whole scenario was unbelievable and defied everything he had learned in his long life. He paused as the captain again held up a calming hand.

"Calm down, Sergeant. Everything will be clear if we have communications. Do you have long-range communications capabilities? I would assume the M-ATVs have such."

"Ahh, yes sir, we do have the Harris in the M-ATVs, and standard field radios."

The Reaper turned to him slowly. "A Harris VRC-104?" The Reaper knew of, and had used Harris radios, because they were standard equipment in most of the Strykers in Newaygo. The VRC-104 was an extremely versatile piece of high-tech communications equipment. It transmitted and received in standard HF (High Frequency) and VHF-FM (Very High Frequency - FM band), and it could access SW (Shortwave) channels. It could bounce a signal for well over a thousand miles, given the right conditions.

"Yes sir."

"That's the first bit of good news you've told me so far, other than being able to save so many survivors."

"Sir, there has been little chatter in over a week. Everything's encrypted now, and nobody is answering our calls."

"They will answer mine, Sergeant, now where are you at on munitions?"

"I'd rather not say, sir."

"So almost out, is what you're not saying, Rodriguez?"

"OK, fine then. Low, sir, in fact, very low. I'm really worried about that, and while we made a run on the local gun shop, it was already emptied." While gritting his teeth, Rodriguez informed this officer just how low they were on ammunition for their weapons.

"Call the men back that you sent on scout, and then we'll need to establish communications with Newaygo Command. You need support, and resupply, and we need more men.”

"Support and resupply, sir? More men?" Rodriguez was out of his depth. The Reaper was talking as if the shit hadn't hit the fan, as if everything was normal and you could just dial up supply for what you needed.

"You'll see, and this will also go quite a way in establishing my credentials," grunted Jason. . "I need one of your M-ATVs for comm, and we'll need to find a location outside on a hill nearby to get the range and azimuth." This, he addressed at the younger man, who quickly nodded.

"Alright. Follow me sir!" and with that, Rodriguez led the way to one of their M-ATVs after a brief consultation with his men, and opened the rear door for the Reaper to enter. Jason noticed that the woman, Nancy, had accompanied them and stopped before entering.

"Who is this?" he inquired as he indicated Nancy Kerrigon.

"Sir, she's our doctor and if there is the slightest chance we can get through, she wants to be here."

"I'm actually only a nurse." the older but beautiful woman shyly responded.

"NO! You're our..." and Rodriguez paused as the Reaper held up his hand, then addressed Nancy.

"Specialty?"

"Surgical nursing, over twenty years." She responded, and now lowered her head for she knew what was coming.

"So you've been their doctor for the last month," the Reaper responded in a gentle tone.

"Yes!" It was obvious she was surprised at the Reapers insight and nodded eagerly."

"She's saved over thirty people, Captain!" Rodriguez said vehemently as he tugged on her arm to pull her behind him.

"Fair enough, and I guessed as much." The Reaper suddenly nodded at her as he held his hand out. Nancy grasped his and they remained that way for some time before Jason responded. "Thank you for saving lives."

"You're welcome."

"We need to make contact, let's get going." Jason released her hand and entered the back compartment of the M-ATV while the others followed him.

Once inside, Rodriguez hit the toggle for interior lights and pointed at the communications device. The Reaper looked at him with a slight frown as every console was dark, and Rodriguez cringed, then reached forward to hit the electrical breakers activating the consoles. A man climbed in behind the steering wheel and immediately Rodriguez spoke to him.

"Keyes, take us out. Head south. Direct the others to follow us in support." he called out.

"Roger that, sir." The reply came from up front, the figure behind the wheel barely seen.

The Reaper grabbed an upper handhold and held on as the armored vehicle lurched forward, throwing them back in their seats, and looking through the side window saw the others echeloning out beside them. They were headed south, according to the position of the sun and were soon weaving around stands of trees; then a rise appeared ahead.

Minutes later, Jason felt the vehicle come to a stop. They had a clear, unobstructed view of the terrain around them, and were on a large hill. Not waiting for Rodriguez to tell him they were in position, the Reaper activated the secure shortwave transceiver before him.

Immediately the soft hum of electronics filled the air as the Reaper began making minute adjustments to its settings. After pulling the sheet of frequencies from his breast pocket and glancing at it, he punched in a frequency along with a code for the plugged-in scrambler. Silence still issued from the radio as the Reaper lifted the microphone and spoke. Beside him, Rodriguez was watching warily.

"Come in Newaygo Command. This is the Reaper." He glanced again at the paper before him and then said, "Code word Clarissa." He then pulled a handheld GPS unit from the breast of his jacket and turned it on.

Almost instantly, a male voice responded. "Newaygo Command receiving. Code word authenticated. Response is David, Mike, Alpha, confirm over."

The Reaper glanced at his sheet of codes and responded, "Authentication confirmed."

"You are
Go Reaper and the comm is yours."

"I need a drop. N39 28.85142 W92 0.07811. Location Paris Missouri. Marauders and slavers. I need men, equipment, and munitions. We're strapped and need support." The Reaper read the figures off the device in his hand as he spoke.

"Hold one, Reaper. Major Robinson is on his way and will want to talk to you."

Jason glanced up, and seeing Rodriguez in some form of shock, spoke. "We planned for this, Sergeant. I'm the advance. Is the picture becoming clearer?"

"But I don't understand. Why a captain by himself?" sputtered Dennis, bewildered. The simple fact that someone had immediately responded to the captain’s broadcast completely amazed him, and he could tell from the faintness of the signal and slight echo that it was coming from some distance away.

"Lack of staff mostly, young man. Besides. I work better on my own." There was a pause, then the Reaper finished his sentence. "Less complicated."

"I see. Ahhh ..." then he was interrupted as Newaygo Command came over the radio.

"Stand by for Major Robinson, Reaper."

"Copy that," intoned Jason.

"Reaper! Damn glad to hear from you. How's it going on your end? I understand you have a bit of a problem."

The Reaper growled, "I need men and supplies to take care of a situation."

"Done, but first, protocol. We're currently in almost total blackout. You know why. Only authenticated communications will receive a response. So don't lose that list."

"Roger that, Major. How's it look for us?"

"Well, we can't do it in Paris unless we drop. There is nothing immediately close to you for a landing. Mexico City is acceptable. How does that look from your end? Bear in mind I'm looking at the maps now." Jason swiveled his head to look at Rodriguez while raising an eyebrow. He kept the transmit button depressed as Dennis spoke so that Major Robinson could hear his response. The sergeant looked very apprehensive.

"Sir, lots of zombies. More than we can possibly clear," said Rodriguez.

"Well that settles that. Airdrop it is." The Reaper grunted at Robinson's words. One of the things he best liked about the major was that he was intuitive, and could make instant decisions.

"Reaper. Hold one for the Colonel, we'll talk again in a moment." With that the major’s voice disappeared to be replaced by another.

"Brother. You OK over there?" It was Jay, the governor of Michigan, and the Reaper’s only friend.

"Yeah, Jay. Dealing with the usual issues. How are things going on your end?"

"Well, same ol’ and all that, and we’re staging for Massachusetts. But I have warm regards to send your way from Travis and Shannon who are both doing well. Travis says to save a few for him." The Reaper grinned at those words. Yeah, that sounded just like Travis, he thought. Then a light hand touched his shoulder and he looked over to see Nancy, the doctor of this group, and she indicated she had something to say.

"We need medical supplies, or some won't make it. We suffered casualties leaving Moberly and I have four septics right now that are dying," she whispered. Jason nodded.

"We also need medical supplies for critically wounded, Jay," he spoke into the microphone again.

"No worries, brother. I'll have Rob arrange it," spoke the governor of Michigan.

"Everything else going OK on your end?"

A tired sigh sounded over the airwaves, then Jay's voice responded. "The usual, as I said, and we have some murders Fridaddy is sorting through, and of course our friends on the dark side keep sending operatives in. We're catching most but I'm quite sure not all."

"I get it. Keep up the good fight. The Lord is on your side."

"You bet, but wait. I have someone special here who wants to say hello."

Then a soft voice came over the shortwave, and it was obvious she was very young. "Papa J?"

Emma's sweet voice filled the airwaves, and immediately tears formed in the corner of Jason's eyes as he swallowed hard, a lump instantly forming in his throat. His mind went back to a month ago, finding his entire family including his darling granddaughters dead, and then rocking the little girls in his porch swing for hours ... crying. Then helping Newaygo make a stand against the evil spawn of Satan, and meeting their commander's daughter as she was stealing food from his plate at that first meeting. Emma. Sweet, tiny, two-year old Emma, who looked so much like his grandchild Heather who had been ripped from his life. Gathering Emma up in his arms had almost earned the Reaper a bullet in the head by Jay, her father, but from that time forward, he and Emma had become practically inseparable. Jason had vowed to visit her once a month as he was able. That hard lump in his throat was moving upward as hidden emotions welled forth; then he coughed and spoke.

"Hey sweety." The Reaper was leaning forward in order to hear every nuance of her voice.

"Come home, Papa J. I miss you."

"I miss you too sweetheart, but I can't. Emma, sweety, I will see you in a few weeks."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise, munchkin."

"Will you bring me a present?" Emma’s soft, sweet voice requested.

"You know I will, sweety. It will be a nice present."

"Ok, bye. Love you Papa J." Jason's heart caught in his throat again before he responded.

"I love you too munchkin." A giggle sounded, and then the cold stern voice of Newaygo's commander again filled the airwaves. Behind Jason, he could hear the others whispering, but paid them no attention.

"Glad Emma had a chance to talk to you, Jason. She misses you, and you are her godfather, after all."

"I miss her too, and I know."

"Then get your ass back here. You're needed."

"Jay, we had this conversation."

"Right. What you are doing is important, brother, and we will provide any support you need."

"Thank you."

"I'm handing you back to Rob. We have another infiltration going on that needs squashing, soonest. I need to get back out there, but Reaper, don't be a stranger!"

"Thanks, Jay."

Immediately, Major Robinson's voice filled the air, and the Reaper leaned forward once again.

"What do you need, Reaper, and what's the situation there?"

Quickly, Jason filled him in about the marauders, their actions, and the captives they held. Then he listed his own assets, that of the group he was currently with, and the other three near them. He then reiterated his need for munitions, supplies, medical, and men.

"Linked .50 and 7.62 we have in plenty, and I'll send that along with some unlinked. I assume 5.56, and will a tactical medical resupply be adequate?"

The Reaper quickly looked at Nancy, who, with wide eyes, nodded vehemently.

"Yes, and yes."

"I can loan you two teams from my 9th, it's all I can spare right now. But I want them back!"

"No problem there, Major. You'll get them back."

"We'll evac your most seriously wounded when they exfil (exfiltration or extraction), out of Mexico City, or whichever strip we decide on. The additional security will make it workable, if so."

"Got it."

"Anything else?"

"Demo. C4. I have a plan but I’ll brief the teams when on ground. Do you have any spare AT4s?" An individually-held, line-of-sight, light anti-armor missile, the AT4 was the perfect weapon against unarmored and even lightly armored vehicles. The Reaper knew they had stores of the AT4s in Newaygo, and counted on acquiring at least a few to help even the odds. The AT4 could also be used against hardened stationary targets, and if the marauders thought they could barricade themselves against attack, that weapon would easily create a new doorway or opening. The C4 he would use on the ground for improvised IEDs to the detriment of the enemy. Much of this was basic countermeasures that all military personnel learned in ITS (Infantry Training School), and there was no need to go into detail, for such things were understood.

"Plenty. We just raided the mother lode of supply depots, Reaper. We are full up on everything. I'll send a pallet, which will give you about forty. Is that enough?"

"Plenty!"

"Anything else?"

"Standard field comm and NVGs would help." NVGs, or Night Vision Goggles, were a handy piece of field equipment, and the Reaper already had thought of uses for them.

"Done, and already factored that in as we honestly have plenty; besides, you'll have my men. Hold on, I'm getting an estimate." A pause, then, "We are looking at real-time satellite now. Sheldon says the drop will occur tomorrow at 2300 Lima. Point to be the empty field south-southwest of your position 1500 meters out. Call sign is Blue One on frequency 134.156. Copy that?"

"Wait one, Newaygo." The Reaper turned to see the compartment was now very crowded with everyone staring at him in disbelief. Beside him, Rodriguez breathed, "Wow, and now I know who Emma is. Who is the 9th? Surely not the 9th Special Forces out of Fort Campbell."

"The same, Rodriguez. An understrength light battalion which joined Newaygo's forces. What about the drop location?"

"Sir, that's right behind us. We can be there inside two minutes."

The Reaper turned back to the transceiver. “Got it, Newaygo. We'll be there. Thanks!"

"We're all in this together, so no thanks are necessary. We need you Reaper, so quit being the lone avenger! Newaygo out," and the carrier wave went dead.

The Reaper turned off the communications equipment before turning to those assembled.

"Any questions?"

"No sir, but since we now know who Emma is, and you’d better find her a present," remarked Rodriguez. The nervous tension in the room dissolved into laughter, the Reaper taking the ribbing good-naturedly.

*****

Rodriguez sat down hard, his entire world turned upside down. This man, this captain who called himself the Reaper, was more than he could handle right now. If what he said, and what Dennis heard was true, they were good to go. They had quickly returned to the industrial complex and now the Reaper was looking at him. He pulled himself to attention and saluted.

"Don't salute me indoors. Marines don't do that," commented Jason dryly.

"I'm not a Marine, sir."

"Point made."

"They're really sending two teams of Special Forces here?" Rodriguez was still having trouble coming to grips with the enormity of the help they were about to receive.

"Two twelve-man teams, yes," responded the Reaper. Special Forces had five completely separate missions. This was right up the alley of direct action.

"Hell yes, sir!" and for the first time that day, Rodriguez smiled while hugging his Nance tightly.

The Reaper went on. "We have work to do. I need to do a recon tonight of this cemetery and I need your best man to go with me."

"That would be Staff Sergeant Schuster, my number two. He's former cav-scout, and was local reserves when called to active duty. He's on his way back now. I did as you asked and contacted him by field radio. He should be here shortly."

The Reaper nodded, and then growled, "Do you have area maps, Rodriguez? If so, bring them." The Reaper was no nonsense, and Rodriguez ran to get them.

Returning quickly, Rodriguez spread them out, then rotated the main topographic map so the Reaper would not have to view it upside down. Rodriguez was pointing with his finger, touching the heavy paper.

"We are here sir, and over here is where the drop would be." Two spots close to each other were indicated, and the Reaper nodded as he examined the map.

"And the marauders?"

"Over here, sir." Another spot was indicated and the Reaper removed a grease pencil from his pocket and circled the last location.

"Where is this Schuster?"

"Coming now, sir, he just arrived."

A medium-height camouflage-attired man ran up breathlessly and saluted Jason, who was no longer wearing his camouflage utility cap with its captain’s insignia, but Rodriguez was pointing at him.

"Staff Sergeant Schuster reporting, sir." The Reaper ignored the salute and indicated a spot on the map.

"Tonight we'll do a recon of this area. I want to start here," a point was touched on the map, "and circle around like this," a line was drawn in grease pencil, "then eventually circle their outer perimeter to the south. It will take most of the night. You up for it?" the Reaper inquired mildly as he watched the newcomer.

"Absolutely, sir, I've been wanting to do a thorough recon since we arrived. How many men did you want to take?" It was obvious that Schuster realized why the salute was not returned and gave it no thought.

"I was thinking just the two of us."

"Sir, with respect, I would recommend at least two more. We'll definitely run into zombies and they move in packs these days. They're like silent feral dogs, sir. We may also need support while in the field."

"I'm familiar with the tactics of the Godless, Schuster. Do you have two specifically in mind?"

"Yes sir. They're good."

"Accepted. Now let's plan the specifics."

With that, the Reaper and Schuster went over the map in finer detail, planning out the route they would take. Partway through their meeting, Jason turned to Schuster and said, "By the way, call me Reaper."

"Shue works for me, Reaper." Both men nodded to the other. Then Schuster continued as he pointed at the Reaper’s coat. "Since we're on first names here, I think you should swap out the carhartt for one of our spare camouflage jackets. This is a recon and that coat is not exactly invisible."

The Reaper glanced down at his signature brown Carhartt, covered in grease and old blood stains, yet still very much an orange-brown, before sighing. "You're right. I've been meaning to get around to that."

"Got you covered, Reaper." Shue was grinning as they turned their heads to the map again.

*****

Chapter 10

"Let's go," murmured the Reaper to Staff Sergeant Brian Schuster as he led the way. Brian turned to the two men behind them, Hamilton and Barber, both PFCs, and waved for them to follow. Schuster stayed at the Reaper’s side, yet slightly behind, as they silently crept forward. The moon was up and bright, but deep down in the forest, what little light filtered down made travel treacherous. The chief threat of course, was the zombies, and what Jason would not have given for a set of NVGs (night vision goggles).

Staff Sergeant Brian Schuster was thirty, born and raised in St. Louis, Missouri, and had joined the Army three days after his eighteenth birthday. After boot camp he had been assigned to the Infantry with the 1st Battalion, 32nd Infantry Regiment. There, he had spent years participating in various actions, while being assigned to various duty stations before transferring to the cav-scouts. Serving four tours with the scouts in the middle east had been exciting though dangerous and he had finally decided not to reenlist and instead transferred to the Active Reserves to keep the extra monthly paychecks coming. The flu epidemic and ensuing panic had caught all of them by surprise, but when called to active duty by Presidential Declaration he had reported for duty.

Headquarters had immediately split their supply battalion into smaller units, in an attempt to cover as many major and larger cities as possible. The men had drawn their ammunition and supplies, then immediately embarked for Moberly to quell the spreading riots. He was desperately worried about his parents, older sister, and younger brother he had left behind, and had been tempted to go AWOL more than a few times to see if they were still alive. He could only thank God that he had never married and had no children.

Then, Moberly, and the riots that were not really riots but actually zombies creating a spreading wave of panic. Their lieutenant had been one of the first to go down, and through two days of heavy fighting, while losing half their platoon, their remaining forces had managed to escape the city's boundaries with as many refugees as they could gather. Their destination was Paris, Missouri, and Schuster hoped to soon be able to take a short leave to check on his family back in St. Louis. Sergeant Rodriguez had assured him and those others with family in St. Louis that as soon as they had enough able defenders, those who wished could lead a small scouting mission into that city. Brian knew his family's chances of survival were slim, but still he had to know, if for no better reason than to have closure, and he had the skills to get in and out unseen.

Schuster did not know what to make of this man, this officer beside him. The commission and orders had looked official, but being told to call Captain Scott by the nickname Reaper was a bit unusual. Still, the son-of-a-bitch had some major recon skills and carried that sniper rifle as if it were an extension of his body. He could only hope the Reaper was as good with it as the signs indicated. After a brief, whispered conversation with Rodriguez, they'd decided to take the captain at his word, even though none of them had heard of the officers who'd signed the commission and orders. Still, nothing unusual, as Schuster had rarely recognized the names on many of his own orders over the years, especially those from a headquarters regiment. In the end, Rodriguez had decided to provisionally accept the captain's orders. Schuster hoped they could finally start taking an active hand now. This hiding and non-action was really getting to him, and totally against everything he had trained for.

There, a movement up ahead, the figure of an obvious zombie lurching towards them, and instantly Schuster's mind was back in the present. Beside him, the Reaper suddenly straightened and took a step forward. A grunt sounded from the captain and then a shadowy form was thrown to the ground beside Schuster. This move had been practiced before this very evening, and already knowing what to expect, Schuster had already drawn his issue bayonet, then brought his arm downward, forcibly driving its seven-and-a-quarter-inch blade through the skull into whatever was left of the brain. A quick forward and back jerk, then wrench, and the blade pulled free. It took only a moment to wipe the gore off on rotten rags this thing had called clothing before they were moving forward again. Neither man spoke, but simply nodded at each other as they did the job they knew they had to do, and once again the four ghosted forward all senses alert.

It had taken them over an hour to get to this point, and they were quickly approaching the northeast corner of the cemetery. Somewhere ahead in the distance they could hear hard rock music playing, and Schuster could only assume the marauders were having their usual drunken party again. He had scouted them many times, and most often they were drunk or close to it.

Captain Scott—the Reaper—had been clear. This was to be a silent recon to gauge their strengths, defenses, and confirm the location of the captives. Secondary objectives were to identify weaknesses in those defenses and avenues of ingress. Attack remained to be seen as Schuster knew the sergeant would not completely trust this man until and unless he came through with the supplies and men. That mission was set up for tomorrow night, and Schuster knew he would be included in that one also.

They finally reached the edge near the road, and the Reaper's arm and hand rose, fist clenched, to signal a halt; immediately Schuster and the two behind him paused, breathing shallowly. Then another quick signal and they were moving again, this time towards the front gate near the center of the cemetery while remaining hidden within the tree line.

He saw, then felt the Reaper’s hand reach out and touch his arm, stilling his progress. He waited, then saw the captain crouch, his hand extended, and beckon. At their feet were five bodies of older adults and young children. The Reaper pointed and Brian could make out what looked like gunshot wounds and Brian nodded, seeing that none had the desiccated look of the typical zombie. This was also not the first cluster of dead they had come across, and probably would not be the last. What these marauders were doing to the remaining survivors, especially the younger children, was sickening, and resolve hardened within Schuster to see these evil bastards wiped out. He sighed quietly and continued following the Reaper, who was skirting the bodies after closing their eyes.

The Reaper was moving slower now, carefully removing small branches out of his path, and brushing aside leaves that might crunch under his booted feet. He suddenly paused, then reached out, fanned the air before him. Schuster watched as the Reaper's hands moved from side to side, then the man was reaching out, pulling him close.

"Booby trap, wire, and something on this tree." The whisper was but a breath, faintly heard even from inches away. Schuster leaned forward as the Reaper pointed out a thin wire which lay before him, stretched tight, about a foot off the ground. On one side, the wire was tied around a small tree bole, and on the other, after carefully removing leaves from a small pile, he saw the Reaper uncover a surprise: an M67 fragmentation grenade, duct taped to the tree, the wire attached to its pin with the safely clip removed. Schuster knew from experience this explosive device had a four-second delay and a fifteen-meter blast radius, and just where in hell had the marauders gotten grenades? He watched as the Reaper removed a small tool from his belt, then cut both ends of the wire. Working quickly, he fashioned a new safety clip out of a piece of wire, inserted it, then handed the grenade to Schuster. The Reaper then turned and signed them to retreat.

Silently they backed off thirty feet from the road before the Reaper stopped, then pulled them close to issue instructions. They were to wait here and the Reaper would scout ahead. Using hand signals, he instructed them not to move or make any other sound. They nodded and watched as he drifted away through the barely seen undergrowth.

Twenty minutes later, the Reaper was back, and this time addressing them in whispers.

"I found four more of the same up ahead. I kept them, so here you go, Shue," and suddenly four more grenades were handed over which Schuster placed with the others he had pocketed, after first verifying a newly fashioned clip had been inserted.

"Good idea, Reaper. I hate leaving surprises on my back door."

"Let's head along the north edge and verify the location of the captives." Schuster and the others nodded, then followed; they were making good progress, when suddenly they heard tiny cries for help.

*****

Tony was a psychopath, and he was having the time of his life. Born Tony Maurice Levinstein, he had spent his entire childhood and adult years rotating from one mental institution to another, while remaining somewhat in the care of his parents. The doctors had diagnosed him with several disorders which he no longer remembered the names of, nor did he care what they were called anymore. All he knew was that from a very early age, he had loved to hurt things and he was good at it. He had started with baby birds, just dropping them from their nests, then kicking their broken forms after he’d climbed down. From there, he had gone on to play with puppies and kittens, and especially loved watching them drown. Soon after, he had graduated to hurting children younger than he was, those too young to fight back, and he had enjoyed it tremendously.

Then everything was turned upside down. People were rioting and weird-looking motherfuckers were attacking people while trying to eat them. It made him realize there were others more insane than he was. He was happy. His father, the brutal cocksucker, had quickly locked their house down, barricading it against those attacking everyone in sight. Tony hated that, for he hated everything his father did. He hated his mother also, for she was a stern bitch. Fuck them; he was glad he’d killed both of them the first chance he could, escaping the house once the outside was clear. He had taken what few weapons his father owned, and some supplies, then left. He wanted to hurt, and after all, he was good at it. Two weeks later, he had hooked up with Ringo and his gang outside the Sam's warehouse in Moberly. Ringo's crew did not care what he did as long as he obeyed them. Tony had witnessed them killing others who were attempting access to the food inside the warehouse, and felt an affinity for them. He had called out as he moved into view and said he wanted to be part of their group. Distrust followed, but after a simple test involving Tony killing one of the captives, Ringo had granted him acceptance. The rest was history.

Now he had all he could drink, and all he could fuck. He especially liked fucking the younger ones because they screamed in pain while crying out for help. Or they screamed for their mommies. The best thing was ... there were plenty of young captives.

Tony quickly stilled the crazy grin on his face as he approached where the captives were kept. He had to maintain. Keep his cool. Last week he had accidently killed one of the young ones, and Ringo had not been happy about it. In fact, the deed had earned Tony an ass kicking of epic proportions that he would not forget for a very long time; he could still feel the bruises after all.

The prisoners were being kept underground. Someone had called it the catacombs in Tony's presence, and he sort of knew what that meant, but there were no dead bodies down there, unless one of the prisoners had died recently. Just a lot of empty space and side rooms carved out of the rock.

"Hey bro! Got something for ya," he called out as he approached, and eagerly presented the full bottle of tequila he had grabbed from their supplies. There were four men guarding the front entrance, all standing around a steel barrel of burning refuse, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do what he desperately needed to do without them allowing him to remove one of the prisoners ... one of the younger prisoners!

"Tony! Fucktard. Gimme that," and the bottle was snatched from his hand, the cap ripped off, and a tenth of the contents swallowed in a single gulp by one of the four. Then came the recriminations that Tony expected. "You can take one, but Ringo's orders are clear. If you kill another, we will shoot you down like a diseased dog. Can you keep it together this time?"

"Of course!" Tony replied, his crazy grin poking out for a split second before he stilled his face. Keep calm, stay calm, he told himself. He needed this desperately, and was too close to blow it now. He did not know these men. Not even their names; most of the gang didn't care about much of anything like that, yet they were deadly. His memory did not keep details like names anyway. His mind only kept memories of the pain he’d inflicted, and already he could feel his groin hardening, the anticipation building.

"OK, put all your weapons on the table. Nothing's going inside but you. If you don't come out, shit happens," another replied, flipping him off.

"All of them?" and when both nodded, Tony reluctantly placed his guns and knives on the table set just outside the entrance. The others eyed him, then nodded. The first he had spoken with unlocked the door, and eagerly Tony went inside.

The interior was gloomy, with a set of stairs directly before him, a lantern of some sort illuminated the bottom landing. Eagerly he traversed the steps and entered the main holding area. Huddled forms crouched along the walls and the corridor ahead. Most were covered in blankets, but the stench of urine and feces filled the air as he skirted the waste buckets looking for his prey. There she was!

*****

Heidi shrunk back against the wall as the wild-looking man approached. Her prepubescent body curled in on itself in a semi-fetal position as she vainly tried to become invisible. She had been dreading this moment. She had seen these bad men looking at her in what her mother would have called an unhealthy way. She was only eleven but she was not stupid, and dreaded the worst. She was also hungrier than she had ever been in her life. The bad men had been feeding them, but it was never enough.

When the end came, and her parents had died protecting her from the weird others, she had hidden. Terrified and alone, she had no idea what to do, so stayed with the familiar. She had hidden in her home as long as she could. But then the food ran out, and she'd been forced to scavenge for her next meal by entering the dwellings nearby. Upon entering one of those, she'd surprised an elderly couple who quickly accepted her into their arms. That had been a heaven of sorts, until they left the city, and the bad men had found them. Royce and Margaret had been killed in front of her eyes, and she had been captured. Now she waited for the end. She had little hope left for rescue, having been down in these dirt and rock tunnels for over a week. She only hoped that when the end did finally come she would see her parents again, and to this end, she prayed constantly. She begged the Lord for salvation and courage, with a forlorn hope born of innocence that one day she would be freed, with life returning to normal. However, right now the crazy-looking man's hand was stretching towards her, and to her frightened eyes the clutching fingers looked like claws.

"Come child. They need help in the kitchen. I was sent to fetch you." He was talking to her in a low crooning voice, which scared her more than anything, and in fact, was freaking her out.

"Leave her alone. Take me. I'll help. You don't need the child." Another woman, dirty, disheveled, and emaciated from the low rations they were given, had stepped forward. Boldly she let the blanket she'd wrapped around her small frame fall to the ground, and Heidi hid her eyes, for under the thin blanket the lady was wearing no clothing. The woman stepped closer and tried to reach out to the man before her, but he slapped her across the face hard, knocking her to the ground.

"No. The kitchen said to get someone young! You're too old and useless, and I'm just doing my job," the man replied, a sadistic grin lighting his face. Then Heidi was in his grasp as his hand tightened around her wrist.

"I swear, if you hurt her ..." one of the younger men started to say as he rose to his feet slowly. They were all weak from hunger, and Heidi realized he was moving as fast as his body allowed.

"Relax, it's just a bunch of dishes and shit. She'll be back in a little bit. Trust me!" and then the man was dragging her to her feet and she cried out in pain at the roughness of his grip.

"How is that even possible with you keeping us prisoner and killing our friends?" responded the young man again, but Heidi noticed with dread that he was settling back against the wall, exhausted. Her own whimpers were being ignored and she felt so helpless.

"Please mister. I don't want to go. I want to stay here." She had finally spoken. Her voice was tiny and weak, but she was more scared than hungry.

"The kitchen needs your help so you're going. Now shut up and come along." Heidi gulped and reluctantly went along, not that she had a choice, then grimaced in pain as the man kept jerking on her wrist. An empty stomach kept gnawing at her, and desperately she looked up again.

"Will I get extra to eat? I'm so hungry!" Her one hope was that if they put her to work, maybe they would give her more to eat. She was so very hungry, after all.

"Yes girl, I will give you something. Don't worry." With that, she found herself being dragged up the stone steps to the outside. Innocently she held strong to the hope that she could perform a few chores, and maybe get something to eat in the process.

"I'll bring her back in a bit. She has kitchen duty." The crazy man said to one of the four guards outside the entrance as they exited the underground confinement. The air was cold, and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to conserve heat. Why they had taken her coat she didn't know, but it was freezing out in the open.

"Kitchen duty, good one. Gonna feed her something?" another of the strange brutal men guffawed, and she cringed from his loud voice, her eyes huge as she tried to get near the burning barrel for its warmth. If only she could feel the heat for a moment, maybe the shivering would stop. Her steps were jerked short by the man holding her wrist, and again she found herself being dragged away from the others.

Soon, the big brick fence was in front of them and she wondered for a moment if she was to be set free. She didn't think so, because they had not given her coat back, but maybe? Wait! Where was this man taking her? The lights of the main buildings were to her right, yet she was being dragged to the left, close to the fence surrounding their captivity, where trees and undergrowth were heavy. Her heart sank, while a heavy surreal feeling overcame her. She wasn't stupid, after all. She was eleven.

Then she was being thrown down on the ground, hard enough to hurt her shoulders and back badly, and gazed upward into the night sky, her mind awhirl. She screamed for help and called out for her mother, even knowing Momma wasn't there, and would never be there again. Then the man's hand hit her, hard, while doing more bad things to her, and suddenly she knew the end was near. As her clothing was ripped from her tiny body, she didn't feel the cold anymore, and hunger no longer had any meaning as her mind shut down. She accepted what she knew without doubt would be death's embrace, and as her vision darkened, she had a fleeting vision. A vision of an older man, dressed in camouflage clothing, dropping through the sky towards them. His visage furious, with flaming eyes and clenched teeth, his gaze focused only on the man crouching over her ... hurting her. Then darkness became her friend.

*****

Chapter 11

Tony was in ecstasy. He was doing what he loved to do. Terrorizing and hurting those smaller and weaker than he was. Too bad he could not kill her. Or maybe he could. He had his knife in one hand just as the other held her tiny form down against the frozen ground. The knife was one he had not given to the guards earlier, for he always kept at least one knife hidden. Now he flipped the razor open and watched with glee as it sliced through her clothing and skin beneath. The tiny dimples of blood as each article of clothing was cut away excited him even further, and as his breathing sped up, he deliberately slowed his actions. He was not in a hurry. He would enjoy taking his time, for it made the end that much sweeter.

The girl was screaming now, and calling for her mommy. This was nirvana to his ears, as Tony accepted her whimpers as applause for his performance. He was keyed up now, and eager to start hurting her, for hurt her he would. It was impossible to wipe the crazy grin off his face. No one could see him now but this tiny bitch under him, and he so loved letting his emotions show.

Then something hard hit Tony from the side, and suddenly he was flying to the left. As he opened his mouth to shout, a leather glove covered his face while at the same time he felt a rope tighten around his neck. Suddenly he could not breathe, and his fingers desperately clawed at the noose choking him while he thrashed on the ground trying to break free. Now Tony was scared, really scared, and helpless when he felt the ground fall away as his body rose into the air.

*****

The faint cries for help were from someone very young, and the Reaper, disregarding caution, ran forward. It was not in his nature to ignore an innocent plea for rescue, damn the cost. The appeals for help were still coming from ahead, but more to the side now; the voice though weaker, was gaining urgency.

"Someone please help. Mommy, help me!" The Reaper's teeth clenched, and seeing the pines near the wall, he signaled Schuster to follow before scaling the closest quickly after leaving his sniper rifle leaning against its bole. Peering over the edge of the fence, the sight beneath him, illuminated by moonlight, was almost more than Jason could bear. A grown man crouched over a small child while cutting her clothing away with what looked like a straight edge razor knife. In the distance, he heard men and even a few women laughing aloud, a few sporadic gunshots along with rock music that was still blasting out from somewhere within the cemetery. However, the Reaper simply didn't care at this point—a small, innocent life needed saving, and without delay. He acted without hesitation.

"I need a slip hitch now! Get your rope ready," Jason hissed at Schuster as he stepped off the limb to crouch on top of the eight-foot brick wall. What was unusual about the marauders’ entire defense was that they had only fastened razor wire to the front row of fence line, while completely neglecting the sides and perhaps the back. The Reaper was not sure about the later, and at this point simply did not care. He was armed with his Colt and his K-Bar, which was attached to and hanging upside down on his old-style olive drab combat vest. This he quickly drew, holding it blade downward in his fist before looking over his shoulder to Shue. Thank the Lord the man had the rope ready, and with an urgent motion, Jason signaled for it to be tossed upward. He thought it unlikely he would be heard as the girl’s numbed pleas and the evil man's own satanic laughter were sure to drown out any noise he might make.

"Get ready to pull it tight when I signal!" the Reaper whispered again to Schuster who stood directly below him, and instantly light tension was applied. Not enough to impede the Reaper, but firm enough to pull sharply when Jason gave the signal. To Schuster’s side, the Reaper saw Hamilton and Barber were already scaling the same pine he had used, obviously getting ready to assist if needed. They were all being deathly quiet while at the same time operating with urgent speed, for the risk of discovery was great, but the innocent life standing on death's immediate door overshadowed that danger.

As the Reaper gazed downward on the far side of the fence, he saw the living spawn of Satan almost directly below him. The knife, clenched tightly in his evil hand, was again working at removing the girl’s clothing as she laid motionless beneath him. The Reaper gripped the rope tightly in his free hand before flinging himself over the far side of the fence into the cemetery. The fall was only eight feet, and he hit the ground while throwing himself forward into a jump roll, his feet lashing outward at the man as Jason revolved to a stop. The other was flung sideways with an explosion of breath as the Reaper's boots impacted his body in the upper chest and lower stomach. Instantly Jason was up and leaping over the girl's prone form, his knife hand extended until the razor sharp edge of the K-Bar rested against the would-be rapist's neck while his forearm lay hard against this man's chest, holding him in place.

"Move, or make any sound, and you're dead," he growled. The low tone emanating from him was that of death itself, and from the fright in this man's eyes and his frantic nodding, the Reaper knew he would remain quiet. That was not the plan, however, and with his free hand Jason quickly drew the makeshift noose around the man’s neck before jerking hard on the rope. Immediately the hemp went taut, and the evil being disguised in the flesh of humankind was dragged to the fence.

The Reaper ignored the thrashing man, who was desperately clawing at his throat while being raised upward and over the brick wall. The little girl he did not ignore, and urgently he searched her vital signs, praying to the Lord to help this little girl. As his fingers gently touched her neck, he quickly found a pulse, then examined her eyes. Thankfully, the pupils dilated when he shown a tiny pen light into those amber orbs. Just in shock, he thought to himself as he surveyed the victim of an abuse she would not soon forget.

Time was of the essence. They needed to get out of here, and now, before they were discovered, but her clothing was in tatters and the Reaper knew that with the thirty degree temperatures, hypothermia would soon set in if he didn't do something. Working with a haste belying his years, he quickly unzipped his combat vest, removed the newly-acquired camouflage coat beneath, then re-donned the vest. The coat he quickly wrapped around the girl, zipping it closed, and lifting her, carried her quickly to the wall. The rapist had already been pulled over to the other side, and only Barber was visible, now crouched at the top as the Reaper had been earlier. Jason hoped the soldiers hadn't killed the evil one yet as he had something special in store as the Lord's punishment.

"Barber. She's in shock. Catch her," he urgently whispered, and with that he tossed the girl’s light frame straight upward into Barber’s waiting arms. The tiny girl, who normally should have weighed at least sixty-five to seventy pounds, was emaciated from obvious malnutrition, and the Reaper was willing to bet she didn't even weigh forty-five at this moment. Barber caught her easily and disappeared from view as Jason turned back and quickly pocketed any evidence of their presence he could find. His beloved K-Bar was slid back in its sheath, and the small utensils the rapist had been using he tucked in a side pocket of his fatigues, as well as the remaining shreds of the girl's clothing. If they were lucky, any others within would think this man took off with the girl. He could only trust the Lord's will on that, and with a leap hoisted himself over the edge, falling softly to the ground outside. There, Barber waited with the girl, and gently the Reaper gathered her up in his own arms, cradling her to his chest. Beside them he saw that SSG Schuster and PFC Hamilton had not only tied, but also gagged their villain thoroughly, and the Reaper smiled grimly.

"Carry him and follow.” With that, he was striding straight north across the frontage road and into a farmer's field surrounding by a sparse stand of trees. After several hundred yards, he cast about, searching for something, and he soon found it. There! The moonlight was bright, and he almost instantly spotted the forms of three zombies. The minions of hell usually traveled in packs larger than this, so he knew others would be close by. He stopped near a small stand of trees, and the others beside him dropped the thrashing form of the man who would have destroyed the young girl’s life. Turning to Barber, the Reaper handed her back silently, then reached down, grabbed the ropes securing the man's arms, and dragged him towards the spawn along the wood’s edge while muttering to the others, "Wait here!"

The devil’s spawn were becoming easy to spot, but while spotting them had its advantages it usually meant they were spotted in return, and yes, the zombies were moving from their hiding niches, and into the open on a direct path with the Reaper’s movements. Jason knew he had only minutes at the most, and worked quickly. He stopped and, turning to the man, intoned.

"The Lord has found you wanting, and for that you will be punished."

"Mffgghhs … mffffooggghhff." The words were garbled and muted, for the cloth gag secured in the man's mouth was doing its job. With a twist of his wrist, the Reaper flipped the pleading man over. He placed a boot in the small of his back, reached down and grasped the man by his forearms and jerked upward, instantly dislocating both shoulders, then kicked the screaming man over onto his back again. A swift stomp to both knees resulted in either dislocations or breakage, then the Reaper was once again pulling his K-Bar. The man's muffled screams and thrashing he ignored. This man would be punished and take his dying memories to Hell, where he would reside for eternity. With sure movements, he sliced through the man's belt and pants before pulling them downward with a jerk, leaving him lying prone on his back, unable to move for the pain in his upper body. There, that should do it, the Reaper thought, and running swiftly back to the others, they left his scene of judgment. Yes, he wanted to make an example of this man steeped in the darkest of sins, but refrained. More good would be forthcoming if he was not found, and Jason was content that those he serviced in the name of the Lord were receiving his justice.

The Reaper looked around, safe within the tree line, and briefly watched as the zombies converged on the form laying on the ground, then looked to the right and left. Since they were several hundred yards away from the cemetery and hidden within a thick stand of trees, he knew that if this man's body were found it would not be anytime soon. The zombies themselves would reduce the man’s corpse to mere bones within hours, thus making it unidentifiable, and Jason was content as he turned back to the others.

*****

The pain was incredible. Never in Tony's short life had he experienced anything like it. In one moment he had been in control of a helpless victim, ready, willing, and able to torture and rape her. In the next, he found himself lying on the frozen earth of a field, sharp stones digging into his back, unable to move. Moving made the pain in his arms and knees so much worse. He just knew they were broken, and hoped Ringo's men would find him soon. He also worried about that because he knew Ringo didn't like wounded. Wait. What was that? As the form loomed over him, he tried to scream in terror, but the sound was muffled for the gag was thick and tightly fastened. The undead had arrived. There were three of them, and to one side he could see five more approaching.

The pain of his maimed limbs was nothing compared to the excruciating pain he experienced in the next several minutes as teeth fastened on all exposed parts of his body, slowly ripping him to shreds. With a prone, helpless captive, the zombies fed slowly. Very slowly, and Tony was conscious through most of it. He was already in Hell.

*****

Chapter 12

"You're a hard man, Reaper," whispered Schuster. Hamilton and Barber had left them after the grisly end of the would-be rapist, taking the girl back to the industrial complex and safety. Now he and the Reaper were completing their mission. Brian still shuddered at the images he had witnessed before they'd escaped through the side tree line. At least twenty zombies had quickly converged on the prone form, and even a hundred yards away they could hear his muted screams. The escape from their presence had been easy, as the zombies always focused on readily available prey first. Brian shuddered again just at the Reaper spoke.

"That's been said before, Shue," was the answering retort.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I didn't mean to offend you, but that was pretty vicious. Wow, what a bad way to go." Beside him, the Reaper paused as they wound their way around the backside of the cemetery. Then slowly those dead brown eyes fastened on him and Brian could not stifle the chill that ran down his back. He saw the Reaper glance quickly around, then draw him close.

"The girl’s end would have been worse in her eyes, Shue."

"Agreed, sir, I don't doubt that, and I hope she'll be OK." Brian could see this man was deep in thought and held silent, waiting.

"Shue. I spent over twenty years as a sniper in Force Recon. After the first few years, it simply became a job. Not just something to do, but a good job that helped our causes and humanity in general. Then my family was taken from me, and in that moment I believe the Lord spoke to me. This new world is breeding two types of people. The good, honest, and strong who only want to survive and rebuild, and care for their families. And then their is the other type who are bent on making this test of the Lord's that much worse with their rape and pillage."

The Reaper paused briefly before continuing. "What my flesh wished to do was create an example of this man. One in which he would be found and those others would know. I hope that some would redeem themselves and leave, or even help, but most would not have. The message would have been lost on most because they do not wish to hear the message. They are already damned in my eyes and those of the Lord. Then, I decided that no message needed to be made. It was enough that this man who would rape a young girl is now in Hell. I, personally, have no need to make a statement of those I service in the name of the Lord, and it will also help our cause if he is not discovered. Schuster, I do not ask your religious beliefs, but I strongly feel there is a higher plan in place, and that we are tiny parts of it. Like that child we rescued. Perhaps she will grow up to be another Ashley." The Reaper sighed and turned away to continue on when Schuster reached out a quick hand to stop him.

"Who is Ashley?" he inquired. The Reaper swiveled his head to look at him, and then spoke softly.

"Someone who is a very special young lady, and perhaps one day you'll meet her. Now, let's go. We have a recon to perform."

"I still wish you had taken Hamilton's coat. We're going to be out here all night and it's cold as fuck, sir."

"Like I told you then Shue, long underwear. I'll be fine."

Schuster nodded, not understanding all of it, and followed the Reaper as they melted into the undergrowth.

*****

"So how does it look?" It was early morning, shortly after dawn, and the Reaper and Schuster had just arrived back at the industrial complex. The Reaper’s first act was to inquire about the girl that had been rescued, and was told she was sleeping after Nancy had given her a light sedative.

"Doable," replied the Reaper.

The short reply threw Rodriguez off, and for a second he struggled with what to say. "Sir, I need a little more than that to go on."

"I need paper, and some pencils. I'll show you what we found. Sergeant, it's easier to explain as I show you what we're facing."

"Yes, sir." Rodriguez asked one of the civilians to fetch the needed supplies, and together with some of his men, joined the others who stood around the large conference table in one of the offices waiting for the Reaper to begin.

As soon as the requested materials were delivered, Jason immediately grabbed them and, sitting down with Schuster beside him, began to sketch. Quickly the outline of the grounds took form, along with the interior buildings and front gate, then a back gate Rodriguez hadn't been aware existed. As the Reaper outlined the facility, Schuster was quick to point out and add small details, bringing the larger picture into sharp focus.

"There are only two entrances to the grounds. The front gate here in the center, as you know, and this one at the back, here. It's a smaller utility gate made of heavy steel, and my guess is its a groundskeeper and supply access." Another line was drawn and a number written in above it. "It's relatively close to where they're keeping the captives. Less than two hundred feet, in fact,"

"Defended?"

"Yes, but there are only two guards, along with the same defensive setup as the front with a bus pulled up blocking it on the inside." Rodriguez nodded, and Jason continued as he drew another building across the street yet close to the rear entrance. "Groundskeeper's shed and currently filled with assorted lawn and excavation equipment. No guards, and currently unoccupied.”

Next, the Reaper started drawing symbols. Round ones to indicate enemy concentrations, along with notated figures next to them. Rodriquez was adding them up when he noticed something. "Hey, wait. If I am reading this correctly, there are close to, if not over, a hundred and fifty of them. Our last count was just over a hundred."

"Sergeant, like you told me yesterday. Your information is out-of-date. Their group is obviously expanding. At a guess, they're taking in anyone and everyone in order to have the numbers to take your group out with minimal casualties. It's what I would do."

"Sir, we have an agreement with them, and we've abided by it."

"So, you think they’ve suddenly acquired honor?" snapped the Reaper, his deadly gaze turning on Rodriguez.

"Sarge, there's a lot of welding going on inside. They appear to be adding what looks like plates of steel or armor to some larger vehicles. We think it's to counter our M-ATVs," Schuster spoke again as he witnessed the tension suddenly appearing between his NCOIC and the Reaper. The two senior enlisted exchanged glances for a moment before turning back to Jason, but the Reaper had already returned to the drawing.

"From the looks of their progress, I would estimate you have two days at the most before you're attacked, and no more." Beside him, Shue was nodding.

"Yes sir, that was my take also."

"Let's move on. At this point, pre-planning is sheer speculation until we know for sure what Newaygo is sending in the way of men and supplies," muttered the Reaper.

"If they send anything," muttered Rodriguez in return.

The Reaper instantly turned his cold gaze on the younger man and paused before speaking.

"Jay and those with him have honor. If they say they will deliver, then you can count on it. Until proven otherwise, it would irritate me to hear them disparaged!" The tone was stern yet deadly, as those brown eyes pierced Rodriguez, who quickly held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Yes, sir. Got it. We'll wait, and no more comments," he replied.

"Good. We have two teams of Special Forces dropping tonight. Unless they come up with a better plan, we'll keep this simple. Against forces such as these, it's important not to overestimate them. A fluid engagement that decimates a majority of their numbers and frees the captives is the most important aspect of this entire operation."

"Barring disagreement at final planning I'm going to use one team to infiltrate on the north side and take possession of the captives’ location, making it secure. Once that signal is given, two things will happen simultaneously. The primary assault element positioned here," the Reaper indicated the friendly symbols along the north edge of the cemetery, "will breach the fence on that side and skirmish inward. As that happens, we'll push all four M-ATVs down Highway 24 from the north. We’ll space them a hundred feet apart and have them firing over the walls at targets of opportunity. The idea is to drive the enemy south, which will quickly happen. They'll be disorganized, most of them scared and only trying to get away. I will initially be positioned here," another spot was indicated."From our recon it looks perfect for me to shoot down into the interior of the cemetery, helping out where needed. I will relocate later, but ..."

"But sir," Rodriguez interrupted. "If you drive them south, they'll enter the city and we're on the far side. Also, there will be no one on the east side, they can escape that way." The sergeant was obviously concerned and wasn't afraid to voice his opinions.

"Wait. I'll address the east side first. They won't go in that direction except to get to the main highway. That entire flank is heavy woods, which would impede their progress, and almost none would even attempt it without their vehicles. When we light them up, they'll be running hard and fast. We want to drive them south and actually east to the parking lot area. As to the former part of your question, watch," and with that the Reaper drew a circle around a small valley just south of the cemetery.

"Right here are five farmhouses. If we get those AT4s as promised, we'll put a force in here. Bunkered down and hidden. I don't want anyone hit by friendly fire. Once the main group of marauders starts to run south down 405, we'll cease fire on the north side and group two will pop their surprise."

"Surprise, sir?" Schuster had spoken again.

"They currently have in the neighborhood of sixty to seventy vehicles. By the time our north and west elements hit them, they'll be half that and running hard. Robinson indicated a pallet of forty AT4s. Our second assault element will pop up and hit them right as they're passing. Most should be wiped out. Those marauders that do happen to escape should keep running, or will be eliminated as we hunt them down, one by one. By then I will have relocated to this position here. A farmhouse with a silo that will suit my needs perfectly," and quickly Jason circled a spot on the map a little more than halfway south of the cemetery's north wall, on the west side.

"Wow. Well if it works, it will destroy most of them, from the looks of it. Not that I'm an expert, but it seems fairly simple," commented Nancy, who was leaning over Rodriguez's shoulder while watching intently.

"Yes Nancy, that is the plan. It's simple and should work. We'll run it by the components we're receiving and see what they think. I also want some of the demo used for IEDs in those stranded vehicles along 405. We can have a spotter remote-detonate them as the vehicles are passing. I'll need a small element of our most accurate men and women not engaged in the direct assaults to provide a mop up of stragglers running on foot. They would be here," and another circle was drawn further south on the map, right at the city’s edge. "They can take cover in the buildings, and if fire is returned, their job is to evac. Our northern skirmishers will soon be there."

"Wait!" Rodriguez was standing and looking angry. The Reaper also stood and just stared at him as he waited for the man to continue. "Why do the civilians need to be involved at all? We are trying to protect them, Captain, not put them in harm's way."

"Because this is a new world and everyone is needed. This is a fight for the survival of our species, Sergeant. There are those that would turn this country into a thousand petty fiefdoms, and that will not be tolerated. You will stand, and your people will stand with you, and we will prevail! We are all combatants in this fight of good over evil. There are no innocent bystanders except for the children. All able adults will do what's needed and necessary to ensure their survival."

"But we'll be heading to Newaygo when this is over. There is no need to involve them."

"Now there you are wrong. The whole point of this is not just to gain the captives their freedom, but to create a viable community here after stamping out the current rot. After our immediate mission is complete, more help will be forthcoming. You will use the foundation given to you and build on it. Your group of survivors will grow from their current few hundred to thousands, perhaps tens of thousands as more groups seek out your beacon of hope. In a few weeks this will seem as nothing, and you'll be busier than you can possibly imagine. I hope your civic skills are sharp. They'll be needed."

Rodriguez sat down in his chair, hard. The enormity of what the captain was saying was beyond his capabilities. Possibly tens of thousands in a few weeks? Survivors all looking to him for help? His mind started to shut down, when Nancy's firm warm hands gripped his shoulders from behind, and he looked upward into her eyes. Slowly she leaned down and kissed him softly, completely disregarding the stares of the others.

"Babe, he's right. We know there are many more survivors out there. Hiding. Afraid. Desperately scared. They need to see a stable community before they will come in. We talked about this."

"Yeah, Hun, but that was in Mexico City, maybe next year after we cleared all the zombies out."

"Next year will be too late. Many will die over the winter. You need to bring them in now, in order to save them," intoned the Reaper, watching Rodriguez.

"But it's too much responsibility," he muttered.

"No, I think it's exactly the responsibility you need. You will have help."

"OK, fine. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, but getting back to the attack, if ...” and suddenly the entire plan made sense to Rodriguez, yet he was still skeptical. "Isn't this a little basic?" he inquired, and once again he was treated to a rare grin from the captain.

"Many times simpler is better. No plan survives contact with the enemy, and this one will be no exception, but if we give them exactly what they expect, our chances of success are that much greater." The Reaper’s words had Rodriguez nodding, and he smiled before responding.

"I like it, and now see what you meant by 'doable'. Assuming your friends in Michigan come through tonight, I can commit, sir."

"We'll have a Q&A before final mission approval when the men from Newaygo arrive. Don't worry. We'll beat it to death, I'm sure."

Just then, a solder came crashing into the conference room, breathless, with an angry look on his face. The Reaper looked up at the interruption.

"Sir, the damn marauders are attacking the survivors in that manor on the corner of Main and Trump ... again! From what Smith and I could see, it's going bad for them. The bad guys have two huge snowplows and are trying to smash through the cars they piled along their parameter. Rough guess is thirty minutes or less until they’re breached." The private was breathless, and stopped to draw in a deep breath. In that moment the Reaper stood and addressed the others.

"We have to go to their aid," he growled.

"Sir, if we do, we have to be carefully about it."

"You're going to be attacked anyways. It's time to help and not stand idly by, Sergeant," and the Reaper could see Rodriguez's resolve hardening as the man responded firmly.

"Sir, you're right." Rodriguez turned to Schuster, his visage hardening even further. "Shue, take three men and change into civies. Leave your dog tags and I.D.s here. We want this action sterile so if it goes bad, nothing can come back to us. You can't have the M-ATVs, they're too low on ammunition and would give us away."

"Got it, and about damn time!" Schuster was grinning with delight and already stripping items from his person as he called out to three of the other soldiers present to start doing the same. For the first time, Rodriguez turned to the Reaper and addressed him by his moniker.

"Reaper, take care of my men, and Newaygo had better come through or we are truly fucked," he growled.

"I get it."

In moments, the others were back, dressed in civilian clothing; even their three-point slings had been detached from their issued M4s. Each carried a satchel which, from the bulges, indicated they were full of spare magazines.

"Let's go," the Reaper growled, his voice deeper and more menacing than Rodriguez's.

Jason needed his rifle, and he needed to get to that cell tower that he had earlier noted overlooked the city, specifically Main Street. Then he needed to set his men up in a flanking maneuver to provide support for his position while remaining in a position that would require the marauders to disembark their vehicles. Waving for Schuster and the others to follow, he nodded curtly at the others and left.

*****

Chapter 13

Tom was more than worried, he was frantic. Everything the Reaper had told them was happening, and much sooner than he had anticipated. His group was taking no chances, and firing from cover, but already two of his men were down along with three of the women, all seriously wounded. They were mainly being attacked along their front entrance but enough shots along with those damn Molotov cocktails were hitting the sides and back to keep them overwhelmed. Thank God the manor was built with heavy fieldstone and brick or they would have already perished. In the background, he could hear the screams of the children they were keeping safe.

Quickly turning around and resting his rifle in the narrow window, he fired again, watching as a man standing in one of the trucks arrayed against them collapsed. Then rounds were ricocheting off the stone of the opening and instantly he ducked back. Taking each shot was a major risk, but you did what you had to do for the people you were trying to protect. A crash sounded and, risking safety, he peered around to take a quick glance. Damn them, the marauders were slowly but thoroughly using large snowplows to smash a hole through the cars they had lined against the sides of the walls surrounding the manor. As Tom's heart sank with dread, he knew they only had a short time before they were inside the house. There was nothing stopping them this time. He swiveled into position, taking another shot which missed, before he ducked again and vainly prayed for any form of rescue.

*****

They heard the racing engines first, and then the staccato sounds of gunfire resounded within the confines of the office building they were in. Janet looked up from the AR-15 she was cleaning with Scott's help, and exclaimed. "They're at it again, they're attacking someone."

"Yes, sounds like the manor from the direction of the gunfire." Scott sighed as he quickly reassembled the weapon. "Nothing we can do. Cut all interior lights and stay hidden."

"No! We might be able to help!" Janet was standing now and facing Scott.

"Absolutely not."

"We might make the difference between another group surviving or not!" Janet balled her fists up in frustration as she glared at the leader of their survivor group, a pleading look on her face.

Scott looked up at her while drumming the tips of his fingers lightly on the upper receiver of the weapon he had just re-assembled, and slowly nodded. "You're right, and you can come under one condition. I'll take three men and three of the women including you to do a very careful scout from the side. We'll stay between the houses and enter the last through the back door. Then we'll watch. If there are too many for us to make a difference, we're getting the hell out of there. If it looks like something we can handle, then we'll help. Janet, you have to promise you will not fire until I do. Promise, or you're not going."

"I promise."

Thirty minutes later they were peering through the blinds in the front windows of a newer, ranch-style home. Four large windows dotted the front, affording them all a clear view of the proceedings a block and a half away. They had circled southeast, then north to arrive at the home, and could clearly see the front and side of the manor that resided across the intersection from their position.

"It's too many, they're going to be overrun any minute," murmured Scott as he held the binoculars to his eyes, scanning the area.

"Damnit!" hissed Janet in frustration as she watched the scene before them. She saw that the survivors in the manor had made a barricade of empty vehicles around the building, but the barricade was being pushed aside by two large trucks bearing snowplow blades. Suddenly, just as one of those trucks was about to push another car away, it lurched to a stop, the driver spilling out the side door and falling to the ground. "Wait, what's happening?"

*****

"Any questions on the plan?" the Reaper inquired as he prepared to climb the cell tower right at the edge of the city, east of town.

"No. It's simple enough, Reaper. You start shooting, they'll spot you sooner versus later, we'll be set up in that heavy stand of trees off Caldwell to the south to take them as they come for your position. If too many arrive, we'll relocate another block south, take up position. Remove more, then circle around to the tower again from the northeast. We'll have line of sight on the tower most of the time, so if they start climbing, we'll drop them like flies."

"What I'm counting on, Shue!"

"Then let's do this. Payback’s gonna be a bitch," responded Schuster, obviously quoting some movie dialog from his tone.

"We need to put a major hurt on them so they give us enough time for resupply, Shue."

"A major hurt it will be, Reaper," and Schuster was grinning as he ran, his men following closely behind.

The Reaper crested the top of the cellular tower and brushed the snow off its domed surface. A wool blanket was quickly thrown down, then he removed a small sandbag from his satchel, placing it near the edge. Many snipers used the standard issue bipod for sniping, but the Reaper did not. More than once early in his career the bipod had slipped or wobbled at exactly the wrong moment, causing a miss. A sand bag did not! Resting his Remington 700 modified M40A1 against its soft surface, he quickly arrayed the fourteen ten-round magazines of 7.62 x 51mm on the blanket beside him, the fifteenth magazine he carried already seated in the magazine well of his rifle.

This time Jason was not wearing his combat vest, as it would only have gotten in the way. He needed to relax and concentrate on the targets without outside distractions. Sprawling flat with his legs spread wide for stability, he flipped the magnetic scope covers up, then peered at the scene before him. Interesting, he thought as his hand slid upward to grasp the receiver bolt and rotate the first round into position.

Nine-hundred yards ahead were his targets, and from his side vantage point, using the high-powered scope, it appeared as if he was looking over the shoulder of the marauders. Slowly he panned his view back and forth while adjusting for distance and wind, noting the number of men and equipment they had brought to the assault. He smiled grimly and concentrated on the snowplows. The trucks were quickly clearing a path through the barricade the survivors’ group had hastily created.

While heavily armored with a huge blade mounted in front, these trucks were defenseless from the sides and back, allowing the Reaper to use that to his advantage as he sighted in, released his breath, and then fired his first round.

An explosion of red mist and the truck was lurching to a stop, rewarding him with a confirmed kill, but he was already tracking on the next vehicle as he’d known the shot would be true.

*****

Oh Christ, they were in the inner courtyard, pushing the makeshift barricade aside. The stone fence surrounding the manor had been only a minor inconvenience once the cars were pushed out of the way, and in moments, Tom knew they would breach the front of their safe house. Somewhere inside he could hear the screams of frightened children, and hardening his resolve, he rotated back into position, ready to kill as many as possible before one of them got him. Tom knew he needed to stop those barricade wreckers but it was proving impossible to do so. The heavy plow blades were impervious to his rounds, and only when the trucks turned did he get a clear shot at the drivers. Even then, the bastards had placed plate steel over the windows on the sides to obstruct return fire.

He was hyperventilating and knew they were all about to die, but just maybe he could remove a last few before they were overrun. His rifle was in position, his finger caressing the trigger as he aimed at the tiny aperture, when the closest vehicle turned sideways. Bewildered, he vaguely saw a slumped-over figure inside the cab, yet put a round through the opening anyways before the truck next to it also rolled to a stop. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a tiny flash atop the local cell tower and immediately he knew who it was. Then he was ducking back as rounds peppered the cowling surrounding the narrow window.

It's the Reaper, he breathed to himself. It had to be. Hope blossomed within him as he scuttled to the next window in line. He had not used it in over a minute and it should be safe to fire from once or twice. As he prepared to rotate into position and fire, his main thought was that he hoped the Reaper was as good as he appeared to be. Then Tom was rounding the corner, his rifle lifting to fire again.

*****

The Reaper paused as he swiftly swapped out the first magazine for his second. His body was relaxed, his heartbeat steady, as he took each soul in the Lord's name,. Ten down and many more to go, he thought as he sighted in on a man shooting down into the manor from a nearby building. The crosshairs followed the man's every action as Jason timed the movements, then his finger tightened as another round was sent downrange and the other slumped in place, his rifle falling over the edge of the roof. Purgatory’s line was growing this day, and the Reaper was partially satisfied as he minutely shifted to bring his rifle to bear on the group of marauders near the front entrance to the domicile. He still had one hundred and forty rounds left in magazines. The thump of the stock against his shoulder indicated another round fired, this one taking a marauder through the back of the head, only to continue on to take the one before him between the shoulder blades. Two targets serviced, and the Reaper was shifting aim again. Soon they would spot him, and the slight grin that appeared on his face spoke volumes to the hurt these marauders were about to receive.

*****

The staccato of gunfire from a few blocks over was impossible to ignore. It sounded like World War Three, Andy thought, as he and Bruce dropped the sacks of supplies they carried and took cover behind nearby shrubs. Looking behind them, Andy quickly waved at Darcie who was just leaving the home they had raided, carrying an equally large bag of staples and other items. Without hesitation, she ducked back inside while Andy conferred with Bruce.

"I think the bad guys are hitting the manor again."

"Yeah, that would be my guess as well. Should we take a look?"

"Hell no, we should get our asses back to the church and take cover. We ..." Andy started to say when he was interrupted by much louder gunfire, this time coming from a block to their south and maybe two blocks east, while at the same time upward? Andy rolled over and, shielding his eyes against the morning sunlight, saw a tiny insect-like figure atop the city's lone cell tower, firing steadily every few seconds. The man's tiny rifle was unmistakable and Andy knew it was the Reaper living up to his name. "It's the Reaper, firing downward in the direction of the manor."

"What's going on?" It was Darcie, who had left the protection of the home they were just in to join them. For a second Andy considered the act one of seeming recklessness, then smiled as he gripped her thigh lovingly. She loved her man as much as he loved her, and that was really all that mattered.

"Looks like the manor is being attacked and the Reaper is on top of the tower helping them." Andy pointed and a second later Darcie was also able to make out the Reaper's form. The steady boom of a high-powered rifle from the man's position also helped. "Baby, I want you to go back to the church and wait for us there. Bruce and I are going to get a closer look, and no, we won't take any chances."

"Hell no, I'm coming with you!" Darcie's voice had instantly risen, and quickly Andy hushed her, then pointed out, "You need to be with our children. We're only going to do some scouting and we've done this before."

"I don't like it one bit, Andy Kiwacz!" Andy could tell she was mad but that her resolve to accompany him had weakened.

"I love you baby," he said, giving her a quick kiss. "Now go back to the church. It's only two blocks away and the route we picked is hidden, with no visible zombies."

"Fine, but don't turn this into a bad habit, Andy!"

"Yes dear." Andy grinned at her rapidly departing back then turned to Bruce. "You still have your grenades on you?"

"You betcha!"

"Then let's go," and with that said, Andy took off at a low run towards the Reaper’s position. In moments, they neared the end of the street and Andy slowed. Looking left and right for a good position to view from, he spotted an aluminum extension ladder next to the home on their right. Grabbing Bruce's arm, he pointed it out and they quickly scaled its metal rungs to the roof, then carefully peered over the ridge. They had a full view of the main street running east and west. Four blocks west was the manor, where dozens of vehicles could be seen racing around in circles while small clumps of men on foot fired into the defenders’ position.

"Wow!" breathed Bruce.

"Yeah, no shit, right?"

"I could fire from here but not sure if I'll actually hit anyone."

"Don't, it would just give our position away. We'll wait here and see what happens."

Beside him, Bruce nodded as they continued to watch the scene unfold.

*****

Chapter 14

Staff Sergeant Schuster was ecstatic. For the first time in over a week, they were finally doing something against the marauders. He checked the magazine in his M4 once again as he crouched with the others: ready, willing and most able to put a hurt on these bastards when they came after the Reaper. For that was assured. It was simple playbook tactics. ‘React to sniper’ was not something normally taught to gang leaders, and Shue relished the pain they were about to inflict.

"You guys ready?" he whispered. A chorus of agreement answered his question and, looking over at the others, he saw identical expressions of glee mixed with vengeance. Grady, Adams and Hendrix were crouched behind the larger trees, deep in the woods. All of them had clear firing lanes into the street fronting the cell tower. Now it was only a matter of time. Signaling to stay sharp, Shue settle in, his carbine raised and waited.

Forward and above, Shue heard the Reaper start firing. Heavy booms sounded as each shot rang out. It was amazing how fast the rounds were being released, and Shue knew there would be action soon.

"Sharpen it up. It's going down," he called out. The others didn't respond, but Shue knew they heard him. All were professionals and this was an easy job. He leaned into the tree as he sighted through his Aimpoint down his area of responsibility and continued to wait.

*****

A commotion to the right suddenly caught the Reaper's eye. There! Over a half-dozen marauders were attempting to get through a ground floor window. The Reaper could see the shadowy forms of defenders inside striking out at the intruders as they cleared hastily-nailed boards away in an attempt to gain entrance. The Reaper growled. A straight shot might send the exiting round careening inside the home, hitting one of those within, which was something he did not want to risk. He lowered his aim instantly, breathed out, and fired. The round immediately impacted the small of an attacker’s back and traveling through, disintegrated against the fieldstone and brick wall before him. Then, as the attacker’s screaming, paralyzed form was falling earthward, the Reaper was already firing again, then again as marauders fell in waves from the window opening. The Reaper never missed, and was once again exchanging magazines in a smooth, unconscious movement.

Over twenty down, and the living spawn of Satan have finally noticed me, he thought contemptuously. The Reaper's gaze was empty as he noted the vehicles turning around in his direction, and once again he shifted his position while aiming lower still. The cross hairs lined up, the diamond illuminated, and the round took the foremost truck through the windshield, straight into the driver’s face. Jason idly noticed the vehicle turning sideways then rolling over as his aim was already focused on the next in line. Tinted front windows always make it a partial challenge, so the Reaper focused on what he could see and automatically adjusted. The driver's hands and forearms on the steering wheel told Jason exactly where the torso would be. He fired, and this time watched as the truck continued in a straight line for a score of feet before finally veering to the side, hitting a telephone pole. The remaining dozen were headed straight at him, but as they crossed the intersection with Hill Street, his team opened fire.

*****

Andy and Bruce watched the trucks racing down the street, then witnessed the Reaper take out two; in that microsecond, they knew he didn't have enough time to relocate before the marauders arrived at the tower he was perched on.

They decided to act.

"Give me your frag, and take my thermite. I hope your pitching arm is up for it, Bruce. I'll try to disable them and you aim for a window or truck bed," Andy spoke quickly as he pulled the pin on one of the two fragmentary grenades in his hands. Andy knew the canister grenade he'd handed Bruce was an incendiary device because they'd tested one when neither understood the markings painted on the side. It had burned for a considerable amount of time and destroyed everything it touched. Thermite was the only explanation they could arrive at. "We have to help the Reaper or they'll be climbing that tower like ants. Get ready, man!"

"Ready," Bruce replied as both rose into a kneeling position, and Andy's arm went back before slinging forward—fast! As the fragmentation grenade left his palm, its spoon whipping off to the side, he heard gunfire coming from their left. The dark green ovoid arced high overhead in its parabolic trajectory, and he saw the trucks swerving back and forth. Someone else was helping, and Andy's hopes soared.

"Throw, Bruce!" Andy shouted, as he pulled the pin on his second and last grenade. Then it was on its way and he shouldered his rifle as he fell back into a prone position.

*****

"It's the Reaper, has to be," Scott said as he, Bill, and Janet watched. Over the last several minutes, over a dozen figures had fallen. Most from what appeared to be head shots.

"Are the odds even enough now?" Janet was angry. She was watching people die that might be saved, and now it was obvious the Reaper was helping them. The chances of their group's success in assisting the manor had already improved, and as she continued to watch, she saw a majority of the marauder vehicles race away. While this left quite a few bad guys still firing into the manor, those inside that large home were firing back, and the best part was they had a clear shot from where they hid.

"Yes, I don't know where those others went, but the odds are more than even now. Raise the windows and fire when I do, people," Scott called out. Within seconds, he'd raised the window and blinds before pushing out the screen. Beside Janet, others did the same, and in moments, seven rifles were resting on the windowsills of the four front-facing windows. Everyone had their favorite rifle with them, Janet's being the AR-15 Scott had given her, and she slowly breathed in and out as her finger tightened on the trigger.

Scott had taught her the rudiments of marksmanship. How to hold the weapon tightly and how to aim it properly. Making sure you breathed in and out slowly, then to fire as she exhaled. Wait, the safety. Janet mentally cursed and, using the thumb of her right hand, rotated the rifle off safe and prepared to fire as once again she sighted in one of the marauders near them. Come on, Scott, she thought, exhaling again.

"Fire!" he shouted, and immediately seven rifles opened up, and before them, seven figures fell. Some remained down, others jumped back up only lightly wounded, but Janet kept firing.

*****

“Holy shit,” Shue muttered to himself as he continued to release bursts of three and four rounds. He was aiming for tires, windows, and the figures crouched in the back of the trucks, when suddenly an explosion occurred under the lead vehicle. Then another, this one the bright actinic flash of willy pete. Someone was throwing grenades, and it wasn't at him and his men. Hooah!

Settling down again, he started firing on individual marauders as the vehicles ground to a halt, men piling out, weapons ready. Beside and behind him, his men continued to release controlled bursts of deadly accurate fire. The marauders were dropping as 5.56 tore through drunken bodies. Two of the trucks exploded from lucky hits to their gas tanks, and Shue started to stand. Christ, they were running away!

"Advance under cover," he shouted as he dodged to the tree in front of his position and dropped three rounds into a running figure, watching as it tumbled to the ground. A round hit the bark above his head, causing him to involuntarily duck behind the large bole of the tree. Then after a pause, he swung around the other side to fire another burst at two figures lying prone and firing back.

It was time to get some payback on these motherfuckers, he thought as he did a forward scuttle to get behind yet another tree. This one smaller, and he cursed his momentary lapse in judgment as he felt the pluck against the side of his coat. Bastards were getting too close for comfort. It was irritating when gangsters and drug addicts learned to shoot somewhat straight.

"Forward, eleven o'clock. Two prone," he shouted again.

"On it!" Adams shouted, and Schuster watched as rounds stitched the ground beside, then over the firing figures of the marauders. Almost instantly, their guns went silent and Shue was moving again.

"Adams, Hendrix, echelon right. Grady, left on me!" and he was diving to the right as they semi-circled through the remaining tree line, the few remaining figures directly ahead and under fire from the unknown group across the road. Shue was half-relieved and half-disappointed that most of the marauders had run as fast as their legs could carry them.

"Hands in the air!" he shouted as his carbine pointed at the last three. Slowly they rose to their feet, arms stretched overhead.

*****

Tom fired through the broken ground floor window at the last of the marauders that had tried to gain entrance, and watched as the wild-looking man ran away. Tom didn't know if he'd actually hit him or not, though he had tried. Raising his rifle, he stepped to the side of the broken frame, preparing to fire at those near the southeast corner of the walled-in property, when more shots rang out from somewhere down the street. Someone else had come to their rescue!

In amazement, he watched as the broken and wounded forms of marauders ran in all directions under the concentration of fire. The best part was, every one of those directions was away from the manor. Within seconds it was over, with not a marauder in sight, as the sounds of gunfire ceased. Shaking with relief, Tom headed to the front door. He had people to thank.

*****

The Reaper watched as the last of the functional marauder vehicles turned around and away from his position. Looking out over the streets below him, he saw that the attack against the manor had ceased, and in the distance he saw scores of the enemy heading back to the cemetery. Briefly he said a prayer of thanks to the Lord as he placed his rifle on safe, then he slowly climbed to his feet.

Standing tall, his rifle cocked against his hip, he continued to watch as they drove away. He wanted them to see him. It might help to perpetuate a myth that only one man was out here, a man seeking revenge. He did not want the marauders fixating on the soldiers, even though it was obvious he'd had help. He doubted his plan would work but it certainly didn't hurt. His gaze traveled downward and he saw two groups emerging into the street far below. The one on his left he recognized as his men, along with what appeared to be prisoners. He frowned at that, as he turned his attention to the group on the right, instantly recognizing the distant forms of Andy and Bruce.

Time to get down there.

*****

Shue and his men were in diamond position, the captives zip-tied and on the ground within their formation. He knew the Reaper would be along soon, and ordered his men to carry the captives away from the vehicles and to get under cover. Just then, two figures appeared around the corner of a house across the street.

The acrid stench of burning vehicles and pungent odor of phosphorous were heavy in the air as Schuster advanced forward, his M4 ready, as the figures continued to approach. Shue eyed them warily.

"Hey, I'm Andy, and this is Bruce. We helped! Are you with the Reaper?" shouted the foremost figure as they drew closer. Shue could tell they were excited, like this was a game, and he scowled before replying.

"We noticed, and right on time with those grenades. I'll wait to answer the second question." Shue called back.

"Well, he's on top of that cell tower next to us," and Andy was pointing, his voice lower as they drew closer. "Hey, you're military," he suddenly said.

"No, we're civilians."

"Right. Just using that word means you’re military, and I know you're helping the Reaper. Here he comes now!" Andy's pointing finger indicated the form that was approaching them at a leisurely pace, long sniper rifle cocked over one shoulder, forcing Schuster to shrug.

"Yeah, okay," Shue sighed as he gave up the subterfuge. As the Reaper reached them, Schuster stepped forward and remarked, "Textbook, sir. We didn't even have to fall back to secondary positions. No casualties and three mikes as prisoners."

"Good work, Shue." The voice was deadpan but the warmth behind it unmistakable, and Schuster felt a sudden pride overcome him. He did not need praise, but the fact that it came from a man that had turned their mission around made it important to him. No longer did he feel impotent, turning a blind eye to the evil around him. Today he had made a difference, and hopefully would continue to do so. He stepped back as the newcomer, Andy, started to speak.

"Mikes? Why call the prisoners mikes?"

Briefly Shue considered explaining the phonetic language the Army used along with the military in general indicating combatants—for instance, mikes meant marauders, and the Viet Cong were Charlies, etc.—but then he simply muttered, "Mikes, means marauders, it's how we talk," and scowled again at the heavyset man. Andy seemed to accept it and stepped back as the Reaper strode forward into their midst.

"Prisoners? Why?"

"Well. They surrendered."

"Do you feel there’s useful intel to be gained by interrogating them?"

"No sir, we know their setup and system."

"Do you have a place for captives and are you willing to feed them?" the Reaper continued as his hand slid over to rest on the handle of his old-fashioned Navy Colt.

"No sir." And suddenly Schuster knew what was about to happen. He wasn't too surprised and certainly wasn't put out by it.

"I thought not," and the Reaper’s hand rose, .45 in hand, as he shot all three bound figures lying on the ground as they tried to squirm away. After thumbing in fresh cartridges, the Reaper holstered his revolver and turned to Schuster. The smell of feces hung heavy in the air, temporarily overpowering the stench from the nearby burning vehicles.

"Staff Sergeant. Approve or disapprove?"

"Approve, sir." And as simply as that, it was all right in Shue's mind. This was a new, harder world. Examples needed to be made, and eventually those of evil inclination would learn that rough men stood ready to do them violence in return. Vaguely he tried to remember a similar quote, but gave up after a moment.

(The actual quote was from a conversation between George Orwell and reporter Richard Grenier of the Washington Times, where Grenier paraphrased Orwell's statement as "people sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." Orwell had a sound grasp on the nature of our freedom within the United States of America.)

"Good. Now why in the Lord's name are you here, Andy? I thought you said you wouldn't become involved." The Reaper had turned to the other and was now directing his questions in that direction.

Andy, shaken from what he had just observed, but not surprised or disappointed, shrugged and responded, "Well, it seemed like the thing to do, Reaper."

"Thank you. Let's get over to the manor though. We need to assess casualties and get them out of there, and find out who else helped, but I have an idea." As the Reaper spoke, he nodded in the direction of the manor. In the distance they could make out the forms of multiple people walking up to the residence. Oily flames and smoke still rose into the air from the effects of the Molotov cocktails, and in the distance, they saw the door open slowly.

*****

Chapter 15

Duane limped into the office, a heavy bandage wrapped around one thigh, the darkening red stain spreading even as Ringo looked at it. The other’s expression was contrite, worried, and above all resigned. Ringo had seen those looks before on people who had failed him miserably.

"More bad news?" he asked calmly. He was anything but calm, but he didn't want to scare his right-hand man too badly.

"Did not go as planned, Ringo," Duane stated as he collapsed in the chair across the desk.

"Then explain it to me. I sent you with sixty men. Almost thirty vehicles, and our two snowplows. Explain what part of ‘take out that damn manor’ confused you.”

"That fucking sniper shooting the shit out of us, again, confused me, Ringo." Duane started to rise but Ringo waived him back into his seat.

"What sniper?"

"Some guy on the cell tower was taking us out from a thousand yards away and might have been the same fucker that hit us yesterday. Fuck dude, you couldn't move fast enough. My guys were dropping all around me! Jesus Christ, don't you think I tried?"

"So one man took out how many?"

"Well we came back with almost thirty!"

Then Ringo exploded. "You lost thirty of my guys on a simple job to one man?"

"No, no, damnit! Listen, boss. We were taking them out. That old house was falling. I had a few wounded but that was it, and I know we took out a bunch of theirs. Then all hell broke loose. Shots coming in. They never fucking missed, dude! My guys driving the snowplows were the first to die and they died quick. Headshots! Then others started dying. We had just broken through the boards over one of the windows and were getting ready to go in when most of the guys there dropped in seconds. Un-fucking-believable! It was insane! What do you want me to say? So I did the only thing I could. I pulled most of the guys to go after that asshole. Take him out quick and we'd finish the job. No joy, man. Soon as we got close to him, we were hit from both sides. Grenades and a bunch of guys with rifles. They were fucking waiting, man! They knew we would come after this sniper dude. Fuck!" Dropping his head in defeat, Duane ran his hands over his face in frustration.

Ringo, who had been toying with his .44 Magnum in its holster, possibly preparing to shoot his right-hand man, deliberately calmed himself. Something was going on. He didn't know what yet, but he was smart enough to figure it out.

"So the soldiers broke our truce."

"Yes, No. Hell, I don't know. Only that sniper dude standing on the top of that fucking cell tower was wearing Army gear, but even a couple hundred yards away as we were getting our ass shot to shit I could tell he was old, and no one we've seen at their hangout. I didn't see anyone else that looked Army, including the ones hitting us from the side."

"Then who were they, and who was hitting you from the side?"

"You're asking me? Dude, we've done some shit together over the years and you know I'm being straight. I really think I was lucky to get out of that guy’s way."

"I don't like this, Duane. This is not in the plan. Find him and kill him!" snarled Ringo.

"What? Where and how, and if I did find him how many men do you want to lose? What part of ‘he took out almost half of us’ is unclear? In minutes, Goddamnit!" Duane struggled to rise, his face beet-red, and Ringo rose with him, his .44 Magnum pointed at Duane's chest, anger written plainly on his face.

"I need excuses like I need a heart attack."

"Fuck you! I've ..." The roar sounded loud in the small room, impacting Ringo's eardrums as he watched Duane’s lifeless body slump to the floor. Damn, that was going to leave a stain on the chair, not to mention the hole in the center of the wall. He only hoped it hadn't hit one of the girls waiting for him just outside.

*****

Tom watched from the doorway, a guarded expression on his face as everyone who had helped his small group approached. Seven were climbing over the barricade to his right, four guys and three women, and before him he saw another group of seven, one of whom was the Reaper. He carefully viewed the assembled people arrayed before him as they finally came to a stop, then stepped forward, addressing the Reaper first.

"Thank you."

"Welcome." The reply was taciturn, yet Tom sensed this was just the Reaper’s way.

"Please introduce your friends. That was the end for us. I saw it coming. Then ..." his voice broke as emotion overcame him, knowing that the harrowing experience of barely surviving death’s door was over, and they’d been rescued by these people he didn't even know. Why they would take such a risk was beyond his capability of understanding, but he was thankful for the risk they’d taken.

"Easy now, it's cool, man. We were in time," spoke one of the men. Tom's gaze instantly fastened on him as his body started shaking. The adrenaline rush of the last hour was having its toll, and he was suddenly having trouble standing. The man who had spoken stepped forward quickly and grabbed him under one arm, his own arm going around Tom's back in support. "Hey, easy, easy, you're OK. It's over, buddy."

"It's not over. Not yet, Shue. The fight has just begun," commented the Reaper.

"Hey, the guy just got over the fact he's still alive. Give him a minute," Shue responded as he helped Tom sit down.

Tears cascaded down Tom's face as he looked up at the others in wonder. "You have no idea how many people you just saved," he murmured. As he sat there, shivering, a lady approached; she handed her rifle to the Reaper, who accepted it with obvious surprise as she sat down beside Tom and draped an arm over his shoulders.

"What's your name?"

"Tom Garnet."

"Mine’s Janet. You gonna be OK?"

"Yeah sure, I just didn't think we'd live. Coming to grips here. Give me a moment, sorry for the display." Tom's world was swirling but slowly everything was coming back into focus. The man referred to as Shue by the Reaper leaned close.

"How many wounded do you have, and are they serious?" he asked.

"Ahh, seven or eight wounded. Most seriously. One of the kids got hit," Tom responded, and immediately Shue was directing his commands to another who stood beside him.

"Get on the radio. We’ll evac their wounded and bring the others in. Tell the sergeant we need a triage set up to handle inbound. Tell Nancy to prep for surgery." The other man nodded, then slung a bulky pack off of his back and started opening it.

"Wait! What are you doing?" stammered Tom as he gained the strength to stagger to his feet. Then it dawned on him. Short haircuts, muscular bodies, and a very competent attitude. They were military. "You're soldiers!"

"Of course! But we need to get your wounded treated. Grady, are you on comm yet? Did you tell them to prep?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Adams, Hendrix. Get in there and assess the wounded. Tom, can one of your people clear the way?"

"Ahh, yeah. Terri, go with them and tell everyone they’re friends." Tom's last words were directed to a short, stout, middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense attitude, and a deer-hunting rifle slung over one shoulder. She nodded and beckoned the two men to follow her. In the background, Tom heard the other solder talking to someone over his radio, then Shue was holding his hand out for the microphone. Shue was working at lightning speed, and as Tom looked over, he saw the Reaper smiling. Wow, that was a new look for this deadly man, he thought, then listened in as Shue took over. Still the smile and obvious look of pride was unnerving.

"Give it to me," Shue commanded and the microphone was instantly placed in his beckoning hand.

"Charlie six, this is Charlie two, we need evac for possibly eight critical. My men are assessing them now."

"Charlie two, Charlie six. Preparing an LMTV with stretchers and additional personnel now. Should be your location within five, over."

"Good news. We'll be ready, Charlie six."

"Charlie Two. Can you give me a brief situation report. Should we button up?"

"Total smack down, Sergeant, and that's an affirmative."

"Well, bring everyone in. We'll lock down until the drop."

"Roger that. Charlie two out."

"Charlie six, out. See you in a bit."

Then Shue was handing the microphone back and turning to the Reaper, who held out his hand.

"Thank you, Staff Sergeant."

"No reason to get all formal, Reaper. This was needed a week ago when we arrived. Without your support, there was simply no workable solution."

"Then let's get all these people back and prepare for the drop. It's about to get busy."

"Yes, sir."

Tom shook his head at the exchange, while simultaneously thanking whatever higher power was in existence.

*****

Rodriguez was waiting when Nancy came out of their makeshift surgery. Seeing the expression on her face, he already knew that some of the news would be bad. They had pulled in all the outlying groups they'd identified, including those who'd come forth in the last battle to provide a united front, and to say it was crowded beyond belief was an understatement. Nance came to him, wrapping her arms around him while burying her face against his broad chest.

"Hey hey chica, I can tell there's bad news."

"We lost two, babe. I couldn't save them. I tried but there were so many to treat and I'm not a doctor." His Nance was crying now, and Dennis held on tightly as sobs wracked her body.

"You're all we have, Hun. You did your best. I love you."

"Oh my God, I love you too, but I feel so useless. We needed a full surgical team. No, at least four. We had two bleeding out fast, and my trainees couldn't stop it. I was suturing intestines and I couldn't be in three places at once. It was a nightmare. I've never felt so helpless in my life except for the day we escaped Moberly."

"Shhhhh, chica. Let me talk to the captain. Maybe Newaygo can send a doctor."

"Anything would help."

"Okay, I'll be back." And Rodriguez kissed her one last time before leaving. His tread was aggressive, as his woman needed him, and the people they were protecting deserved better, and more.

*****

"Sir! We need to talk."

The Reaper looked up as Rodriguez spoke. He'd noticed the man's entrance into the cleaning room, where he currently had his M40A1 stripped down and was running a patch coated with CLP down the barrel. (CLP was technically Breakfree CLP, and the most commonly-used cleaner/lubricant the military used.) Rodriguez appeared angry, and the Reaper sensed an impending confrontation.

"Yes, Rodriguez."

"We need a doctor. We just lost two in surgery."

Instantly, the Reaper set down the gun parts and closed his eyes. A brief prayer to the Lord for their lost souls, and his eyes reopened.

"Agreed."

"Wait. No argument? I doubt they'll provide one, but we're losing people."

"Sergeant, I agree. I saw the need before. I simply didn't remember to mention it. We need to communicate with Newaygo now, and not just for medical reasons. I need to speak with whomever they’re sending, and get our basic strategy out there to be dissected by the incoming teams. They'll want a heads up."

"Sir. M-ATV ready when you are." For the first time that afternoon, Rodriguez smiled.

*****

Chapter 16

"Newaygo Command, this is Reaper, Code today is Paul. Authenticate over." The Reaper and Rodriguez, along with several of his men, were residing on the hilltop just to the south of the industrial complex, the best location in the area to get reception.

A sharp hiss from the speakers greeted the Reaper’s words as he held the microphone close to his face. Immediately he double-checked the settings on the frequency and scrambler and tried again.

"Newaygo Command, this is Reaper, Code today is Paul. Authenticate over." Frowning, he looked over at Rodriguez who had a pronounced look of trepidation on his face.

"This is not good," Rodriguez whispered. Instead of nodding, the Reaper waited and was just about to transmit a third time when the clear soprano tones of Captain Rider's voice spoke over the airwaves. Captain Rider had originally been Corporal Corey Rider until the governor of Michigan, and the Commanding Officer of the combined elements of the surviving military had field-promoted her. She was loved by everyone in Newaygo, and very competent with her genius-level intellect.

"Jason, sorry for the delay. We just had a zombie incursion. Nobody hurt. Authentication is Sandy. Go for confirm." The Reaper viewed his code sheet, and after nodding to himself, responded.

"Authentication confirmed. I assume hostiles out of Grand Rapids or Muskegon?" he inquired.

"Yes, primarily Muskegon. We have barriers set up against the horde in Grand Rapids. It's working for now, and my man has a plan to reduce their numbers. The drop is still a go, Reaper, and will proceed as scheduled. " Captain Rider's man was none other than the governor of Michigan, Jay Scarmon.

The Reaper came straight to the point. "We need a doctor! And I need to talk to the commanders of the teams you’re sending."

"A doctor?"

"Yes, we just lost two souls in action today that might have been saved with proper treatment. Our lead here is a surgical nurse, with two decades of experience, but she rightly asserts they need a full surgeon for what's coming."

"Jason, I don't know. What kind of numbers are we looking at?"

The Reaper turned to Rodriguez, who was frowning. "With the addition of everyone, and our best estimate of the captives’ numbers, what's your guess on total?"

"Well that's easy, close to or possibly over a thousand."

The Reaper instantly turned back to the communications board.

"Call it a thousand which will grow, Corey, as more come in once the area's somewhat safe."

"That's a solid number. Hold one while I check," and the carrier went dead for a bit. Then Lieutenant Purcell’s voice responded. Purcell was Jay Scarmon’s aide, a Ranger from the 75th Ranger Regiment out of Fort Benning, Georgia, and the second deadliest hand-to-hand combatant in Newaygo. Only Ashley ranked supreme.

"Reaper, we have no jump-qualified doctors. I understand you need assistance, but the number of doctors are limited and we can't afford to lose one to a bad jump."

"The solution is simple, Purcell. He can tandem with one of the SF personnel. Strap his forward and drop packs to one of the pallets. Whoever he is bellied up to will control the jump, and I'm sure you'll get the chute size right. We need a doc."

"Good idea, and I was considering that after approval. I'm tempted to recommend Dr. Rossi. He's been a pain in the ass since they came back. The man believes in touchy-feely even during the apocalypse. Johnny's really getting irritated with him and they've been fighting constantly, but he is an excellent surgeon with a side of psych."

Johnny Clark, known simply as Johnny, was the leader of the rehabilitation center that Newaygo had saved last month. He also had cerebral palsy. In fact, most of those rescued from the rehab had physical and mental disabilities, and the Reaper had led the charge with four other survivor groups when Newaygo was delayed. Intense action and many lives lost had ultimately resulted in the rescue of over four hundred souls, thirty-two of whom were newborn infants from Mercy Hospital. The Reaper chuckled to himself, remembering when he'd met what Johnny called his gimp brigade, all wielding shotguns, and all confined to wheelchairs. That was an experience he would never forget, nor the Lord's hand in showing to the new world that those with disabilities could not only make a difference but could also excel as a strike force. Then the Reaper remembered the little girl they had rescued and the horror she had experienced and made a decision.

"Rossi would be perfect. His psychological services are badly needed. Some of the victims are under fourteen, and one is severely traumatized."

"Sounds right up his alley. Let me run it by the colonel real quick, and stay online for Captain Sokowski. He'll be one of the team leaders dropping in."

The Reaper knew that Jay would make the right decision, so waited patiently.

"What do you think's taking so long?" Rodriguez asked after more than ten minutes had passed.

"I assume they’re asking for volunteers. Newaygo is busy fighting a war on multiple fronts. They're all busy there, just as we are here."

"Gotcha, still ..." then Rodriguez was interrupted as a voice came over the speakers.

"The commander and Dr. Rossi have agreed. He'll be in the drop, in tandem. Take care of him, Reaper. For all his quirks, he's a good man. Stand by for Captain Sokowski." Purcell's voice was back, and the news was good.

"Thank Jay for me." Beside Jason, Rodriguez breathed a sigh of relief.

"Roger that. Good luck, and Purcell out!" A brief pause, then, "Sokowski! Good to be working with you again, Reaper." The Reaper now recognized the strong younger voice of the 9th's Special Forces Group and Red Team leader. They had first become acquainted in Ohio when they’d breached the shadow government’s stronghold, and Sokowski and his men had been attached to the Reaper as Jason led the hostage rescue force.

"Sokowski, good to hear your voice," remarked the Reaper.

"And yours. Run the mission down for us, and your current actions regarding the targets. I have satellite images of the area with close-ups before me. By the way, the commander has given you command authority; we are there to assist."

For the next fifteen minutes, the Reaper outlined his plan, took questions from Sokowski, and asked more than a few in return as the strategy was laid out.

"Looks like a winner, Reaper. Given the nature of the enemy, I concur with the overall tactics. I disagree with your timetable though." The Reaper had explained they would wait a day, while setting up traps of their own, or IEDs, and that the assault would commence the morning after at four a.m., or 0400.

"What do you propose, Sokowski?"

"T plus five!" That information told the Reaper that Sokowski meant that five hours after time on target they would launch their attack. He and his men would have landed, regrouped, and joined the survivors.

"You'll have no rest."

"We're rested, and according to your information these marauders might attack you if we wait. You just took them on and killed a bunch of their men. This is the best time to hit them."

"Good point. Will that give you enough time to plant the IEDs and train the civilians in the AT4s?

"Easily. Did you forget how good we are, Jason?" At that, the Reaper chuckled, for the skills Sokowski and his men had exhibited were amazing. For all his Marine Corps service, Jason had never been prouder of his fellow soldiers than during that action.

"No!"

"We'll do a final brief before execution but it's a win, looking at it from our end. We'll discuss the exfil after the op. Getting to work here as we're leaving soon. Handing you over to Rider."

"Reaper?" Captain Rider was back, her clear voice always good on the ears no matter what the condition of the signal.

"You keep yourself safe! The commander won't take kindly to you getting hurt again." Rider was referring to an earlier action in Grand Rapids where the Reaper took a round through the side. They had successfully rescued over twenty prisoners from a gang bent on sending them into slavery, but not without casualties.

"I know, Corey."

"Then good luck and take care."

“You take care also, and thanks."

"You also, Reaper. Newaygo out!" and the connection went dead.

"One doctor on the way, Sergeant."

"That's amazing, and thank you! I can't wait to tell Nancy."

"Then let's get back. We have work to do," the Reaper said. Then he turned inward on his memories, and silently offered up another brief prayer to those valiantly lost in their sacrifice to preserving humanity. The list of righteous fallen was long ... and growing daily.

*****

Dr. Rossi muttered under his breath and wondered where to put his hands. The straps they had cinched to his body dug painfully into his shoulders and groin, and he tried not to take a deep breath. He was fastened to this soldier, and closer than he'd ever wanted to be to a man. Just now the other was checking where they were connected, jerking on each clasp, then rocking the doctor’s body back and forth while Rossi held his arms out sideways.

"If you're wondering where to put your hands, place them here, grip tight, and do not let go. Do you understand, doctor? Under no circumstances do you let go." The speaker was Captain David Sokowski, and Rossi was a bit afraid of him. They had met for the first time just hours before, and the captain had been quick to order the doctor around, who did not appreciate that one bit. After all, he was a doctor, not some soldier. Sokowski should have been following his orders, and not the other way around.

"I understand, Captain. You're repeating yourself again."

"I'm repeating myself because I can't have you screwing us up when we come in for a landing. We could both be badly hurt, which is NOT a good thing, and would just piss me off." This last was said in a menacing voice, and inwardly Rossi shivered.

"I understand," and Rossi was looking everywhere but into the cold eyes of this other man he was currently tied back-to-belly with. Dr. Rossi had volunteered at the last minute to accompany the forces on their way to assist the Reaper. His wife didn't like it, but he was glad to get out of Fremont where Johnny Clark was driving him crazy. Johnny did not seem to realize that he was no longer in charge of all those from Clear Haven Clinic who had been rescued in the big battle in Muskegon. Rossi knew there was plenty of other staff and other doctors able to take care of all the disabled, and that he, Rossi was not actually needed. Besides, he had not performed as a surgeon in quite some time, and the thought of being able to take a direct hand with wounded and also utilize his psychiatrist skills on those damaged by these marauders revitalized him. Now, he was in a large airplane, in the middle of the night, freezing his butt off and getting ready to leap out into the unknown. The thought scared the bejesus out of him, but he consoled himself with the fact that he was needed, and best of all he'd get away from Johnny. He jerked himself back to the present as Sokowski began talking to him again, their cheeks inches apart.

"Pay attention, Doctor!"

"I am!"

"Alright. We're going to make two passes, the first is coming up now. See that light over the door?" Sokowski nodded toward the rear of the aircraft and Rossi glanced, quickly seeing the back upward tailgate thing was fully open, which probably explained why it was so cold in here. There were four large pallets arranged in front of the opening where two large red lights were shining. Rossi saw that several people Sokowski had called flight crew were braced against the pallets preparing to push them out the opening.

"Yes."

"When that turns green, the flight crew will push out the pallets, and then the lights will turn red again. We'll bank and come back around. We'll get a thirty-second warning, then it's our turn. You and I will jump last."

"Bank?"

"The aircraft will turn and make another pass, which usually takes a few minutes."

"Okay, I got it."

"This in important, Doctor. As the last man jumps we'll be right behind them. I'll release my drag chute as I leap. We'll be pulled beyond the tail almost instantly, but don't worry. I'll be gripping you tightly and we'll go together, so just let your feet drag when I run forward. Once clear, I'll open my main and we'll descend. I will control our direction, which is why it's important for you to keep your hands tightly gripped to the harness. As we near the ground, I'll flare the chute, which will bring us almost to a dead stop in relation to the ground. Basically, it's like taking a steep step. We may run forward a few yards but nothing to worry about. Just stay limp and don't try to help. Are you clear on that?"

"Yes."

"Good. Get ready." And suddenly a loud buzz sounded. Looking over, Rossi saw the light turn green. Instantly the flight crew was pushing the pallets out; they rolled down the slightly incline and amazingly quick were gone. Within seconds the lights turned red again, and Rossi felt them start to turn. It was slightly bumpy, and he was jostled around as Sokowski moved him closer to the door. He watched as all the men lined up. They were grouped closely together and lightly held each other as the maneuvering plane jostled their bodies.

Twenty-three men stood between him and the doorway. All had large parachute packs strapped to their backs, a smaller pack strapped to their chest, and an additional, much larger pack held in their arms. They stood, facing the doorway; Rossi was amazed that all these men appeared so calm, and knew that his own shivering was due more to what was about to happen and not the freezing cold temperatures within the aircraft. A loud buzzer sounded.

Within seconds the light turned green again and a member of the flight crew was hollering "Go, go, go!" and he watched as twenty-three men dove out of the aircraft, and then it was their turn. Rossi's breath exploded at the suddenness of the acceleration out of the plane. Just as they disappeared into the dark, he saw men with chutes open dropping the large packs they carried which seemed to be suspended several feet below them, and belatedly he realized that those packs were still somehow attached to each soldier. Then fright took over, as he experienced a huge jerk on his straps which dug even more painfully into his groin, but they were still falling.

Gripping the straps where Sokowski had told him never to let go, Rossi closed his eyes.

*****

Chapter 17

"Blue One. This is Paris Six, do you copy, over," the Reaper spoke into the microphone as he waited with his crew. The airdrop was over ten minutes late and everyone was getting worried. They had already placed chemical lights, the kind you crack then shook, on the ground in the form of an inverted ‘Y’ which would give the air crew the direction of travel for the jump. Those jumping, along with the pallets of supplies, would come in on that vector.

"Blue One, Paris. You are Lima Charlie and ETA is two minutes, currently descending to thirty-five hundred." Blue One let them know that the Reaper was broadcasting loud and clear and that the arrival would be within two minutes. Jason nodded to Rodriguez, whose expression of relief was palpable. Standing next to Rodriguez was Schuster, who was giving the Reaper the thumbs up.

"Roger that, Blue One. The delay had some worried." Shue scowled at Rodriguez, and nudged him, but was deliberately ignored, making Jason grin at the exchange. Once Rodriguez truly believed backup was on the way, his fortitude and commitment to helping all the groups was extraordinary. The Reaper realized these men had been waiting for an opportunity to make a difference, and that previously they had felt helpless.

"Issues with the good doctor before takeoff, Paris Six. Seems he didn't realize he'd be married to one of the men." At that, the Reaper couldn't help but snort. A tandem jump was only done in two ways, the most common being 'back up' to the one with the chute. You clipped your harness to theirs and they controlled the experience, though that experience was intimate. Many referred to it as being married, and a great many jokes had come from the familiarity.

"We'll be making two passes, Paris. First, four pallets, we'll do a turnaround and drop the men and doctor on the second pass. The pallets will be on the ground before our second pass, so keep your people clear."

"Roger, two passes and will keep my people clear, Blue One. We are standing by to receive inbound."

"Countdown is commencing now. Thirty seconds, Paris." In the distance, they could hear the faint yet unmistakable drone of aircraft though no lights were visible. The hum grew closer and the radio barked again.

"Dropping now, Paris. Four pallets. Be advised, the pallets have infrared beacons." A pause, then, "Pallets away, commencing turnaround." Another three minutes passed before they heard, "Commencing second pass now. All out, the boys are yours, including one disgruntled doctor, Paris. Check your doorstep and good luck, Reaper. Blue One out."

"Thank you, Blue One, have a safe flight back. Paris Six, out!" the Reaper responded as he set the microphone back on its clip and stood. "Let's go, Rodriguez."

As they exited the interior of the M-ATV, the Reaper looked into the night sky and by the bright moonlight saw a great many chutes descending towards them. Glancing into the field after his vision had adjusted, he could see the four pallets within the empty crop field before them. “Those pilots are accurate as all get out,” he grunted. He then glanced at the luminescent dial of his watch and noticed it was 2215, or 10:15 p.m., then glanced over at the long line of vehicles arrayed beside him. They had taken all four of the light cargo trucks, LMTVs, in addition to the two M-ATVs which mounted the light machine guns, or 240Bs. Behind them were the other trucks that would carry the men back. Currently, all were dark, with no lights showing. He knew the men would be dropping under visible light conditions and did not want the additional illumination to blind them. The Reaper would wait patiently for the Special Forces to descend, and as he watched, he saw them landing in the field with a few dropping near or in the tree lines boxing in the landing zone. Turning quickly, he pointed out one vehicle to Shue. It was turned sideways, and he spoke quickly.

"Have that truck turn their lights on. I would have preferred a blue drop light, but we use what we have. We'll wait until the men regroup and approach us."

"Got it sir!” Then Shue was running towards the indicated vehicle and within seconds lights blazed forth, but directed away from the field.

The Reaper settled back to wait.

*****

Dr. Rossi gasped as they suddenly rotated and his body was flung sideways, only to quickly settle down, and then he grunted when he felt his feet hit the ground. As his body was propelled forward and down, he noticed they were very close to one of the pallets. He could barely make it out, though the moonlight made it more visible.

When they had first left the aircraft, he’d held his eyes tightly closed; the sudden descent and a slight amount of vertigo had frozen him. True to his promise, he'd kept his hands tightly gripped to the straps Sokowski had wrapped them around. It had taken him half a minute to overcome his fright and reopen his eyes, and was amazed that even at night he could see the ground almost clearly.

Sokowski's head was turned sideways while his arms were stretched slightly overhead doing something with straps he held tight in his hands. For an instant, Rossi thought he was not paying attention, then their bodies shifted sideways when one of those straps were pulled.

Then they were approaching fast, and out of the corners of his eyes he saw Sokowski pull sharply on the cords he was holding. Remembering the instructions, Rossi let his feet drag as the captain hit the ground and they were suddenly trotting forward. Several sharp jerks later, Rossi was separated from their intimate position and turned to Sokowski.

"Stay up but low, and stay near the pallet, Doctor. We'll secure the area first." And the man was stepping away from him while bundling up his parachute, then his compact rifle rising as he moved away from the pallet. Rossi quickly scurried to its side and crouched. This was dangerous, yet at the same time fun. From less than five meters away he heard Sokowski speak, obviously talking into the microphone his helmet had been equipped with. Rossi frowned again because they had not given him any means of communication. He vowed to have a talk with them about that later, if he could get over his trepidation towards this stern soldier, that is.

"Red Team, this is Red Six, report!" Rossi could not hear what was said in return, which infuriated him further.

"Roger that Red Two, we are at one of the equipment drops, northwest corner. I see a single beacon on the hill, regroup here and secure the perimeter. Glad you all made it." Wildly Rossi looked around, and behind them he saw what looked like headlights pointed slightly away from them. He stayed put though, because he had been carefully coached in this. He was to move only when told to move. There were some very bad people out there that would hurt him if he was seen. He crouched lower against the large crate.

*****

Captain David Sokowski smiled in satisfaction as all of his men reported in and his assistant commander, Chief Warrant Two Richard Brady, or Rich, asked his location. Sokowski responded with their position and told his team to regroup on his current position. Now he needed to contact Blue, and his hand rose, automatically hitting the almost hidden switch to change channels.

"Come in Blue Team. This is Red Six." Instantly a voice responded.

"Blue Six," the voice of his friend, First Lieutenant Roger Hewitt, responded.

"All your men make it down okay, Rog?" he inquired.

"Sure, but two are stuck in trees, we're getting them out now."

"I'm at the northwest corner beside an equipment drop. Get your men down and assemble on our location. We’ll move up together to greet our welcoming committee."

"I see the headlights. Will do, Blue Six out."

"Red Six, out," and Sokowski was reversing his steps to the doctor. Coming in from multiple directions around their positions, he could see his men converging and he smiled.

*****

The Reaper frowned and glanced at his watch again while he waited. The time was 2025 and he knew they would be approached shortly. He’d sent no one to collect the pallets, even though Rodriguez was anxious to peruse their contents. He knew the men approaching would be securing their perimeter and only then approaching his position. Then he heard something, and coming faint to his ears he heard a loud thump with assorted metal jingling.

"I'm sorry, I tripped." The unmistakable whine of Dr. Rossi's voice was clearly audible, causing Jason to shake his head in resignation, and since the approaching team’s position had now been given away, the Reaper called out.

"Greetings, Dr. Rossi, Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome," a voice called out, then immediately sounded again, "what do you mean I'm supposed to shut my mouth?" and this time the Reaper grinned inwardly as he realized that no matter what, some things never changed.

Moments later, a man rose out of the darkness twenty meters before him. Vaguely the Reaper could make out a face covered in camouflage paint, and a ready weapon. Beside this figure, another rose and the Reaper was stepping forward to greet them, when the foremost spoke.

"Captain Sokowski, Red Team, and Captain Hewitt reporting. Good to see you again Reaper."

Jason grunted and, drawing closer, recognized the features of a man who had accompanied him in the labyrinth of tunnels under Ohio. Jason reached out his hand, which the other gripped tightly, both men murmuring “fallen comrades.”

"Good to see you again, David." Then Jason turned to Hewitt, remarking, "You were in the Massachusetts raid, if I'm not mistaken. I hear it was busy." The Reaper held out his hand towards him.

"Busy and intense, sir," Hewitt responded as he met the hard grip with one of his own. Both newcomers removed their helmets while behind them over a score of additional figures rose, with a complaining Dr. Rossi amongst them.

"Jason! Would you tell these soldiers to let go of me? After what I've been through, I'm tired of being manhandled." The Reaper sighed.

"Shue, would you direct recovery operations on the pallet drops, and Rodriguez, please take charge of the doctor. He'll want to meet your chief surgeon soonest, I'm sure."

"Why wasn't I told you had a chief surgeon? What's his name?" the plaintive voice of Dr. Rossi was overly loud in the night, and from beside the Reaper, Rodriguez immediately responded.

"That's Head Surgical Nurse Nancy Kerrigan to you, doctor and she's all we have. She's performed miracles." The voice was low and very protective as Rodriguez came forward to grasp the doctor by his upper arm.

"Well, I'm here now and I'll have you know ..." his voice rose in a squeak as Rodriguez dragged the doctor to a waiting Humvee. The Reaper ignored them as he beckoned the remaining soldiers to approach.

"We'll talk back at the complex. Schuster will arrange recovery of the equipment and we'll intro your men when we’re all inside."

"Roger that, sir," Sokowski responded as he gave the forward motion to the men behind him and Hewitt before stepping closer. Reaching inside his vest, he pulled out a large plastic baggie which he extended to Jason, along with a small pen light he turned on. "I have satellite intel to go over with you later, but was told to give you this first, Captain," and then Jason was accepting the proffered items and quickly turned the light on the plastic baggie.

It was a cartoon picture of a man dressed in brown, features indistinct but holding the hand of a small figure with curly hair. The man had a large beard on his face and the small child was dressed in pink. Scrawled at the bottom of the picture were the lopsided letters spelling the name Emma. As tears tricked down his cheeks, the Reaper unsealed the picture and brought it closer to his face to see it better. A sharp scent was immediately identified and, lowering his face to the stiff paper, Jason immediately smelled Emma's brother Paul's cologne—the same cologne his father used, and a fragrance Emma was always stealing from the family dresser top as she idolized her older brother. He smiled as tears continued to trickle down his rugged face. Emma wanted him to be reminded of her. Carefully he placed the drawing back in the plastic wrapping and tucked it within his coat, close to his heart. This he would keep as long as he remained on earth.

"Thank you!" he responded, a catch in his voice.

"Hey, sir. We've met Emma. The colonel isn't shy about introducing those he loves, so we know!" responded Hewitt, while Sokowski gripped his shoulder tightly.

"Okay, let's get back. We have a lot of work to do," the Reaper said huskily after clearing his throat.

*****

Chapter 18

Rodriguez dragged the resisting doctor, who already in his opinion talked way too much, to the waiting Humvee where Barber awaited. The Reaper had previously briefed him on the doctor's corrosive nature, and Rodriguez stopped just short of the vehicle to pull Dr. Rossi close.

"You will treat Nancy with respect. She is all we had until now. She's done her best, and if you dis her, I'll have your ass. Are we clear?"

"Very much so," Rossi sputtered, his demeanor that of one offended. "I do realize what you're going through. We've all been through this. You didn't have the staff, nor the supplies to make a difference. Well that's changed now."

"Incorrect, Doctor, we did make a difference, and she's saved more people in the last month than you can count. She's done the best she could, so don't go there. It’s advice you should take heed of. The Reaper warned me about you, so do not hurt my Nancy, even with words."

"Okay. I get it. Why are all you soldiers the same? I'm a civilian and should be treated with respect!" Dr. Rossi was sputtering again while backing away from Rodriguez.

"Respect is earned!" Rodriguez growled. "Barber. Take him back to the complex and introduce him to Nancy. They need to meet. Hang around. I want to know what he says.”

"You got it," was the answering reply.

Rodriguez turned away as the doctor entered the Humvee. He would help Shue oversee the recovery operations and ensure all the supplies were accounted for. This was not just their salvation. This was an opportunity to make a difference in the here and now. Eagerly he strode forward, commanded the waiting vehicles to turn on their lights, and went to work.

*****

Sokowski laid a short stack of photos out before the Reaper, and they both hunched over them, perusing the layout.

A lightning-quick reload from the pallets to the back of the trucks, then the short drive back to the industrial complex, currently had them in planning mode. As promised, Newaygo's commander had delivered everything promised, and more. The room was crowded; most of the military men were present, all listening intently as the operational plan was discussed.

"Here's what we are looking at. These are satellite photos of the area, and I have close-ups for all the main areas." Sokowski’s hand moved to the topmost photograph, and with one finger moved down the road. “There are six vehicles here we can use for planting IEDs. Your plan for a secondary assault force here," and his finger moved to another location, "is perfect. It's a natural response to their running. We'll push these vehicles just to the north across the Highway and rig them to explode, causing a barricade, thus forcing them to run south. We'll hit them hard and fast. Secure the captives, and hit them again as they attempt to exit the area. I project few casualties for us, and maximum losses to the enemy, though Blue Team will set up a triage at the catacombs for those wounded."

"Agreed!" It was shortly after 2300, or 11 p.m. local time, and the Reaper was concerned about the time frame. "Will this be enough time for your men to set the IEDs and instruct the civilians on the equipment?"

"Yes! Hewitt's team will split into two squads shortly. One will plant the devices, and the other will provide security. It won’t take long. We'll plant the C4 on the undercarriage and attach remote detonators." At his words, the Reaper nodded. Then he shifted the drawings and pointed to a spot on the topmost one.

"Let's go over the infil to secure the captives. I assume a silent infiltration and holding the access point, to be followed immediately with assault one, and attached elements labeled Fox Element to engage when their safety is secured."

"Yes. Blue Team will do the infil first and secure the objective; then before any forces can respond, my Red Team will hit them hard and fast from the north with the support of Fox Element, or the M-ATVs along Hwy 15 here. We'll drive them east and south, fast." Sokowski indicated the placement of the M-ATVs along the western road fronting the cemetery. Spaced out from the north corner heading south, those four armored vehicles would direct fire over the wall at targets of opportunity. They were being resupplied now with ammunition, and would wreak havoc on the marauders. The most important aspect of the M-ATVs was that they were careful in their targets and the risk to any captives in the vicinity of a possible target was minimized. "Whisky Element, Comprised of the civilian force with Schuster will keep them from escaping to the west or too far south, here." and Sokowski drew another line down the map as he finished.

"We'll want the .50s north of the 240s to ensure they keep running once they start, which they will. Anything really heavy on the south end may make them attempt to secure one of the current buildings with hostages and hold out, but we want them to run to the parking lot in the center and try to escape. The plan is a good one, Reaper, and as they clear the south end of the cemetery, Assault Force Two will engage as they try to drive past."

"Agreed! Who do you have working with our civilian groups in that force?" When they’d brought in all the supplies, the Reaper had counted exactly forty AT4 missile launchers. They would need to be used wisely. The AT4 was an 84mm self-propelled rocket, issued from a tube that could be held by a single person. The entire unit weighed fifteen pounds, and because the missile was unguided, which meant you could not lock on a target and fire, you had to point it accurately to ensure a direct hit. They were easy to use, lightweight, and considered expendable semi-armor ordnance. They were perfect for taking out fleeing lightweight trucks and cars.

"Two aspects to that. The first is Whiskey Element. It will be comprised of the local survivor groups as a cohesive unit as I indicated earlier. One group will provide security from any zombies attracted to the fight, and the others, under Schuster, will be operating as a standard fixed-in-place heavy fire team to drive any marauders that get that far towards the center east of the cemetery. We need them to get to their vehicles in order for Assault Force Two to have maximum impact."

"Who's commanding Assault Force Two?"

"I've detached MSGT (Master Sergeant) Brad Olsen. He's conducting the training, which should be happening right about now. He's used to teaching undertrained combatants and excels at it. He'll be hull down with his missile people, and when you issue a cease fire order, Assault Force One elements will stop and hold in place so that Assault Two can pop up. There will be no friendly fire on this mission. From your vantage point on the silo at that time, you'll be in the perfect position to gauge when they’re running. Call it with the understanding we'll need at least twenty seconds to calm down Whiskey Element and get them to stop firing."

"Good. Anything else we need to go over?"

"No. Hewitt's already split his team into reaction and engineering for the IED implants and are getting ready to leave. This is our best shot, Reaper."

*****

MSGT Olsen addressed the group sitting on the concrete floor before him. In his hands he held an AT4, which was the replacement for the service standard LAW, or light anti-tank weapon, and a very portable engine of destruction. He was almost thirty-five years old and had almost fifteen years of service in the military, and still loved his job.

"My name is Master Sergeant Brad Olsen and this is the AT4. You do not need to know, nor probably care, about its technical aspects. All you need to know is that it's lightweight, deadly against almost any vehicle, and can be fired in under ten seconds. It has an effective range of three-hundred meters and is strictly line-of-sight. In other words, call it a really damn big grenade that can punch through most armor and shoots straight. I will walk you through the steps of operating it and at any time, if you have questions, raise your hands." He paused for a moment before continuing. "This is a bad ass piece of equipment and you will ruin the day of anyone it hits, or comes near." A hand was raised. "Yes?" he inquired.

"It looks complicated as hell. All that writing and stuff on it. How are we supposed to learn this in one class?"

"Because it's easy to operate. Don't pay any attention to what it says on the outside. I'll walk each of you through its operation."

"Okay."

"Now I don't expect you to display this speed, and it's not needed. But in the field this speed is normal." With that, Olsen tilted the missile launcher in his hands. His left hand quickly flipped the front sight up, then swept forward in a knife sweep to flip up the rear sight, then gripped the tube. His right hand pulled the rear shoulder strap down; then he raised the weapon to his shoulder as his right hand pulled the transport safety pin near the rear of the weapon. The flimsy-looking strap settled against his shoulder and he swiveled in place, his body taut as if he were aiming at a target.

"At this point you would depress this red safety lever here," he indicated a red lever on the left side of the weapon, "and then the firing button here," and again he indicated a contact on the upper surface of the weapon. The whole process had taken Olsen seven seconds, and everyone stood up and began talking excitedly. As complaints about the speed of the arming and ready-to-fire were expressed, he set the launcher down after re-inserting the transport safety pin before addressing his students with a wide grin.

"Listen up. I showed you the speed I can ready it, but I don't expect you to do the same. If it takes you thirty seconds, that's okay. The only important thing is that you aim it accurately at close targets and that several of you do not target the same vehicle. We'll be lined up in a row, and the vehicles will be approaching single file because of the congestion on the highway. From my far left to my far right, you will each take a vehicle starting with the foremost. If there are not enough vehicles to go around, fire on any remaining target. Got it?"

"So if I'm the first on your left then I fire on the front one, right?" one woman called out.

"Affirmative. We want to make sure all the vehicles are hit.

"How do we aim it? It's huge!" another woman called out. Inwardly Olsen shrugged that none were raising their hands to speak, and replied quickly.

"You look through the sights. They're illuminated. You line up on a vehicle, and when you're ready, you press the trigger. Listen up people! I will personally walk each and every one of you through each step until you feel confident, but we only have so much time to do this, as we need to get you in place within a few hours. Do not worry, you will do fine."

Then Olsen proceeded to spend the next two hours working with each of the fifteen people before him, to perfect their understanding of the AT4. He guided each through every step with one exception. He let them fake, but not actually pull the safety pin out. An accident would have been catastrophic!

After less than four hours, they were ready, and it was time to move out!

*****

Staff Sergeant Dale Redding lived for explosives, and that meant setting them off versus experiencing their close-hand effects. Currently he was under a newer Chevrolet Volt that was stalled out on Highway 405. In his hand was a one kilo (2.2 pound) block of C4. Personally, he thought it was overkill for this type of vehicle-turned-IED, but for all his quirks, he actually enjoyed orders when they made sense. That was not always the case in the units he had passed through, but qualifying for Special Forces had given his life new meaning. Originally an ordnance-technician-turned-bomb-disposal, he had found his true calling in the underworld of black operations. Especially those operations involving a band of men he could trust his life to without hesitation, and where he got to use explosives on a daily basis. Now he was in Paris, Missouri, under an electric hybrid car and shaping a charge.

By itself, the battery on the Volt would make fantastic shrapnel. Combined with the rest of the vehicle, Redding figured it would be like a stellar explosion going off, guaranteed to either disintegrate or damage in a major way anyone passing with twenty meters.

He had already removed the wrapping, and by pressing it hard against the axle had formed the block of explosive into a rough ‘C’ shape. Now he pressed it against the axle side and started hitting it with the meaty part of his fist. Damn shit was stiffer than fuck when it was cold, and even though he had carried it against his skin before removing it shortly before placement, the tough plastique was being a very difficult child in these temperatures. He had already replaced the block he was currently shaping with another against his skin, this new block taken from the satchel Russell now carried for him.

First Sergeant Gary Russell was his point and security while he set the IEDs and armed them. They were both part of Blue Team, and were best friends. Russell's primary was medical, but that didn't stop him from being a damn good shooter. They were all cross-trained and very good at what they did, and this was an easy job, but he needed to get a move on. Dale still had five more charges to place.

Angrily he hit the forming block several more times until the bitch finally stuck to the axle assembly. This was the important part. They needed the explosion to be directed toward the road and not in all directions. Quickly he wrapped lines of duct tape around it, then, pulling a preformed metal plate out of his right cargo pocket, placed it over the charge. After securing the explosive and plate with more tape, he thrust his hand out from under the Chevy Volt while whispering, "Need the det, bro."

There were many forms of detonators, but this object that was almost instantly slapped into the palm of his hand was a rectangular modular with a copper-colored probe protruding from one end. Redding cupped it in his hand, then cradled it against his chest as he wiggled up to the shaped charge again. Carefully he inserted it into the clay-like substance he had just spent ten minutes molding, then armed it. This particular detonator was designed to be radio-controlled, and the explosion would occur instantly upon the device receiving the proper signal. They were all preset; this one was set for channel one, and the next would be channel two, and so forth. The tiny dipswitches on the backside of the module had already been adjusted. Carefully he inserted the device, and after securing it in place with a small length of tape, wiggled out.

"Alright man, onto the next."

"Let's do this," responded Russell, pulling him to his feet.

*****

Chapter 19

Dr. Rossi was starting to smile as he directed the men placing the last post-op bed in place. In the last three hours, they had already accomplished much, for Rossi ranked supreme as a multi-tasker. It was 3 a.m. and they were preparing for an influx of wounded. He was tired, even though he had taken a nap that afternoon and slept for half of the flight. His tiredness didn't matter though, for soon, many would need his services.

When he'd first arrived and surveyed the group’s makeshift hospital, he had been appalled, for all he’d seen was chaos amidst primitive conditions. Then, as the calm voice of Nurse Nancy Kerrigan directed him to the patients needing his immediate attention, she explained most of the activity around them.

Slowly a picture of quiet competence appeared, and eventually he could not help but be impressed with what this group had achieved with so little. He had also been impressed with the surgical skill Nancy had shown with their current wounded. Dr. Rossi had only needed to re-open one of those he’d checked, for the others could be treated with a course of antibiotics. Under less than sterile conditions, he had quickly cleaned the abdominal wound, then shown Nancy where she had gone wrong in suturing up the lower intestines.

Surgery complete and the medical supplies brought in, Rossi had turned the improvised hospital into two wards. Stripping everything out of the first room, he'd had workers wash it down with antiseptic, then set up a full surgical suite while the men and women were working on the second room, the room where patients would reside while recovering. After consultation with Nancy, Rodriguez, and the Reaper, they had decided on twelve beds. Rossi didn't like it when the Reaper made it clear the marauder wounded would not be initially treated, but he accepted the Reaper’s position and authority, and if they did end up with more wounded, additional beds could be brought in.

"Doctor. I'd like you to meet someone." Nancy spoke up behind him, causing Rossi to turn, and he saw her sitting on one of the post-op beds holding a little girl who couldn't have been more than eight or nine. Then, as he approached, he saw she was actually closer to ten or eleven, and that the tiny girl's malnourished state had thrown his initial estimate off. "This is Heidi, Dr. Rossi, the girl I told you about," Nancy continued as she gently held the girl in her arms, a girl that clung desperately to the older woman.

Nancy had indeed informed Rossi about this young lady. How her parents had been killed before her eyes and the couple who had taken her in after that horrific event, how she’d suffered the indignities of underground captivity for over a week, and then had been almost raped in a most savage and brutal way before the Reaper had saved her. Nancy had also told him that Heidi found it impossible to sleep more than an hour or two at a time, and suffered from recurring nightmares of her ordeals. Dr. Rossi was normally a cold and stern individual, but as he watched the way Nancy held the little girl he was reminded of his wife, when younger, and how she had held the little ones that came into the clinic. That is, before she became as cold and stern as he. In that moment, Rossi's heart melted just a little bit as he knelt before them while reaching out slowly for Heidi's hands.

"Hello Heidi, my name is Dr. Rossi, and with Doctor Kerrigan's help we will try to make you better. May I hold your hands, little one?" Gently he turned his palms up, being careful not to actually touch her. He just waited, for this was his specialty. This was why he was so desperately needed, and the feeling that gave him was one of satisfaction and fulfillment.

As he'd approached, the girl’s eyes had squeezed shut, her hands tightly clenched on Nancy's forearms, but now they were opening slowly. She watched him as he kept his gentle smile in place, then looked down at his hands before fastening her eyes on his face again. Her look was one of desperation and terror, and in that moment Dr. Rossi knew he would be hard put to go back to Newaygo. Newaygo had other Psychiatrists and he was desperately needed here.

He waited patiently; this first step of patient trust was vitally important and could not be rushed. He was a man, but needed this little girl to view him as a doctor that was a friend, and one who would help make the bad dreams go away. Nancy, he noticed, was slowly stroking the girl’s back and upper left arm in an effort to east her fright and tension.

"Doctor Rossi?" The child had finally spoken, her eyes wide in the florescent light, like giant pools of amber.

"Yes, child." His voice remained gentle as he kept his palms extended, still not touching her, just waiting.

"You can make the bad dreams go away?"

"I will do my best, Heidi. I think I can, but you have to trust me." He kept waiting even though his knees were stiffening up. He was not a young man anymore, after all. He watched as slowly the little child's hands loosened, but she did not release Kerrigan and he continued to wait.

"You’re a good guy?"

"Yes, my dear, I am. You don’t need to be afraid of me," Rossi continued in the same calm voice, and continued to wait as he saw her hands slowly move from Nancy's arms to lie on the tops of his palms. Her brave, trust-filled feat caused his heart to completely melt.

"Please don't hurt me, but please make the dreams go away." Then the child was crying, heavy sobs wracking her tiny frame as Rossi's hands gently enclosed hers and he leaned further forward to rest his head against hers. Inwardly he crowed with joy at the first, most important step toward recovery achieved.

"I will never hurt you, little one," he murmured. Dr. Rossi had witnessed many things in his long career as a surgeon and then as a Psychiatrist. But right now, as his head rested against Heidi's, he felt her pain as if it were his own, and together they cried. He would see this child healed, and now there was no way he was going back to Newaygo. Here was his new home. Hopefully, his wife would join him, but if not, he was prepared for that also. He also realized that even if asked, he would not treat the marauders’ wounded. Jason, the Reaper, was right!

*****

Olsen crouched behind the small hillock of raised earth as he directed the fifteen people to lay down on the frozen, snow-covered ground with their weapons of destruction clutched tightly in their gloved hands. Even though it would leave the first assault team one man shy, he had been attached to Assault Team Two, which was comprised solely of civilians. They needed their instructor with them during that crucial moment when they faced life and death and had to rely on the skills he had just taught them to survive. He had no regrets, for this was what he had been trained and lived for.

They were currently hiding fifty yards back, yet within five farmhouses to the west of Highway 405, and he had all his new people under cover. If this had been his old ODA, or Operational Detachment Alpha, as Special Forces teams were referred to, they would have had launchers on both sides of the road. In this case, it had been decided that friendly fire was unacceptable, thus they kept a tight group on one side. They were lined up facing the road and knew what to do. The last hour of coaching had been that of a solid movement into firing position, before target acquisition and release. They would stay hunkered down, which meant they were low enough to avoid friendly fire from the north assault group when his brothers skirmished south. When the signal came for Red Team to cease fire, Olsen and his new recruits would rise, form their line, and fire on the approaching marauder vehicles.

"Remember to always wait on my commands," he called out, just loud enough to be heard in their vicinity but not so loud that the marauders could hear him. The brick fence of the cemetery was over a hundred yards to his north, and he had spent twenty minutes getting his people into position. A chorus of "Yes, sirs" greeted his announcement and inwardly he grinned. Most of these civilians had real potential, and were not only much smarter but had more common sense than many of the third world indigents he had helped train over the years. Olsen was in his element, and happy.

"I know the ground is cold; deal with it, people. The operation is about to go hot and we'll be needed shortly. Do not under any circumstances raise your heads or bodies before I give the signal. It'll be scary for most of you. Rounds will be flying over our heads, but stay down until I tell you to rise. Do not panic or you're likely dead. Stay loose and calm. We'll have our turn."

Another chorus of "Yes, sirs" greeted this announcement and he smiled again. He keyed his tactical headset tuned to command frequency.

"A-2 in position."

"Roger that. Reaper in position. Assault One and supporting elements, where are you at?" the rough voice of the Reaper answered him.

"Fox Six in position, and about to commence" answered Rodriguez from his idling M-ATV.

"Whiskey Six, in position and holding." responded Schuster.

"Blue Team. Status update," called out the Reaper.

"Infiltrating now! Going to radio silence," answered Captain Hewitt.

Olsen grinned to himself. It was about to get busy and he couldn't wait. Blue Team was about to infiltrate the compound from the south and secure the hostages. Upon achieving that objective, Red Team would commence their assault into the compound from the north as the M-ATVs fired into the cemetery from the west at targets of opportunity.

He called out one last time, "Heads down people, it's commencing!" and then he was hugging the ground along with the fourteen others arrayed to either side of him, and waited.

*****

Captain Roger Hewitt crouched next to the decorative brick wall and, using hand signals, directed his men to scale the fence near several pines that provided close cover. Redding and Bloom were first, followed by Vanden and Schmidt. The others quickly followed, with McCombs and Dewey scaling the wall last. The heavy weapons personnel had their 240s strapped to their backs as they rolled over the low wall. Hewitt quickly followed, then slowly proceeded to the front of their column. They were moving in on the catacomb’s position and his suppressor was already attached.

Six of his team, including him, carried suppressed weapons, which were not exactly silent. They could only be used in the right situation with the right background noise. Their objective was to secure the entrance and, secondarily, to set up a triage center for friendly wounded. All of them carried packs, some quite large. Hewitt continued to creep forward, giving hand signals for his men to follow.

There! Four men stood grouped around a blazing fifty-five-gallon drum, warming their hands. Several empty bottle of liquor lay on the ground near their position, and they were laughing at something one of them said while another was changing CDs on the portable player which rested on a crate near them. Perfect! thought Hewitt as he cupped his hand behind his body to signal close up support. Immediately Redding and Bloom closed on his position, their suppressed M4s held ready. The magazines were color-coded blue, which normally meant practice rounds, but in this case it meant they carried the lower charge, sub-sonic 5.56 rounds needed for this type of mission.

Quickly, the fingers on his right hand slapped each man as he pointed out specific targets for them. There was no need for speech. No clink of equipment, as everything was taped to eliminate sound. Hewitt would service the first two targets himself, but only at the right moment. It was important to execute an operation at the perfect moment. Two of these men before them had their fingers on the triggers of their weapons and that was not a good thing, and personally irritated Hewitt as being unsafe weapons practice. They needed that moment when all before them either set their weapons down, or simply removed their fingers from the trigger. Death spasms had a way of causing muscle contractions, and Blue Team could not afford for unsuppressed shots to be heard.

Wait! One of the guards set down his gun, then rummaged in a sack nearby. A full bottle of liquor was brought forth, and the man held it upward in triumph. The other Tango, or combatant, reached for it also, only to be denied its contents by his joking brethren. Wait for it, wait! Then the second man slung his rifle across his shoulder, reached for the bottle with both hands and approached the other who was stepping backwards, a stupid grin on his face. Beside them the third man finally loaded a new CD and music blasted forth.

Instantly, the suppressed M4 in Hewitt's hands rose as he sighted in on the first of his targets. Breath out. The trigger pulled, and three rounds were on their way as he automatically sighted in on the second target. Beside him, Redding and Bloom fired almost simultaneously, and three targets dropped to the ground. The fourth looked over in surprise from his position near the entrance to the catacombs. However, it was already too late, as the double punch Hewitt delivered sent this douche bag to hell.

All four Tangos were on the ground, and as Hewitt ran forward he didn't bother checking pulses. He always knew where his rounds hit. Wait, one of the marauders was still breathing!

Hewitt smiled down at the wounded figure before rotating his gun down and pressed the trigger again. No prisoners at the catacombs, the order had been, and one with which he heartily agreed. These were all taken care of, and he secured the entrance, gazing downward into its murky depths, his M4 up and ready. Behind him, his men were dragging the bodies into the brush before setting up defensive positions.

Quickly he descended as he looked for targets. The lower room was poorly illuminated, and he saw huddled forms crouched against the walls, far away from the staircase leading down.

"Who are you?" One of the pitiful forms had raised her head, asking a simple question. He smiled tightly as he continued scanning. No Tango would ever get the drop on him, he vowed.

He responded, "the Calvary." He clicked his microphone twice, and immediately Russell and Kline trotted down the stairs and opened up the large packs they carried. They would set up a temporary triage station for incoming wounded. They were very good at their jobs.

"What? Rescue?" the plaintive words of the woman addressed at Hewitt only strengthened his resolve to see them all safe. It was obvious she was inured to her captivity, and Hewitt felt sympathy for her, but right now the others were ready to move in and he needed to let them know the captives were secured.

"Wait and see." And then he was running up the steps. Before him, the hidden forms of his men could be seen covering the entrance from anyone approaching. They’ll hold this location with a firm hand, he thought, as he keyed his microphone.

"Blue reports mission objective attained. Holding position, and able to accept incoming!"

"Copy that. Phase two beginning," came the voice of the Reaper, and instantly Hewitt took up a position within the entrance to provide covering fire on anyone approaching.

*****

Chapter 20

"How soon until you're done?" Ringo demanded. He was currently overseeing the construction of the four semi tractors they were converting into armored vehicles to take on those the soldiers had. Those fucking soldiers will not interfere again, for they won’t be alive to do so, he thought as he pulled Kelsey closer.

"Later this morning, Ringo," one of the men responded while the others continued welding sheets of plate steel to the framework of the rigs. Ringo shielded his eyes against the bright flashes of light, then shrugged as he turned away. When his guys were finished he would take every man, except for a few to guard the slaves, and attack those soldier assholes. The cannon fodder would go first ... which reminded him. Where in the hell did Tony go with that girl? He'd had his men do a half-assed search for him, but they had been unable to find him. Ringo figured that bastard was probably half a state away by now if he’d killed the girl.

Right now, Ringo was drunk, and up later than usual. Fuck, it was cold, he thought again as he dug one hand down the front of Kelsey’s coat to fondle her. His cold hand made her jerk, but otherwise she remained stoic and indifferent to his advances. He kept her close so his hand wouldn't lose the warmth as he dragged them towards the seminary where his rooms awaited. Ringo had to admit he could see the appeal Tony had with these younger girls. Soon he would have to off her, as already she was turning apathetic like the others he'd taken. At first they'd scream and cry, which was a turn-on, and then they'd close up inside themselves and stop eating.

Kelsey suddenly stumbled, causing Ringo's hand to leave the warmth of her body, and as his hand rose to cuff her to the ground, he heard gunfire. A lot of gunfire, and coming from the northern fence line. Kelsey forgotten, Ringo ran to the seminary while shouting to his men that they were under attack. Fucking soldier boys, he would show them!

*****

Rodriguez had never worked faster in his life. He and his men had linked the .50 and 7.62 belts together to fill several ammo cans for each M-ATV, as Newaygo had sent a shitload of ammunition and Rodriguez wanted everything perfect. More than that! He wanted no hiccups to the operational plan the Reaper had laid out. He was finally getting a chance at payback for the days of inactivity while watching the marauders exploit and kill others, and he wasn't going to fuck this up.

"Fox Six, move out Fox Element," he commanded over his helmet microphone. Immediately, he felt the vehicle he was sitting in lurch forward as the driver drove them out of the bay before turning west and accelerating. They would head along this vector at least two miles before circling to the north. Then, just north of the cemetery, they would sweep south slowly, closing the gap to their ultimate position.

As they moved into position thirty minutes later, he played with the CROW's screen, disregarding the control stick gunner’s toggle for now. The toggle looked exactly like a gaming joystick. He would use the controls built into the CROW's display to control the .50 caliber gun above his head. When it was payback time, he would grab that joystick and light up the motherfuckers. He was so looking forward to this, but right now he couldn't trust himself to handle the one control that would rain death, at the touch of a button, upon the bastards who had been terrorizing this town for weeks. He contented himself with the screen, though his eyes constantly shifted to the stick.

*****

The Reaper settled down on the warehouse roof just north of the cemetery. He was three stories up, his rifle before him resting on a small sandbag, as light snow fell from the dark sky. His eyes had already adjusted to the lack of illumination surrounding him, and as he looked out over the target area he saw that much of it was brightly lit from bonfires and floodlights. Obviously they had at least one generator running. He listened as the teams reported in, and responded appropriately while simultaneously laying out the tools of death.

"Blue reports mission objective attained. Holding position, and able to accept incoming!"

"Copy that. Phase two beginning," the Reaper responded as the feed came live over his tactical net. He peered through the scope and saw the arrayed figures of Assault Team One, or Red Team, crouched against the north side of the brick fence. Shifting to his right, he zoomed in on the idling engines of Fox Element’s four M-ATVs stretched out along Highway 24, then keyed his microphone again.

"Fox Element, Paris Six. Are you ready?"

Instantly Rodriguez's voice responded. "Fox in position. Ready to echelon with supporting fire." This told the Reaper that the M-ATVs were ready to fire, and that all four of the M-ATVs had already pointed their weapons within the cemetery.

"Copy that, Fox, hold one. Whiskey Element, your status!"

"Whiskey in holding pattern in secure formation. Waiting on the fireworks to start and listening to the bitching of the security detail!" responded Shue, who was letting the Reaper know that they were ready but also that the group assigned for security wanted in on the marauders and not against the zombies that would be moving in shortly. A small smile curved his lips as the Reaper keyed his microphone again.

"Assault Two, are you in position and ready?" Jason called out to Master Sergeant Olsen to verify they were ready.

"Ready, sir. Assault Two in place and ready, willing, and able to fuck them up when they drive past." The Reaper grinned at the words. Not because it was vulgar, but because of the excitement he heard in Olsen's voice. He continued. "Red Six. Are you a go?"

"We are a go, Paris Six. In position and getting bored, over." There was a pause in there and the Reaper grinned again. Sokowski was gung ho and wanted to do this. Every element needed to be in place though, and he fast-forwarded to the present, bringing his rifle around to sight on figures near the seminary. Sighting in on one in particularly, he murmured ...

"Execute!" The command was live, as the Reaper fired! But the Reaper was not the only one, as the night suddenly exploded as the assault forces and their support elements opened up.

*****

"Execute!" The command came through loud and clear. Sokowski had said he was bored, which was not usually a Special Forces adjective, but since he and his team, minus one, had been in position for over an hour, it was appropriate. The Reaper had detached Olsen to lead Assault Force Two which would ambush the fleeing vehicles with AT4s. Now Falls had taken Olsen's place in heavy weapons and he, together with Copp, would operate the M4s equipped with M203 grenade launchers.

"Active and switching to Red Team channel!" Sokowski whispered as his hand rose to adjust the frequency he was transmitting on.

"Red Team. Up and at them. Time to earn our pay. Copp and Falls, shed some light." Behind him, the soft thump of the grenade launchers could be heard, while overhead faint arcs travelled well forward of their position only to explode into brilliant light that floated slowly towards the ground.

Hitting the far side, he waited those few seconds it took for his team to join him and then all crept forward in a low combat walk. Many of these assholes were about to meet their maker, and Sokowski chuckled to himself while peering through the Aimpoint sight in search of his first target. To his right, the M-ATVs opened up and then all hell broke loose. He grinned as he started firing on the first two enemies to appear. Talk about a target-rich environment, he thought, as the Tangos dropped to the ground either wounded or dead, though Sokowski wasn't paying attention to them anymore. He was already sighting in on the next group as his team kicked ass without taking names.

*****

"Execute!" And then Rodriguez was firing while shouting into Fox command channel.

"Fox, execute!"

The .50 caliber M2 above his head was loud within the confines of the M-ATV, but he ignored it. The crosshairs on the CROW's screen before him showed several enemy vehicles within their sights. He had grabbed the joystick and, after depressing the red button with his thumb to activate the laser rangefinder, he aimed at the first. Then flipping the red safety toggle on the front of the joystick upward, he depressed the trigger.

The .50 chewed through the first three trucks within seconds, and he was already re-aiming the M2 onto a new target. Men! Running with weapons pointed towards his position. How interesting, he thought as he depressed the trigger again, slowly sweeping the area, bodies falling like bowling pins, some with missing limbs. Technically, using the .50 caliber on enemy combatants was against the Geneva Convention, but this was the apocalypse and besides, Rodriguez so loved the .50.

He caressed the toggle again, watching as a burst intersected the gun-toting body of one of the marauders, causing it to crumple to the ground, the over-powered rounds continuing on to hit the side of one of the buildings in the back. “Gotta watch that in case of friendlies,” he murmured to himself as he sighted in on the next target, and with a lover’s caress stroked the toggle again.

*****

"It's started!" The woman had just run into the outer ward of what Rossi referred to as the Industrial Hospital. He and Nancy were scrubbed, and wearing the blue latex of surgeons. After reviewing Nancy’s work, he had no concerns with her doing a great job. She'd be fine. It was the nurses-in-training he was skeptical about, but even that was OK as he knew how to raise his voice at the right moment to get them to focus on the job at hand and remember their brief training. Now he turned to Nancy.

"Expect incoming, Dr. Kerrigan." Rossi had started calling her by that honorific these last fifteen minutes. The forty-five minutes before that he had spent with Heidi, who desperately needed his help. She had fallen asleep as together he and Nancy had held her frail form. A small sedative he quickly administered ensured she would sleep the rest of the night undisturbed, and without dreams. Rossi needed to spend some quality time with that tiny girl, but not right now. Right now it was about to get as busy as it had ever gotten in the past for him.

"Are you sure you don't want me to assist you, Doctor?" Kerrigan asked him.

"Positive. There will be more wounded than either of us will be able to handle in a short while. You're good, Nancy, and it's my privilege to be working beside you." Rossi knew they would soon be overwhelmed with casualties, for this was not his first stint as a wartime doctor. He had participated as a volunteer surgeon in several military actions the United States had engaged in, the last being Operation Desert Storm, or the Gulf War as many called it. There he had treated not only their troops but also those of allies and even enemy combatants.

Nancy looked over at him from the makeshift operating table she stood behind and slowly responded. "Dennis warned me that you might be abusive and mean, but I haven't experienced that. Where is that doctor I've been hearing about, the one that everyone loves to hate?"

Rossi laughed out loud for the first time in months."That man is not here tonight, Nancy. I'm not even sure he'll be back. For the first time in ages, certainly years, I feel truly needed," and he smiled at her before directing their new staff into place. He glanced over at the entrance where the double plastic barrier against contamination lay in place, but even as he did so, he saw the smile on Nancy's face.

"Stay at your table, Doctor. They'll be arriving soon, and every second will count."

"Yes, sir."

*****

Chapter 21

The Reaper fired again, taking another of the marauders through the center of the shoulder blades just as the minion of Satan tried to duck behind one of the buildings. Not fast enough by far, Jason thought as he shifted aim, preparing to fire again. Through the headset he wore, radio chatter was coming fast, and while monitoring the talk, the Reaper did not feel the need to respond. Everyone knew their assignments, and the execution, so far, was going flawlessly.

There, one of the devil's get was backing towards a vehicle. In his arms, he gripped two half-naked women, causing the Reaper to frown; he moved the scope sight over their faces to settle on the man’s desperate face. Jason's finger tightened slowly and the face disappeared in an explosion of blood as the round passed between the two females, missing both by inches. Screaming as the dead man's hands released them, both ran in opposite directions, away from the buildings and towards eventual freedom. In one fluid motion, the Reaper was already sighting in on the next.

*****

As gunfire and explosions sounded in the near distance, Dale pulled his rig forward and angled it across the road blocking Hwy 405 to the north of the cemeteries main entrance. Two other rigs behind his own did the same, effectively blocking any vehicle from going north. Charges had already been planted in the big trucks to disable them and Dale held the detonator for he was ex military and had worked with demolitions before, though a civilian now.

Quickly he sprinted from the stopped vehicle and ensuring the other two drivers were with him he pulled the remote detonator from it's plastic baggie. A quick thumb press, after flipping the safety cap up and in moments all three semi-tractor trailers were burning brightly. Then all three turned to the waiting Humvee, jumped in, and got the fuck out of there.

*****

Sokowski crouched as his eye stayed glued to the M68 Aimpoint red-dot sighting mechanism attached to the upper receiver of his M4. Incoming rounds were hitting the ground near his feet and passing overhead as he fast-walked in crouched form toward his targets. The possibility of being hit occurred to him, but he ignored those thoughts as he continued to fire; as each magazine emptied, he exchanged it with a fresh one within seconds.

To his far left and right, Copp and Falls were laying down suppression fire. Both were now using the M203 grenade launcher to fire for effect, which in military terms actually meant 'with effect'. Each explosive round was taking down or wounding small groups of the marauders that scattered and were running everywhere. On their far sides were Reyes and Hansen; like Sokowki, they were taking out targets of opportunity.

This was the important part of the overall strategy, which was to continue a hard push in skirmish form to not only drive the marauders east and south, but to also force them to run. It was important for whoever escaped to take to their vehicles and head south on Highway 405. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the triple explosion of the north-bound roadblock going off and smiled in satisfaction. Everything was going according to plan, for once.

Sokowski heard a grunt in his headset, almost inaudible over the sound of his carbine firing in three round bursts. He knew the tell-tale sign of a man being hit and he crouched even lower, almost melding with the ground as he barked, "Who's hit, report!"

"Hollinger," came the gasp, and Sokowski immediately looked to his right, seeing his man down. Fuck me, he thought, and gritting his teeth, he sprinted to the man's position while pulling first one grenade from its individual pouch fastened to the side of his harness, then another, as he sent the armed ovoids of death towards the marauders. Explosions rang out as he ducked down near Hollinger and, moving quickly, Sokowski dragged him behind a nearby granite headstone.

A hole through the chest near Hollinger's left shoulder greeted Sokowski's quick assessment, and he quickly pressed his hand down over the wound to stem the flow of blood.

"Medic!" he shouted over the net as figures loomed before him. Throwing himself over the body of his man, he shouldered his M4, sighting in. Two, three-round bursts later, he remained down, holding his weapon ready in his right hand while his left continued applying pressure to the wound. Then Phillips was on the scene, his med kit in hand, taking over. Sokowski didn't rise; instead, he rolled sideways to give Phillips room to work and started firing. Anything that moved and was not an obvious hostage was dead meat, and now he was pissed!

Growling, he rose to his feet and advanced on the enemy while signaling the others still in line to form up. Fuckers were about to pay!

*****

Ringo hollered as weapons fire poured in from the north and west. Goddamned soldiers had decided to take a hand—it could be no one else, and Ringo would make them pay. He and his men were crouched on the south and west sides of the buildings or firing from windows within, and it was time to take the fight to the Army boys. He knew there were only a handful of them. Now he pulled his walkie-talkie from his belt and called his boys at the catacombs building. Some of the incoming fire was coming from that direction, and Ringo didn't like that at all.

"Grady, how's it look over there?" Grady was one of the four men he had guarding the slaves, and the one he had given the radio to. Silence greeted his question, and after checking the frequency to verify it was correct, he yelled again, "Grady! Damnit man, answer me!" Still no response, and Ringo knew then that Grady would probably never answer again. He cast about and saw a dozen of his men firing to the north at figures less seen and more felt, as the return fire was dropping figures all around them. Ringo shouted to them.

"Don! Take that group with you and kill everyone in the catacombs.” Fuck them. He would finish this now!

"Got it, Ringo," and then Don was pulling his group together and redirecting them towards the back of the property. As they ran, all fired towards the north causing a brief respite from the attackers, and Ringo was instantly running towards the seminary. As he arrived and slid in through the entrance on his back, one of the women slaves grabbed him.

"What's going on?" she shouted, and before the young woman could pull back, he'd pulled his revolver and shot her point blank through the chest. Useless bitch, he thought as he ran up the stairs to the bell tower overlooking the cemetery. He had a rifle up there, and while he wasn't that great a shot, he had plenty of ammunition for it.

*****

The Reaper was climbing the silo on the west side of the cemetery. After firing his first ten rounds from the warehouse roof and exchanging magazines, he had immediately relocated. A quick slide down the roof brought him to the line he had secured there, and another quick moment had him rappelling down. Now he was over three-hundred-yards south, having sprinted to the new location.

As he cleared the dome, he swept the snow from its upper surface before removing the small sandbag from his satchel. Then he rested the stock of the Remington 700 against his shoulder and sighted in on the activity six hundred yards away. There, before him, he saw one individual shoot a woman in the head before turning the automatic in his hand to the next one kneeling before him.

The Reaper instantly fired, and the round passing through the air exploded the devil-spawn’s head. Instantly he was switching aim again. Another shot, and the round left the barrel even as the Reaper was rotating another round in its place. His sight moved and he saw a woman tied to a picnic table, naked in these freezing temperatures, and his heart stilled as he fired once, then again, severing the cords holding her captive. Hopefully, she would make it out alive, but he was already concentrating on the next target, firing again, and sending another rotten soul to purgatory.

*****

Hewitt crouched in the stone doorway and watched as McCombs and Dewey set up their M240B machine guns. He nodded in approval as the cans were mounted and the links were fed over the opened breech before being closed. Timing was everything, as it was about to get busy. Both heavy machine gun emplacements had been set up to either side of the small catacomb housing. Hewitt would have preferred to space them out at least fifty yards apart, but he had neither the space nor the time.

He saw movement and spoke on Blue channel. "Incoming."

"Hostiles?" inquired McCombs, and Hewitt carefully watched the dozen or so figures approaching. There, he saw guns and then the disheveled forms of marauders came into sharp focus. He grinned savagely as he replied, "Hostiles twelve, two, and three o'clock. Take them out, boys!”

Instantly the staccato of the heavy machine guns filled the air, but not simultaneously. The two heavy weapons specialists had set up a system of 'talking' to each other. One fired a half-dozen or more rounds before pausing for a few seconds, and during that brief moment the other opened up with a half-dozen or more of his own. The result sounded like continuous machine gun fire, but in reality was a strategy designed to conserve the barrels of the guns. Continuous fire could and would melt them quickly, rendering them useless until changed out, and no one wanted to change a barrel in the middle of a firefight, though they would if they had to.

The marauders began firing back, and Hewitt instantly ducked around the corner as rounds ricocheted off the stonework around him. "Let me out. Let me out!" screamed a female voice behind him, and before Hewitt could turn around, a form rushed past.

"No!" he shouted, but it was already too late as the young woman ran shrieking past, only to be cut down by incoming fire from the opposing force. Well that tears it in half, he thought as he activated his microphone.

"Blue Team, Blue Six. Hostage down, and going in for recovery."

"Roger that, sir," responded Dewey, and immediately both 240s opened up even harder as Hewitt sprinted from the doorway, his weapon blazing on full automatic. A tug on his arm, then another on his thigh told him this was a stupid move but he didn't care. A civilian needed his help, and he would rescue her. Then another hit, this one harder, and he grunted as he felt the round impact his femur, shattering it, but not before he fell across the broken form of the woman he had come to rescue. Releasing his carbine, and examining her quickly, he saw one GSW, or gun shot wound, in the chest through her dirty, stained blouse and his hand was automatically slapping a quick seal compress down hard over the gasping hole after his other ripped the shirt open. The rounds passing overhead and impacting the ground near him he ignored as, gritting his teeth, he rolled over her, and provided a living barrier. Two more rounds hit his back as he lay there, but he never removed his palm from the compress covering the woman's sucking chest wound.

"I'm hit. Right thigh and back. Lady is alive but won't last long without assistance. Mop them up boys!" he called, and within seconds his men were moving forwards like ghosts within the woodline surrounding them.

Russell and Kline were beside him in seconds, disregarding the rounds still incoming, and he winced as Kline tied a tourniquet around his thigh to stem the blood loss. The shock from five wounds was having its toll though, and as his vision dimmed he murmured, "See to the woman."

"Russell's all over that, Hew. Hang in there," and those were the last words Hewitt heard before unconsciousness descended.

*****

Rodriguez saw the bright flashes to his left as the entrance to the catacombs was attacked.

"Move in Fox Element!" Rodriguez shouted over their communications, and the M-ATV rolled forward, then hit the barricade hard. As they backed up to ram again, another of the MRAPS was suddenly there and hit the barricade alongside them. Then he was thrown forward in his seat again as they rammed against the blockage, simultaneously with the other yet a third time, pushing the bus to one side as they scraped through. The joystick was held tightly in his hand as he fired at the concentrated targets, his .50 caliber rounds punching through their thin sheet-metal, disabling them. He howled in glee as he continued to fire, moving the sights on his display screen from one target to the next!

"All units, on me. Turn left forty degrees to support remaining Assault One elements. Let's get them, people!" Rodriguez shouted into his microphone as he swept the cannon above his head in an arc, and watched via his screen as the shots destroyed several vehicles trying to get away. At this point, he had stopped counting bodies. His orders were clear. Destroy and demoralize the enemy, and he was quite happy to obey such an order.

*****

Rossi glance up as people bearing stretchers ran into the operating room. He ran to the first, a woman, the staff carrying her talking quickly.

"Sucking chest wound. Single shot and through and through wound." Rossi saw the plastic wrap on her bare chest and assumed another on the back of her figure. She was breathing, but barely. He glanced over at the other stretcher, realizing it was one of the soldiers, and moved in that direction.

"Status!" His voice was loud and commanding.

"Multiple GSWs, we barely kept him alive getting him here." Two intravenous tubes were in the soldier’s arms, and as he got closer he saw it was Captain Hewitt of Blue Team. There were three, no, five wounds, and he made an instant decision.

"Doctor Kerrigan, take the chest. Clean it up and repair the left lung. I'm going to have my hands full here," he shouted as he pulled on the side of the stretcher to move it to the operating table.

"Yes, Doctor," and Nancy was directing the two men bearing the woman's stretcher to her table. Rossi had no time to waste watching her procedure as he directed the staff before him.

"Cut the clothes off now! Nurses!" This shout directed at those in front of him, who immediately started cutting away clothing and equipment. Oh Jesus Christ, he thought as he saw the severity of the wounds. Two IVs already in, and it wouldn't be enough.

"I need six units of whole blood now!" he commanded again as he feverishly worked. Two blood stints were plugged into bleeders that were non-critical as the scalpel in his right hand sliced into the soldier’s abdomen. The exit wound was before him and he dreaded what he would find.

"Rig for blood transfusion," he ordered, and then Rossi got very busy. He had never been this busy in his entire medical career as he performed miracles while moving with a speed that belied his age. Tonight God was on his side, for he succeeded in saving this life. He backed away from the operating table, his body shaking after finishing the last suture. Hewitt would most likely survive, though it would be close. Rossi had done the best he could possibly do, and as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm, another stretcher was being carried in.

"We have another!" The shout came from the entrance to their surgery, and looking at Kerrigan, he saw she was busy; as his gaze focused on her, she looked up quickly, nodding, then went back to her task. Nancy would be OK and obviously was in her element.

"Over here," he called out as he directed the orderlies, as he now thought of them, to carefully place Captain Hewitt in Post Op Recovery. A quick swipe with a rag drenched in alcohol sterilized the table again, and another still form was placed before him. Another soldier, but this one not as bad, thank God, and Rossi got to work. There would be more, he was sure, and again he worked as fast as he could, performing miracles with God’s help.

*****

Chapter 22

Janet crouched beside Bill, Ralph, and Scott. They were situated in the southwest corner of the cemetery, and their job was to provide security for the flanking force. She loved the night vision goggles they had loaned her, and was slowly yet continuously scanning the woodline for any zombies. That was her job: take out the zombies that would surely move in now that gunfire was going off in all directions. Behind her, Tom's and Andy's groups, along with a group soldiers, would fire into the cemetery if any of the bad guys tried to escape from this direction. The goal of their force, as explained to her, was to keep driving the marauders east into the parking lot where most of their vehicles were kept. It was in the center of the cemetery and also next to the main entrance, along which Highway 405 ran. Hopefully, and with a little luck, the bad men would head south along that route so they could be ambushed. She was excited to do her part.

"We have company," called out Andy. Flipping up her NVG's then glancing over her shoulder, she saw him, the man named Bruce, and that Army soldier, Sergeant Schuster, who insisted they call him Shue. Next to the three of them was Tom's group, all arrayed in a line getting ready to fire over the brick wall of the cemetery. They had pulled vehicles up to its side on the southwest half of the property and were using them as shooting platforms. Those firing into the cemetery did not need night vision goggles, for the interior was fairly well lit by flares that kept exploding overhead. She had been warned not to look in that direction while wearing the night vision devices, as the flare in her goggles could blind her, so she quickly swiveled her head back and lowered the goggles again to watch for the undead. Jesus Christ, she thought. This is like a James Bond movie. Except with zombies.

All of their groups were here, for this was their place, and they would hold it. Ahead she saw shadowy figures moving towards them through the green glow of the NVGs. Zombies! Then she was firing at the creatures as her group opened up beside her. Behind her, the others had also started firing, likely at marauders approaching their position.

"Hit them hard," Scott shouted from behind, but Janet ceased to pay him any attention as she kept the stock of the AR-15 nestled tightly in her shoulder, firing steadily into the heads of the approaching zombies.

*****

Andy and Bruce had an open case of fragmentation grenades resting between them. The wooden crate contained thirty grenades, each resting in its own little tight compartment, and since their aim had been quite accurate the day before, it was decided they could continue providing that support. Right now, both men held grenades clenched tightly in their right hands. Andy, somewhat hampered by the weight of the armored vest he now wore compliments of Sergeant Shue, nonetheless knew his aim would be accurate. Shue slapped them both on the shoulder as he came up between them and grabbed a grenade.

"You boys ready?" he shouted.

"Yeah!" both men shouted back. They had to shout, for it was hard to hear over the weapons going off all around them.

"Throw straight ahead, twelve o'clock with the first."

"Got it!"

"On my mark: three, two, one, mark!" and with that Shue threw his own, his arm arcing high overhead. Andy and Bruce did not throw that way. They pitched the frags like baseballs with deadly accuracy.

"Grenade!" shouted Shue from behind them, and everyone instantly ducked behind the wall as seconds later loud explosions rang out. All had been carefully coached to duck and cover until after the explosions had occurred.

Immediately after the roar of high explosives, Andy and Bruce each grabbed another grenade and Shue was commanding them again.

"Both of you. Ten o'clock, then a third toss at two o'clock. Do not forget to yell out. No one wants to be hit by friendly fire." Then Shue disappeared in the dark and Andy, glancing at Bruce, nodded. Both men rose again and threw two more grenades to their left as Andy hollered, "Grenade!" and again, all ducked quickly behind the stone wall.

*****

CWO-2 Winters cursed, diving to the ground behind a clump of trees when he saw the ovoid shape of a fragmentation grenade flying towards his position. He hated it when the enemy had the damn things. Already the team was down three men and being pressed hard. The marauders wanted their captives back, and were making every effort to get to them.

Captain Hewitt had been medivac'd, along with the woman captive who had been wounded during the initial exchange of gunfire. Winters had assigned four men to carry them to the rear gate where they were passed into the waiting hands of the civilians there. Medivac teams had been set up behind all the assault, hold and infiltration positions in case wounds suffered were too severe to be treated there. Both of those had wounds too severe for field triage; Winters already missed the Captain. Two other team members had suffered wounds, and were now below with the others, being treated. They were incapacitated but not critical.

"Watch out! Here they come again!" Winters shouted, as several trucks drove towards their position, knocking over headstones and swerving to avoid the trees. Winters signaled Redding, and an M203-40mm grenade shot towards the lead truck.

Even with the illumination from overhead flares the explosion was bright, and Winters ducked behind the tree again to prevent any shrapnel from hitting him.

*****

Staff Sergeant Schuster ducked as the latest round of grenades went off, and chuckled to himself. He scanned the cemetery grounds in front of their position. So far, his groups were taking a toll on the enemy with only two civilians lightly wounded. Those he had quickly field dressed and sent to the medivac area behind and to his right.

He stretched slightly as he kneeled. He wasn't used to going without his IOTV, or Improved Outer Tactical Vest, with its ESAPI-enhanced ballistic inserts, but the bitch did weigh forty-two pounds, and its absence allowed him addition freedom of movement. He had forced Andy, the survivor group’s leader, to wear it when they assumed their flanking position. Oh, Rodriguez would be pissed off as hell if he found out, but Shue simply didn't care. Of everyone here, Andy was the only family man with children, and had much more to lose, relatively speaking, than did the rest of the group. Shue still had his helmet and didn't sweat the lack or armored protection. They would be behind the wall and mostly safe from incoming fire.

Suddenly three figures broke through the trees, running in his direction. Swiveling slightly from where he crouched, he aimed at the forms approaching their position. Then he heard their screams. Wait! They were women, mostly unclothed, and while running slightly towards his position, their main direction of travel was almost straight south. Christ almighty!

"Cease fire, cease fire," Shue hollered as he rolled over the top of the fence to fall in a crouch within the cemetery grounds. Christ, he thought again as he sprinted towards the three women. They saw him and started veering away, only to come under the attention of the marauders trying to escape in this direction. Rounds were whipping overhead and around him as he quickly closed on their position, just as all three fell to the ground, obviously hit.

Throwing himself over two of the bodies he emptied his magazine into the attacking enemy, clearly visible as they were exiting the interior woods, while shouting again, "Fire, damnit! Cover me!" Instantly behind him the rifles opened up, and he watched as the opposing force quickly took cover within the trees inside the cemetery. Sliding sideways, he checked the first woman, and found a pelvic wound and a graze to the head, causing unconsciousness. A quick look at the other confirmed death, as the ruin of her forehead showed a round had passed through from the back of her head, exiting forward. Her dead eyes were wide open, her expression one of fright, and he shook with rage that such a young life had ended so quickly; he rolled over to the last one, replacing magazines and emptying another into the woods against the marauders in a wild spray and pray. Anything to keep them distracted so he could get these injured out.

As Shue gazed down on the last young lady, he saw her eyes were also open, but she was unable to speak. The two bloody holes in her upper torso had left her in shock. The first, in the left side; the other, a through and through chest wound. She might have been in shock, but the plea for help in her eyes was obvious. Fuck!

"Incoming wounded! Cover, cover, cover!' he shouted again as loud as he could, and with that he dropped his M4, letting it hang by its sling, and after first scooping one girl up in the crook of his right arm, he bent and scooped the second up in his left, just as he felt a round hit his lower back to one side. Oh damn, that hurt, and me not wearing my vest. His knees started to buckle, but he forced himself to stand and started running with his charges towards the fence line.

Would he make it? He did not know, as he felt the second round pass through his right shoulder causing partial paralysis in that limb, but not enough for him to be unable to cup his hand and clench the girl's side in a death grip as he continued to run forward, hugging her. This would have been simpler if he was wearing all his gear, but he still did not regret giving his armor to Andy. Then another round, this one in the back, followed closely by a fourth through his left thigh, and now he was staggering under both women's almost unbearable weight, but he would not stop! He would see them to safety, even if it meant his own life, he vowed. Ahead, he saw the flanking assault team pouring over the side of the wall and running towards him while firing wildly. No, no, damnit. Stay under cover! His breath was now coming in gasps and his pace slowed even further from his wounds as he saw one of his men go down, and then another.

Then two more rounds hit him. One in the left leg again, another in his back, and then he was falling. He felt no pain now, for he had been hit too many times, and instantly recognized the signs of shock even as his vision swam. Lying on the ground, he curled his body, cradling both woman against his bleeding chest in a vain attempt to shield them from further injury. His last conscious thought before his vision darkened was of Tom, Andy, and Bruce running past him, firing continuously. Then he knew no more as he sank into a liquid pool of blackness. He never felt the hands that suddenly grasped his limp form. Lifting, and carrying him to safety.

*****

Olsen watched as headlights approached, moving south on Highway 405 and fast! The firefight had been going on for some time now, and he'd been waiting for the enemy to start bolting. He needed to time this perfectly, as there were only three vehicles so far coming towards them and he expected many more. In his hand he clenched the remote detonator console for the C4-IED charges, his thumb on the first fire button. Overhead, rounds were still whizzing past as Assault One's skirmish line continued south and east, though from the radio chatter he was listening in on, he knew that would cease shortly. Sokowski was getting ready to divide into two squads and breach the seminary and combined office complex. After that, they would hit the small chapel.

"Keep your heads down. It's not our turn yet. We can't screw this up, so just be calm, people!" he shouted. He'd heard rustling coming from behind where the others lay in wait, under cover from incoming fire, and the last thing they needed was for people to rise and get hit.

Olsen needed to save the last two IED' for when the majority of the marauders tried to escape. Highway 405 needed to be blocked in order to give him and his people enough time to take out the runners. The last two were abandoned vehicles, each on opposites of the road and almost exactly opposite each other. It should work, but right now he needed to take out these three traveling together as a pack. He waited until the last was coming up on the first IED and toggled the switch. He had six charges, and he knew how to use them wisely.

Instantly the implanted device exploded in a spectacular way, lighting up the early dawn and throwing metal shards, causing the vehicle it was aimed at to be thrown sideways, rolling over several times before coming to a stop. Olsen didn't watch to see if anyone escaped the burning truck as he was already toggling the second IED, then rapidly the third. Two more explosions rang out and both remaining vehicles swerved out of control before crashing.

Now he looked and saw several figures escaping the disabled vehicles, and dropping the control console from his hidden position, he raised the carbine beside him and started firing.

*****

Chapter 23

Sokowski grunted as his back slammed against the stone wall of the seminary entrance. There were multiple shooters inside, and someone in the bell tower doing a lousy job of playing sniper. So far every shot had missed, badly, and they would get to him eventually. Right now, he had a breach to perform. Pulling a flash bang from his MOLLE pouch, he armed, then tossed it behind him into the interior. Seconds later the bright flare and concussive wave of its explosion was both felt and heard, and he immediately turned, scuttling through the doorway while veering to his right, M4 at the ready. Behind him Switzer, Nelson, and Brandow followed, Brandow on his heels, the other two veering left.

There! Two male targets holding guns, and their stark illumination against the open windows made them perfect targets as three rounds of 5.56 stitched diagonally upward from lower belly to mid-chest on the first. Beside him, Brandow was already taking down the other before Sokowski could bring his weapon to bear. Huddled against the far wall, shrieking, were several partial-clad women, making him glad for the helmet and its ear protection that he wore.

"Clear!" he immediately shouted and, Switzer who was somewhere behind him, responded with another “Clear” and they moved inward ... fast! The women, they ignored for now. If one happened to rise against them in an apocalyptic version of the Stockholm syndrome, he would put her down, but not until that moment. Sokowski did not feel enough time had passed for that type of mindset to occur, though he had briefed his men to take no chances.

Together, he and Brandow rushed the hallway, Sokowski dropping low while Brandow went high, both with weapons searching for targets. There was no one visible, though they could hear cursing further inside. Quickly Sokowski sent signals to the rest of the men to clear the interior as they proceeded deeper into the seminary.

*****

Ringo cursed again. Another damn miss! Fucking gun was all fucked up obviously. He had fired over thirty rounds and only hit one soldier, and that one barely. The camouflage-clad figure had ducked behind a headstone after Ringo's shot penetrated, and before he came into view again Ringo was forced to move to a different window, for the motherfuckers were shooting back!

Where in the fuck were his men? As he peered over the stone parapet he saw several of them. Just where in the fuck did they think they were going, climbing in a truck to go ... where? Fuck that! And sliding the rifle barrel over the windowsill, he sighted in and fired, watching as one of his men fell to the ground. Wow, fucking gun is finally working.
That'll teach them to desert me, Ringo thought as he looked for another target.

He still had a lot of men out there. He saw them firing to the north and west and even south. If they could only get their shit together.

Ahhh. A slave trying to run away, and instantly he was firing, emptying his clip in an attempt to hit her fleeing form. He wasn't sure which round hit her, but she went down just as the receiver locked into the rear position. Quickly he grabbed another full magazine from the pile beside him and, after ejecting the previous one, slid it home until he heard the click. With the push of a button, he was ready for another target. There, another slave was trying to get away, and it was Kelsey! Fucking bitch, he fumed as he started firing, walking his shots towards her crawling form. Below the tower he was shooting from, and somewhere from within the seminary, he heard gunfire and screams from men and women. Goddamn soldiers! He was even more furious. Let me kill Kelsey and then I’ll go down and take care of those fuckers myself.

*****

The Reaper slowly swung his rifle around, his eye peering through the scope as he searched for his target. He had just witnessed a marauder taken out by someone near the seminary—a target he had been just about to service when the disreputable form dropped. Then he saw one of the captive girls shot from the same direction. He didn’t know whether she was alive or dead, but this time he did see the angle, especially since the other's shots were now being directed towards another female, this one very young. The impact into the ground and the dirt splatter gave him direction and location, and instantly he had rotated into another position, zooming in.

The enraged figure of a marauder filled his eye within the scope lense, firing steadily downward from an upper window in the bell tower. Jason focused in on the man’s face. He matched the description of the marauders’ leader, given to him by Andy. For the first time that evening the Reaper grinned. It was not a grin of mirth, but of pleasure at finding a target that needed to feel the Lord's wrath. A slight adjustment to his rifle and he fired, taking out what looked like an HK91 upper receiver, the metal fragments obviously splattering upward into the figure as Jason rotated another round into position and sighted again. Unbelievable. The man was actually starting to stand. For the second time that evening, Jason shot not to kill, but to wound or distract; he hit the other high in the shoulder, a light but painful wound. He did not want to kill the man just yet. The figure disappeared from view and the Reaper rotated into a position where he could view the girl again. Yes, she was still crawling away. Thank the Lord! Then he was on his tactical net speaking calmly.

"Assault One. Paris Six. Status update." Almost immediately a response was received.

"Red Six, Paris. Mopping up the seminary. Almost all hostiles down." The sound of close gunfire came over the net before the voice was back. "Confirmed all floors cleared with the exception of the tower. Proceeding there now."

"I want him alive. He currently has a shoulder wound, but a painful one."

"Roger that. Surprised you didn't take him out, Reaper."

"I want him alive, the Lord will punish him!" The growl that issued forth was as cold as death itself.

"Yes sir. Flash bang and secure."

"Paris Six out!"

"Red Six out."

And the Reaper was hunting new targets, but most were already down. In the distance, he saw a great many vehicles starting up. Well that was interesting, and planned for, he thought.

*****

"Blue Two, Red Six, report!" Sokowski was calling for CWO-2 Winters, as he had been informed of Hewitt's condition and his evacuation to the hospital.

"Blue Two, Red Six, nominal and hostages safe."

"Continue to hold."

"Roger that, Red Six.”

"Fox Six!" Sokowski called again over the net.

"Yes, sir," Rodriguez responded.

"Inverted ‘L’ formation on the seminary; they're starting to run. I want you in support. Keep driving them south and east towards the parking lot. We're leaving the seminary now, having secured a person of interest. Support our flanks."

"Yes, sir."

Sokowski was outside, splitting his team into two squads. The first, headed by his XO Brady, he sent to clear the small chapel. He lined up the remaining four members of his team into a semblance of his former skirmish line. The marauder leader he’d left cuffed at wrists and ankles back in the seminary. After directing one of the former captives to keep pressure on the compresses he had hastily slapped front and back over the shoulder wound, he’d left. They would collect the bastard later, and if he suffered a little frostbite while waiting, that was fine as far as Sokowski was concerned.

*****

Rossi looked up from the girl he was suturing as another stretcher-bearing team rushed in with another soldier; from where Rossi stood, it looked bad.

"You!" and he was pointing at one of the nurses-in-training. "Move this woman to post-op and finish the sutures ... now!" the last was barked when they didn't move fast enough. He already had the alcohol rag in his hand while simultaneously waving the team to bring the soldier over.

"Put him down here, and you two, cut his clothes off!" Rossi was again in his element, multitasking at a fast pace and talking simultaneously to several groups.

As the clothing was quickly stripped from the prone body of the solder, Rossi was already performing an initial assessment. As he checked for pupil dilation, he instantly recognized the face of Sergeant Schuster. There was no response, and a quick glance at the monitor checking blood pressure showed the veins were almost flat from blood loss. Oh my God, and that many wounds!

"Kerrigan! Where are you on that patient, I need you here now!" Rossi shouted as a sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach. He read the dog tags around Shue’s pale neck, noting the blood type, and shouted again, "Four whole pints of A neg stat!"

"Pints or half pints?" the call came back, infuriating Rossi.

"I said pints, Goddamn it, and we'll need more!"

"Coming up, Doctor!" The hasty shout did not please him, as he was unused to his commands being questioned. His eyes swiveled upward to lock briefly with Nancy’s, who had already stripped off her gloves and was donning a fresh pair.

"I'm finishing up now, Doctor," she called.

"If she's stable, drop it and assist, or we'll lose him." And as quick as that, she was running towards them.

"Oh my God!" Nancy breathed as she peered down at Shue.

"Those were my thoughts exactly. From the discoloration over most of the torso skin surface, he's suffering massive internal hemorrhaging and we need to stop it fast before he flat lines." A quick glance at the heart rate monitor showed Rossi that the patient was almost gone already, and he shifted into high speed. "Two full surgical trays, stat!" he barked.

"Where do you want me to assist, Doctor?"

"You will not assist, Doctor. You'll take the lower half, I'll take the upper, and pray to God that we can save this man." Rossi was not deeply religious. Yes, he believed in a higher power, yet what form that power took was a matter of debate so he didn't put much thought in it. However, this man was so badly wounded he should have died seven times over, and if there was any divine presence out there willing to lend a hand, then Rossi was willing to take it.

"Yes, sir."

"I want two IVs and blood in him now!" Rossi shouted at the nurse beside him, and picking up the first of many scalpels that would be used on this patient, he started cutting with one hand, the other gripping a pair of forceps, desperately searching for the vein or artery that was ruptured. From the spreading discoloration, Rossi knew it would be only one of several, and working with a calmness that belied the urgency of the situation, he shifted into an almost-blinding display of speed.

*****

Doctor Rossi once again performed miracles, but this time he did not do so alone, for without Doctor Kerrigan's assistance they would have lost Shue multiple times. As it was, when the last incision was closed, Rossi still didn't give the patient much of a chance to live. Tiredly he smiled at Nancy.

"Good work, Doctor," he murmured as he surveyed the bloody stainless steel surgical tray and the equally bloody objects laid out thereon. He shook his head; while they had removed seven rounds from Shue's body, the man had still suffered multiple through and through wounds. Those rounds would never be recovered.

"Sir, I've never seen anyone perform work of that caliber at that speed in my life, and I have almost twenty years of experience as a surgical nurse. That was amazing." Kerrigan was in awe as she stripped her bloody gloves off and moved closer to Rossi before resting a hand on his shaking forearm.

"I was pretty good in my day. That was terrible though. I give him maybe a ten percent chance of making it."

"That's ten percent more than if you weren't here."

"Well, keep your fingers crossed," and as Shue was being moved into post-op, Rossi shouted again, "Next!" His arms had ceased to shake as he prepared to save another life.

*****

Rodriguez did as Sokowski directed and moved his four M-ATVs further into the cemetery, with two along the west side and the other two forming up with Assault Force One. Almost immediately, he saw the men of Sokowski's Special Forces unit; there were only a few of them left.

"Red Six, Fox Six, I have you in sight. Directing two elements on our right flank to sweep inward. We will provide support and push south towards the parking lot with your remaining team. You're missing some, over?"

"Fox Six. They were detached to breach the chapel. They'll be done shortly and regroup with us, so keep an eye out while driving the fuckers east."

"Yes, sir. Fox Six Out!” Turning to his driver, Rodriguez said “Let’s roll!” Gripping the joystick for the CROW, he started firing at half-hidden forms running through the gravestones away from them. It’s a good thing I just changed the can, he thought, as having a fresh four-hundred-rounds of .50 would come in handy.

Suddenly the M-ATV shuddered and, panning the gun mount around to the right, he zoomed out on the camera and saw one of the marauder trucks had rammed them in the side; the men riding were firing automatic weapons into the side of his vehicle which were bouncing off in all directions, unable to penetrate the armor. What fools, Rodriguez thought as he depressed the large machine gun until it was pointed at the vehicle. In abstract, he noticed the enemy finally notice and try to back their truck up. Howling with glee, he depressed the trigger again!

*****

Chapter 24

Ringo shivered from the cold and blood loss as one of his slaves pressed down on his shoulder; she would not meet his eyes. He knew he was still bleeding, but not too badly, and he looked up at her snarling, "Cut me loose and I won't hurt you." He shivered again and waited for her to get a knife or something to cut the nylon ties holding him captive.

"No," she responded in a deadpan voice, causing Ringo to blink up at her in surprise.

"What? Fuck you!" he screamed. "You'll find a knife and cut me loose, or I'll beat the motherfucking hell out of you, bitch!"

Then and only then did her gaze meet his eyes, and as he stared into their vivid blue, he shivered again but this time not from cold, for her expression was not one of subservience, but of something else. He started to open his mouth again but she quickly laid a finger across it, so he remained silent while he wondered what she would say.

"I'll be right back with a knife." Relief flooded his body, and inwardly Ringo crowed with delight that his slaves were still obeying him. Once he was cut free, and got his hand on a gun, he’d be able to turn the tide on these asshole soldiers. They would never expect him to come at them from behind, he was sure of it. There she is, coming back, a knife in her hand. Wait. Who is that with her?

Dread filled Ringo as six of his former slaves surrounded him. Frantically, he tried to escape. Screw the blood loss if the bandages loosened, he was getting the fuck out of here. Twisting and turning, he tried to roll towards the doorway and freedom, only to be stopped as a bare female foot came down on his chest, holding him still. These fucking bitches! He'd already had them all and they would obey him!

"You will ..." he started to shout, and another bare foot descended to land hard on his neck, choking him. What the fuck? Where were the soldiers? And then he noticed the slaves moving heavy furniture in front of the door. What were they doing? It was like they were creating a barrier. Terror suddenly overcame Ringo as he realized what was about to happen, and his efforts to free himself quadrupled. To no avail, as six pairs of hands grasped him tightly.

"You're not going anywhere, Masterrrrrr." Her voice was a purr, and as her face loomed over his, he noticed something else ... the knives!

"Mfffghh," he tried to say, then screamed incoherently when six knives descended as one. The pain was incredible ... and lasted a very long time. In the end, as his vision darkened, he thought it odd that they were all smiling down at him.

*****

The extra magazines in his MOLLEs helped, but Sokowski was still getting low; he needed a resupply if they couldn't wrap this up quickly. The marauders had finally started deserting en masse. It was up to Rodriguez to direct them along a specifically chosen path. Sokowski contacted him.

"Fox Six! Redirect with all four M-ATVs on the west flank. Push east, hard, and don't let up."

"Copy that, sir, Fox Element. Hard push now!" Behind Sokowski, the sound of the two M-ATVs near their position indicated they were turning and pouring on the gas, heading west to the new flanking maneuver. He spoke into his microphone again.

"Red Six to Blue Two, they are on the run. Leave one squad in place and punch hard east. Hard push. This is our moment!"

"Copy that Red Six. Hard push east, executing!"

Sokowski had just split Blue Team in half, but the bastards were running. The four left would just have to hold in case any of the marauders slipped by the rest of them. He needed trained shooters for this last assault.

"Red Team. Fast forward and mop them up. Drive them. Do not, I repeat, do not conserve munitions. Throw it all and let them see Special Forces in action against those who would enslave! De Opresso Liber!" he shouted. Within fractions of a second, the motto of Special Forces was shouted back, along with, “To free the Oppressed!” As Sokowski dove into a forward roll to come up firing behind yet another granite tombstone, he heard a chorus of other voices, all chiming in. One voice in particular said, "Semper Fi!" and Sokowski's smile was vicious for he knew whom that had come from...the Reaper!

"Attack!" he shouted, running forward as his M4 blazed like a ray of light in the morning sky. He waved his arm to his team, now full, since the chapel had been secured, and directed them to veer to the southeast. To his west and south he saw the liquid streams of tracers as all four of the M-ATVs opened up at once, along with the smaller forms of Blue Team dodging forward, all shouting “Attack!”

*****

"Get ready people! Do not rise yet! Stay low, but ready your AT4s and be careful. Remember what I taught you," shouted Olsen. He was no longer concerned with his group being heard. The firefight just a few hundred yards away was incredible. Multiple flares rode the early morning sky, and bright flashes of exploding grenades, streamers of molten rounds, and shouts along with the roar of more weaponry than he could count was seen and heard from Olsen's position. Along with that were the frightened screams of captives, but what the hell. This was what he lived for, and his team, Assault Force Two, was about to put a major hurt on some bad men.

Quickly, he crawled down the line, ensuring every civilian was locked and loaded, their weapon of mass destruction ready. Today, everyone had their game on, and the buzz and whine of rounds passing overhead was a continuous cacophony of sound as he grinned evilly and readied his first of two AT4s. Soon, the voice from the radio would shout out “Cease fire,” and that would be his cue to step into action.

*****

Andy heard the shout to attack come over the headset within the helmet he had taken from Shue. It had been a last minute decision to take it, and one he did not regret. He prayed Shue would survive, but the man had been totally bullet-ridden, and Andy doubted he had made it. All he really knew about this headset was that it appeared to be on some sort of command channel. He had seen Shue operate it, and he pushed the tiny lever over his right ear forward. It was the first time he had used it and he didn't want to fuck up.

"What's going on? What do we do?"

"Andy!" The voice was that of the dude known as the Reaper, and he sounded as cold as ice.

"Yeah, Reaper."

"Attack. Everyone over the fence. Time to drive them east and north from your position. Everyone is attacking and driving them to the arranged location. Assault Team Two is in place and ready. When you hear me say 'Cease Fire’, I need you to stop shooting and get all your people on the ground. This is important. If you don't, you'll be in Assault Two's possible line of fire."

"OK Reaper, I understand. I hear cease fire and we stop shooting and hug the ground until it's over. Attacking now."

Andy released the switch and shouted at those around him, "The Reaper says to attack. Drive them straight and to the left. Everyone's attacking and they need us! When I shout to cease fire, drop your weapons and hug the ground!"

"What about us? I'm getting tired of killing zombies!" Janet’s plaintive voice could be heard from behind them. Andy liked her, for she had grit; she reminded him of his own wife, Darcie.

"Get your asses over the wall and ignore those dead fuckers. We attack." Less than a minute later, they were all there, lined up, weapons ready. Andy pointed forward.

"Attack!" he shouted, as the hot, iron rage of bloodlust filled his veins.

And they attacked with weapons blazing!

*****

Janet heard Andy's voice call out, telling those with him that they needed to attack, and that pissed her off. She wanted to be part of this, and not on some damn zombie-killing sideline. The zombies were getting too easy to kill, and even the fast ones did not move fast enough to escape her fire. Besides, she had a grudge going on.

"What about us?" she called out, and then heard Andy's response for her group's team to join them. Things suddenly became more exciting. Bill was standing beside her and she gave him a tired smile; he grinned hopefully in return.

Jesus. She just simply wasn't interested in him. She wished he'd get it, but that understanding on his part was proving elusive. He thought she might be interested in his company after what she had been through? He had to be kidding, right?

"Men," she grumbled as she inserted a fresh magazine in her AR-15. She had called them clips until rudely instructed by Scott that the proper term was a ‘magazine'. Oh, my God! Like, what difference did it make anyways, what you called them? They held a lot of bullets and she now had thirty ready to go.

"Help me over before they change their minds," she said to Bill, and a quick foot in his waiting hands had her over the fence and dropping to the other side, her rifle ready. The others quickly dropped beside her and she started running forward to Andy's position. She could see him ahead, and she realized that the sky was growing brighter in the early morning dawn. Suddenly Scott grabbed her arm.

"Wait until the others are over and ready. We go as a group!"

She nodded silently at his words and waited impatiently. It took only moments, yet seemed forever until they were lined up with Andy. He and Bruce exchanged a nod, and then Andy shouted "Attack!" She ran with the others, and when she saw a moving form before her that was male ... she fired!

*****

Jason stroked the cross embedded in the stock of his rifle and fired again, taking out yet another of the ungodly, then switched magazines for the second time that morning. Nineteen fewer men would be on this earth to harm the innocents. Slowly, he scanned the cemetery from his perch high atop the silo. It was happening! They were starting to run towards their only escape, the parked cars and trucks in the lot near the front entrance. Several vehicles started up, and as the Reaper watched, he saw the large bus blocking the main entrance moved to the side, the tiny figure of its driver running to the lead truck afterward. He keyed his microphone.

"Assault Two, ready up! Targets are moving out. Repeat, targets are headed your way!"

"Copy that, Paris. We'll be ready for the cease fire." Olsen's voice came through loud and clear in the Reaper’s headset. He used his scope to continually scan the seminary as he watched the godless driving their vehicles through the open front entrance. He waited, for Assault One was driving the remnants hard.

"Stand by, Assault Two. Red Six, what's your situation?" he growled.

"Doing our job, and if it wasn't for the casualties, having fun," Sokowski's cold tone came over the radio, causing the Reaper to smile inwardly.

"All units, get ready for cease fire. Andy report. Are you ready to stop and drop?"

Andy almost immediately responded. "Yes sir! They already hit four of ours and I'm anxious to finish this."

"Serious?"

"Not really. Light wounds, but according to them ... painful."

A chuckle burst forth from the Reaper as he continued to survey the field, and he held his finger close to the toggle. There. The last vehicle was through the gates, the remaining marauders raising their hands or dropping their weapons and diving into bushes.

"Assault One, cease fire, cease fire, cease fire. Two, execute!"

"Cease fire copied," responded Sokowski, and within a span of seconds the north and east flanks went silent.

"Copy that Andy!" shouted the Reaper.

"Cease fire, we got it. Going to ground now. Kick their ass Reaper!" Andy responded.

"Assault Two, confirm execution of target!" barked the Reaper.

"Two on it, Reaper. they are in range but not optimal. Waiting ... ten more seconds. Over."

"Take them out, Paris Six standing by!" and the Reaper smiled grimly as he finally pulled his finger away from the trigger of his modified M40A1. His men were doing their jobs.

*****

Chapter 25

"Assault One, cease fire, cease fire, cease fire. Two execute!" The hard growl of Reaper's voice prompted Sokowski to dive to the ground while shouting into his own tac set as he switched channels.

"Red Team and elements, Assault One, stand down and cease fire. Repeat, stand down and cease fire."

"Standing down," Rodriguez's voice contained a mixture of relief and anger as he shut down his M-ATVs to provide the opportunity for Assault Team Two to advance.

"Cease fire, we got it. Going to ground now. Kick their ass Reaper!" group leader Andy responded.

"Cease fire confirmed, Paris! It's on your boys now, Assault Two!" barked Sokowski as he aimed his M4 from the prone position, ready, able, and willing to take out any marauder that was foolish enough to appear.

"We'll make Red Team proud," laughed Olsen as he signed off, and Sokowski grinned, knowing full well that he would.

*****

"Ready up, boys and girls," Olsen called out. Hearing the gunfire cease with the exception of a sporadic shot or two, he stood. It was early dawn, and he could see the enemy vehicles approaching. "Remember what I taught you, remember what you learned!" he called out again. Quickly he ran down the line, making sure that everyone had formed up and was holding their AT4s as he'd shown them.

"Sights up! Transport safety pin pulled! Tuck it on your shoulder! Everyone ready?" A chorus of yes sirs, hell yeses and other assorted words of agreement sounded from around him as he took his place in the line. They were lined up in a single row, as Olsen didn't want anyone behind them. That would not have been a wise thing, as the back blast from the rockets firing could put a major hurt on anyone foolish enough to stand too close.

The vehicles were rapidly approaching and, holding his own AT4 in one hand, he pulled the remote detonator console from his right cargo pocket. "Wait for it ..." he breathed as his thumb hovered over the three remaining switches. He had already flipped the safety covers up and was just waiting for the trucks to approach the foremost IEDs. What? Only seven vehicles?

"Seven targets, two on each in the order I taught you!" he shouted again. Another chorus of agreement reached his ears and he hoped they did get it, but it was too late to go over it again as the lead vehicle was coming up to the last two IED's. Shrugging internally as he pressed all three buttons in a row.

Instantly the IEDs exploded just as the lead vehicle approached, and then Olsen was dropping the detonator to shoulder his launcher. "Safety lever depressed, aim and fire at will!" he shouted. The enemy was just under a hundred yards away, which was well within the range of the AT4, and sighting carefully, Olsen pressed the firing button.

Simultaneously, rockets exploded from the tubes held in the hands of those he had trained, and he watched as his own rocket punched through the side of the fourth vehicle to explode in a huge fireball. He then watched as four rockets passed over the vehicles that were all bunched together, and three hit the ground before even reaching them. But that still left more than enough for massive overkill, except that two of the vehicles still remained unscathed. Inward Olsen groaned.

As instructed, his people threw their launchers to the ground in front of them, then kneeled to pick up their second AT4, making them ready.

"Last two targets people, make them count!" Then he was firing on the last of the vehicles as it was turning, obviously trying to get away as fifteen new rockets headed outward.

This time there were fewer missed and Olsen shielded his eyes at the tremendous explosions that engulfed both remaining vehicles. He quickly scanned the surrounding area but so far no runners were seen.

"Cease fire, cease fire. Do not fire your second launcher. That's it people, we did it and good job!"

Cheers rang out around him as the assembled men and women hugged and slapped each other on the backs. Olsen grunted as his own back was slapped, then shook hands with several of those closest to him before activating his headset.

"Assault Force Two to Paris Six, over," he called.

"Paris to Two, report!" the Reaper’s brusque voice was heard.

"Mission executed and objective complete!"

"Good work, Two,"

"Well Reaper, there weren't as many as we thought there would be."

"That's because many are surrendering. Now get your people along phase line four and watch for stragglers."

"Roger that Paris, Two out!" Olsen nodded at the words, and then began calling his people together. Fourteen smiling faces greeted him as they crowded close.

"All right troops, grab your guns, and double-time to those three houses. Stay in cover beside the windows and watch for any stragglers to come out of the woods." Phase line four was the three houses bordering the open field south of the cemetery, and right next to Olsen's position. The north side of the field butted against a thick stand of trees, where on the far side stood the cemetery fence. The field was wide enough to afford them a clear view of anyone that might try to escape in that direction. Operational orders indicated his force was to give any enemy spotted a single chance to surrender. If they raised a weapon or tried to run, they were to be shot. Olsen hoped for both.

*****

The Reaper frowned as he watched the proceedings below him through the lens of his binoculars. There were a lot of raised hands down there, and already teams were carrying wounded combatants to the triage set up at the catacombs while others were rounding up the prisoners. Every man had a pocketful of zip ties taken from an electrical warehouse the day before, and Jason continued to watch as an ever-larger group of seated figures accumulated in an open area of the parking lot.

He had already issued orders to round up the prisoners, send the wounded to be field treated, and for warm blankets to be brought to the captives. They would decide later what to do with the captives. The Reaper would let them make that decision for themselves, as he was satisfied with the number they had just sent to Hell. Quickly he scanned the woods across the cemetery to the east, but the distance was too great to see if any of the godless had made it to safety there. He was sure that some had escaped, but shrugged, for he knew that those that had would be running for a very long time. He keyed his radio one last time and spoke.

"Paris Six to support elements. Clear the seminary and transfer the freed captives there once the area is secure. Bring in the portable heaters and let’s warm them up." A chorus of yes sirs greeted his words and the Reaper knew they were on the move. Two auxiliary teams of men and women, mostly women, would drag any bodies out of the seminary then install the portable heaters to warm the place up. This had all been planned for.

It was time to get down there and mop things up. With that final thought, the Reaper slung his rifle and magazine bag, then started climbing down the silo. The sun was now up and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

*****

The man whimpered as Sokowski roughly zip-tied his wrists behind his back, then pushed him to the waiting cluster of prisoners. He was one of the last, and Sokowski quickly counted almost forty that had surrendered. That's about right, given the overall numbers, he thought. Now, just one more to collect.

"Area secure, support teams move up!" he called out over his radio, then grabbed Brady to give him a hand with the last one. The one who appeared to be the leader of this band of thugs. They’d left him tied up at the seminary. "Let's go, Brady!"

As they approached, Sokowski saw with surprise that most of the windows were still intact and a support team at the main doorway to the seminary was trying to push it open, which caused him to frown. When they had left earlier after securing the prisoner for the Reaper, the door had opened and closed easily.

"What the hell is going on here?" he growled as he and Brady walked up to the women standing outside.

"We don't know. It's blocked from inside, we think." Sokowski blinked at those words and nodded at Brady. After trying the door and seeing it only move inward a few inches, both men put their shoulders to it and shoved. Slowly the door moved open and Sokowski was finally able to squeeze inside the narrow opening they'd made, Inside, he found furniture of every sort piled against its inner surface. He was getting a bad feeling about this; he turned quickly towards where he had left their captive.

Standing there before him were six women, splattered with blood, and lying before them was the man he had come to collect. Sokowski grunted, for six knives were sticking straight up out of the body, which appeared to have been stabbed well over a hundred times. He shook his head slowly and keyed his microphone to the command channel.

"Red Six to Paris Six, over."

"Go Red Six."

"That person of interest you wanted alive, Reaper?"

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid some of his captives got to him first."

"Then the Lord's will has been done. Paris out!" The Reaper’s voice was cold as he cleared the channel.

By now, Brady had squeezed inside the building also, and both men proceeded to clear the improvised barricade from the doorway. Sokowski figured it could all be sorted out later.

*****

Janet stared down at the bodies of Bill and Scott, as tears trickled down her cheeks. Moving into the cemetery, they had surprised a group of the bad guys and Bill had been the first to fall as fire was exchanged between the two groups. Then Scott had fallen as he ran to Bill’s rescue, and Andy's friend Bruce had been severely wounded. Softly she caressed Bill’s face as she knelt beside him. For all of his protectiveness and juvenile attempts to get her to be his girlfriend, she would still miss him tremendously.

"Rest in peace, Bill and Scott," she murmured as she moved to check on the next fallen body to check for vital signs.

*****

Rossi tried to still his trembling hands as he prepared for the next casualty to be laid before him. As the man was slid onto the table, Rossi recognized him as a member of one of the survivor groups they had teamed up with. He didn’t know his name, but it was another gunshot wound to the abdomen. He sighed and got to work, as he did so, his hands ceased to tremble. He and Kerrigan had been at this for over five hours now, and both were exhausted. They had saved a great many lives, but the sheet-draped forms of nine bodies lined up in the hallway outside attested to the fact that not all could be saved. Amongst those nine, two were from Special Forces Team Blue. He had met those men before and during the plane ride here to Paris. He deeply regretted being unable to save them, and knew that Blue Team seemed to have suffered the brunt of the casualties. He could only hope that their commander, Captain Hewitt, would pull through.

As he made his first incision to expose the wound, it occurred to him that this morning he had worked on members of every team and group, with Rodriguez's being the lightest in terms of wounded. That stood to reason, however, as he knew they had been in those big armored cars with the guns on top. Only Sgt. Schuster had needed treatment, and Rossi hoped he would also pull through, although it was too soon to tell. As he gazed down at the opened cavity before him, he thought, Hmmm, perforated upper alimentary canal, and exit through muscle tissue in the side. Not too bad if I can keep it from becoming infected after I perform the repair. The upper intestine had a bullet hole through it, and said bullet had then exited the side of the victim. Rossi got to work.

*****

Rodriguez and his men were all helping to remove the bodies from various buildings. Trucks had been brought up to carry the deceased human filth to a yet-to-be-determined location for mass burial. He knew his team had been lucky to suffer only one casualty. The M-ATVs had been impervious to small arms fire, and the few grenades the marauders had left had not been used against his force. Only Shue had been wounded and, from what Rodriguez understood, he might not make it. He had been pissed off when he finally found out that Shue had given his protective armor to another man on his team, but understood the reason for it.

"Alright, grab his feet, Hamilton," he said as his hands clenched down, gripping the fabric of the dead marauder’s coat. Hamilton, Barber, and Grady were with him in the chapel, and they’d almost finished clearing it. As they carried the dead to a waiting truck, he surveyed his surroundings, noting idly that the place would need a fresh coat of paint and a shitload of cleaning before it could ever be used for its original purposes again.

"Sure, Sergeant, and only two left, we might get to eat breakfast after all," responded Hamilton, causing Rodriguez to grimace. How the man could think of food right now was beyond him.

"Sure, Hamilton, sure," and together they tossed the body on top of the others lying there.

*****

Chapter 26

Kelsey slowly walked up the stairs to the top floor of the seminary, going straight to the room she had been forced to share with that man, Ringo. She was glad he was dead, and doubly glad she'd been able to help him die. Her parents were dead, her brother was dead, and her life was probably over. She didn't know all these new people that had fought her captors, but hoped they would be a little bit kinder than those they had destroyed.

Kelsey was only fourteen, but felt so much older than that now. During the last few weeks she’d had to understand and embrace the word cunning. Now she needed something to bargain with, and she thought she knew just where to find that something.

She approached the bed, then knelt. Sliding her hands beneath the mattress, she felt the items hidden there and drew them out: a bundle of maps and a small notebook. She would use these as her bargaining power. She was so very cold, even though the others were setting up heaters downstairs, and she pulled a blanket from the bed to drape around herself, then exited the room and proceeded back downstairs.

An imposing, bearded man stood within the main foyer when she re-entered, and she shivered from more than the cold as she saw his dead eyes. Slowly she approached, holding the items out in trembling hands. The man saw her approach and knelt on one knee, which surprised her. His action caused the bottom of the large gun he carried to thump when it came to rest against the floor. Then he spoke, and again she shivered at the perceived death sentence she heard in his voice.

"What do you have there, child?" His voice was low, more of a growl, and her fright intensified, causing her hands to shake uncontrollably as she dropped the objects they held. The man immediately grabbed her hands in his and she didn't pull them away, for she was terrified of being beaten again. But his grasp was gentle, and one she knew she could pull away from at any moment. She looked into his eyes again and saw a soft smile in them, where seconds before she had seen death. Now his visage held kindness and hope, and slowly she stopped shaking as her own hope blossomed within her. She spoke.

*****

Her voice was so faint and timid the Reaper had to lean forward as he grasped the girl’s hands. She was obviously terrified. When she dropped the objects she’d carried, he had reached out and held onto her. Here was clearly a story that begged to be told, and he smiled kindly and nodded in encouragement for her to speak.

"My name is Kelsey, and I don't want to be hurt again. Please don't hurt me, mister. I'll do anything you ask but I don't want to be sold like the others. I want to stay with my friends. I brought you those," and now her gaze travelled to the maps and notebook lying on the floor between them.

The Reaper’s heart thudded within his chest as he witnessed the look of hope and terror on the little one’s face. She was deathly afraid of him, yet afraid to pull back for fear of being hurt. Yet again, he knew this mission of the Lord’s was his place to be, as he responded.

"What are those, Kelsey?" he asked in a gentle voice. Jason did not release her hands, for initially she had been shaking uncontrollably, but was now calming down. He wanted to help dissipate the extreme terror she carried within her.

"Those, sir? They are the Mas ... Ringo's. He thought them important and kept them hidden from the others."

"Please call me Jason, little one, and never refer to that evil man as master again. What are they?"

"They are the maps ... Jason ..."—the Reaper could tell she struggled with his name, and grimaced internally at what she must have been put through—"of the groups Ringo sold us to, and lists of what these places needed from him." The last was almost a whisper, and the Reaper had to lean close to hear those final words. That she needed a bath and hot food was obvious. Gently he nodded at her, then turned sideways to one of the women.

"Would you take this young lady back to the complex and get her a hot bath and clean clothes?" It was a request, but not spoken as such, and the woman instantly came over and took the girl in her arms, leading her away as Jason spoke again.

"Child!"

Both paused when they heard the Reaper.

"You are safe now. This lady will get you a hot bath and warm food. You're safe."

He saw that the girl was still too scared to respond, and waved them out as he gathered the items from the floor, examining them.

*****

"What do we do with the captives?" Sokowski asked the Reaper as they stood outside. Before them on the ground were almost forty men. All were disheveled, some with light wounds that had been treated, and many exhibiting the signs of drug addiction.

"Good question. Take them back and store them in an empty warehouse for now. No need to take the cuffs off. We'll decide their fates shortly.”

"Yes sir," and Sokowski was directing his men to load up the captives onto waiting busses. They would be transported fifteen to a bus, and two of his men would ride in each along with several men and women from the other groups. This would be a secure post operation and he wanted no screw-ups. As he turned away, he saw the Reaper was again reading from the notebook he had acquired, and was looking at a map he held in his other hand.

*****

Rossi slowly washed up in the sink basin beside Nancy Kerrigan. It was well past noon, and he was exhausted. He needed something to eat and then he needed some sleep. The urgency of crisis surgery had taken its toll on his body. I’m not as young as I used to be, he thought as he glanced in Nancy's direction. She was almost finished, and as he peered closer he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. He knew their origin. They had lost a total of eleven friendly patients, and another six would be touch and go for the next few days. He was especially worried about Sergeant Schuster; he dried his hands before laying his right on Nancy’s shoulder and clearing his throat.

"Doctor, we did the best we could, and all that any man, or woman, could do. We can't save everyone, we can only do the best we are capable of. Both of us saved many more lives than those that now lie in the corridor outside this room. Be proud of that.”

"I understand, Doctor, but I still can't help thinking that if I had only been a little quicker, knew a little more, if we had more doctors, if ..." and she quieted as Rossi held his hand up.

"We did the very best we could under the circumstances." Rossi paused as he remembered his own past in similar situations. "My experience is that this is the way it is. There is never enough time, or doctors, or trained personal to help. It’s the way of things in this new world. We deal with it and move forward." Then he shut up as she hugged him, and slowly he returned the embrace as both shed tears for the lost souls lying not twenty feet from them.

"Thank you for calling me doctor," she whispered, and Rossi hugged her tighter as he whispered back, "You did better than many surgeons I've worked with in the past. You are a doctor now, and don’t you ever forget it!"

*****

"Listen! Each will have their say, but first we need to address something important to your survival." The Reaper gazed out at the assembly before him. All whom could be spared were here. Rodriguez and Andy, Janet and Tom, along with other sub-leaders of this group of survivors. They had finished treating the wounded and had buried the dead. The marauder dead they had buried in a mass grave. The others, their comrades, had been buried in individual graves within the cemetery they had helped liberate. Ceremonies had been performed by a lay minister who happened to be part of Rodriguez's group, and now they were all assembled within one of the larger warehouses to decide many fates. The Reaper's voice rose again.

"Many of you thought to move to Mexico City. This is a bad idea. It's twenty times the size of Paris, and you'll be all winter trying to clear the undead out. This is a strong city that you've already shed blood in, making it yours. There is plenty of food here and much more in the big box stores in Moberly, less than ten miles away. This city is easily defended from both Hell's minions and others that would compromise your safety. I recommend you stay here and build on it. I've talked with Newaygo and there is a natural gas refinery and generating plant not far from here to the north. Within weeks, you can have electricity back, and Newaygo is willing to help with that. Now discuss it and decide." With that, Jason turned away and went back to the notebook he had been given by Kelsey, as arguments erupted around him.

Thirty minutes later, the others had arrived at a decision; they let him know that they would indeed stay in Paris. Too many had died here to make it a safe haven for the those left, and the survivors would respect that. Now they were demanding to know what to do with the prisoners. The Reaper sighed as he closed the notebook again; he had just identified his next destination. Not far from here, only eight miles away. But a festering sore that needed to be treated.

"Hang them all!" one woman shouted, and as others joined in the shout, the Reaper nodded in sympathy. He held up his hands for quiet, and silence descended. What he was about to discuss was a subject he had difficulty with, yet one this new brave world needed to address or they would all descend into savages. He had listened in as Sokowski and the other intelligence-trained Special Forces had conducted initial interviews of both the female captives and those prisoners who had surrendered. Sokowski was present at this meeting, and he now waved him over.

"While fortifying Paris, much of the work will be backbreaking, tedious, and practically endless. You will need to clear fire lanes, run patrols to identify those like we just fought, and others like them. You’ll need to establish safety zones against the zombies and clear enough houses for newly-arriving survivors to occupy and help within your community. Captain Sokowski has been interrogating the prisoners and former captives. They are not finished yet, but the work is moving forward. I'm going to let him speak now." Then the Reaper sat down and turned his cold gaze on those many who stood before him. They needed to think with their heads right now, and not with their hearts. It was difficult, he knew, but the alternative was chaos and anarchy.

*****

Chapter 27

Sokowski cleared his throat as he gazed at the hostile faces arrayed before him. To counter that, he scowled and addressed them brutally as he laid the papers he had brought with him on the table’s surface.

"You want to hang every one of them, right?" he barked, and the affirmative response was almost overwhelming. He slammed the palm of his hand onto the table he stood before and demanded again, "And how many of you will pull the ropes and hold them up long enough for these men to die, slowly, while pissing and shitting their pants as their life leaves them, while they thrash at the end of that rope and gasp for mercy? It won't be pretty. It will be the ugliest thing you've ever witnessed ... and done. Show me how many of you are willing to hold that rope tight," he asked.

This time there was silence as the crowd before him absorbed the implications he’d put forth. Slowly, three or four hands rose. One was a woman, the other few men, and Sokowski nodded.

"As the Reaper just mentioned, we've been interrogating the prisoners and questioning the former captives, some of who are in this room right now. I have something to read to you from a prisoner and former captive." Sokowski cleared his throat again as he shuffled his notes, then finding the right one, spoke.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. My dad and baby sister were just killed and something went wrong in my head. I was scared. I didn't know what to do, other than I did not want to die. They gave me a test, and I did it. I don't know why I did it, only that I did, and for that I can never forgive myself. Not ever. I see my dad's face, my baby sister’s, every time I close my eyes, every time I blink! Kill me now so I can join my family. Maybe God will have some mercy for me." Sokowski cleared his throat again and looked up to see everyone’s eyes resting upon him; the entire warehouse had gone completely silent. He lifted another paper and continued reading.

"Yes, I was raped. I was raped quite a bit. But Darrel? He didn't rape me. Well he did, but it was obvious he didn't want to. He was crying as he lay on top of me and was unable to do it. They forced him on me, so we faked it. I screamed and he called me names, but that was it. The others were satisfied and Darrel left after whispering his name to me. Later, he brought all of us extra food he hid under his clothing, while calling us names again to fool the others. I hope he didn't die, for he was a good man. He brought us food many times after that and never tried to hurt any of us."

Sokowski finished and picked up another note, then viewed his silent audience. Many were crying. Many of the former captives in fact were nodding, along with quite a few of the others present. He set the paper down, and after giving them a moment to absorb what he'd just said, spoke again.

"In the wrong place, at the wrong time. It does not excuse what they did, but not everyone has the fortitude to stand up and be slaughtered like a mindless animal. Some of these men made choices they deeply regret and can never forgive themselves for, and now your choice, here and now, is to decide their fates. Choose wisely, people. You're going to need help rebuilding this community with back-breaking labor. You're going to need security and roving patrols. A very dangerous and often deadly form of survival. I feel some of these can redeem themselves and desperately wish to do so. We will finish our interviews by tomorrow; granted, some are unredeemable. Totally corrupt, but others ... give it some thought and remember one thing ..." Sokowski scowled again as his hand rose to point at the audience before him. "You will be the ones pulling that rope tight. Not me, and not my men. Decide carefully, and by the way … Darrel was one of those who surrendered!" He then gathered up his notes, both those used, and unused. It was obvious from the instant discussion that arose, that they’d gotten the message, loud and clear. He nodded at the Reaper as he stepped away, and he nodded back; together they left the room to give the people time to decide.

*****

After checking on the wounded, the Reaper and Sokowski had taken one of the M-ATVs to the communications hill, as it was being referred to, where they contacted Newaygo.

Newaygo agreed to send a small away team comprised of engineers and experts to get the community started. It would be some time before this group was truly self-supportive, and the away team would only stay for a few weeks, but in this time and place, everybody helped everyone else. It was the new way of things.

Several hours had passed, and it was growing late. Food had been brought in, and the Reaper and Sokowski were discussing the exfil that would take place the day after tomorrow, when the Red and Blue Teams would return to Newaygo along with those critically injured. Now a verdict looked to be forthcoming, and everyone looked up as Rodriguez took the stage.

*****

Rodriguez looked out over the sea of faces and saw them clearly as he organized his thoughts into a coherent message. He smiled tiredly at his Nancy. She had gotten a few hours sleep and was sitting there in the front row. She smiled back at him encouragingly. He saw the new doctor, Rossi, sitting next to her and nodded at him. Rossi nodded back and Rodriguez was relieved. The doctor had agreed to stay behind, to help this small but growing community, and for that he was thankful.

"Attention!" he called out and waited for the room to quiet down before continuing. "After talking with all the group and community leaders, Captain Sokowski and others, including the Reaper, we have made some decisions." He nodded at Sokowski and lifted the notes he had carefully prepared.

"The combined groups of Paris, Missouri will remain in place, developing and strengthening this town against those who would do us harm, including zombies, marauders and the like. We will strive together, working side-by-side to create a viable community, and we will accept any and all willing to enter and work with us for the greater good. Captain Sokowski is still conducting interrogations and interviews, but it appears most if not all of the former captives of the marauders will remain with us." He paused as he looked around nervously. So much responsibility, but the Reaper had said he was the natural choice.

"I will continue as interim leader until spring, then elections can take place once we're on our feet and moving forward. I thank you all for your confidence, and while I'm just a soldier, my heart is in the right place. Of that, you can be assured. Doctor Rossi has agreed to remain here with us and help our community grow. His dual skills as a surgeon and psychiatric therapist will be instrumental in making whole some of our younger members who've experienced severe mental trauma few should have endured. Please welcome Dr. Rossi." Rodriguez let the massive applause erupt, and smiled as Rossi stood with a beet-red face while tentatively waving at those around him. Then Rodriguez held up another paper and started reading.

"Newaygo will help us rebuild. They will be sending a team of specialists to bring the power back online, and will show us how to prepare adequate defenses. It will take a lot of work but we can do it, people!" This last was said emphatically, and the room erupted in cheers.

"The prisoners! A lot of bad blood there, recriminations and also testimonies. We have made some decisions." He waited a moment as the buzz of voices suddenly filled the air. He gestured and the combined group leaders all joined him on the stage. Andy and Jake, Tom, Janet, and Ralph, along with several others all stepped forward to array themselves beside Rodriguez. He nodded his thanks as he continued.

"We will rely on the interrogation skills of Captain Sokowski and his teams from the 9th Special Forces Group to identify those who will never reform, and also those that can, and probably will. They will be referring to the interviews of every one of the former captives to determine which of the men tried to help the captives and either faked or minimized the brutality they were forced to engage in to survive. They will also determine those that engaged willingly in the brutality.

"As the captain separates the marauders into two groups, those that wish to stay may do so, and that includes the wounded. They understand that their survival will be based on their actions, and we'll need all the help we can get. They'll slowly reintegrate within our society through good deeds and actions. Many if not most will be performing the massive amounts of manual labor we will need to make a viable community of Paris. They are being informed of this and already many have chosen to help. They are not slaves, but working partners on probation. This must be understood by all." He cleared his throat and was thankful to see a majority of those before him nodding, not just in acceptance, but in agreement.

"Those deemed incorrigible and unrepentant will be loaded on a bus three days hence. We, your leaders, will accompany them, and they will be taken care of."

"Wait! You can't just let them go! They killed my brother!" one woman screamed, and several near her held her tightly in comfort as she tried to shrug them off. Rodriguez waited until the uproar died down, then turned a cold, death-filled glare upon his audience as he ground out each word.

"I did not say they would be released! Justice will be served." The Reaper would have been proud at the effect it caused.

He let that sink in for a few minutes as he felt his Nancy come up next to him and touch him lightly on the back. Her perfume tipped him off every time, and he was surprised he hadn't seen her coming onto the stage. He drew strength from that one simple gesture, lifted the sheet again and kept reading.

"Should it come to our attention that problems are arising within our community that simple common sense cannot solve, we will deal with them harshly, and with finality. Needless to say, any that cause this kind of trouble will find themselves out of the community within minutes. Draw your own conclusions on what defines trouble. Our survival depends on all working together and using sound judgment. It's as simple as that.

"Now, I am not accepting any questions. I've already talked to most of you, if not all. Let's get some sleep, for tomorrow’s a big day."

*****

Janet smiled as she heard Rodriguez speak. He made perfect sense, and the decisions announced were acceptable to her. More than acceptable, for she had talked to many of the former captives and learned there were two sides to every marauder. Those who had attacked her were already dead, and she had no axe to grind. She would slowly recover, and would gladly help with the rebuilding. For this was now home.

*****

The Reaper nodded as they made the final plans for evacuation of the intensive care patients and the Special Forces teams the day after tomorrow. Sokowski needed that much time to finish the interrogations and interviews, and they needed to ensure those few marauders that had escaped did not return for vengeance. Patrols would go out in the morning with the intent of elimination, not capture.

For the exfil, they decided it would be simplest to clear Highway 15 just south of Paris City. It could be done within hours, and then there would be no need to contend with the tens of thousands of zombies in Mexico City. The evacuation of their wounded would be quick and simple also, as the distance would be less than a mile from where they were currently being cared for. The only concern was whether the highway would be clear enough for the C130E to land. The following day would see them pushing vehicles well away from the improvised runway and cutting down any power poles that might interfere with the wings as it came in. These things they would find out, and if the highway wasn't a viable option, there were other straight roads nearby that could be used.

Jason dismissed everyone and went in search of the cot they had assigned him. He had praying to do, and what he had read in the bandit leader’s notebook had disturbed him greatly. He needed to think on that also.

*****

Chapter 28

The floor tilted as the plane came in, and everyone braced themselves for a rough landing. The unevenness of the highway required the landing to be a short one with maximum braking, and it needed to be handled carefully. The away team was on board, comprised of two engineers and assorted other personnel designed to get this new community off to a healthy start.

A hard thump and the sudden surge of deceleration pushed everyone sideways, but they were all strapped in and rode it out until the plane rolled to a stop. Then a heavy whine filled the air as the back cargo hatch lifted upward, the ramp sliding down, and early morning sunlight filtered in.

Lieutenant Purcell unbuckled his safety harness and, after helping some of the away team loosen their straps, strode forth into the dawn. He was in search of one particular individual and quickly found him. The Reaper was standing to one side of a large group of vehicles with a soldier by his side. That soldier he recognized as Captain Sokowski of the 9th, and he gave a quick smile in remembrance of past actions. A quick glance confirmed the area was saturated with security as evidenced by the four M-ATVs, assorted ambulances and trucks with gun-bearing guards spread out against any threat. As Purcell approached the Reaper, men bearing stretchers ran past to load the critical-care patients to be taken back to the facilities in Newaygo. Purcell ignored them, as there were plenty of flight and medical crew on board to see the patients safely strapped down and their conditions stabilized.

Purcell saluted smartly, which Sokowski returned and the Reaper did not, causing both Purcell and Sokowski to grin at Jason. Purcell then lowered his hand and held it out to the Reaper, who immediately raised his, and their grips met tightly.

"Great job, both of you. Words from the commander, and as for myself, I wish I could have been here." As he withdrew his hand from the Reaper's, Purcell reached inside the breast pocket of his coat and withdrew a cellophane envelope which he handed to the Reaper. Inside its clear plastic wrapping was another drawing, this one of an older man with a beard, a young girl holding his hand as they walked, and another, even smaller child holding the hand of the first. The Reaper smiled and pointed to the tiniest form in the picture.

"Who's that?"

"The commander told his kids that Jean is pregnant and they'll have a baby brother or sister soon," Purcell responded with a grin.

"I see." However, the Reaper was smiling, regardless of the simplicity of the drawing. Little Emma had sent gifts for the Reaper, and he had one of his own for her. Turning, he opened the bag behind him and withdrew a brightly wrapped package and handed it to Purcell.

"Hmm." Purcell hefted the small package and looked quizzically at Jason. "Kinda heavy. Let me guess, depleted uranium rounds?"

"Very funny, and how did you manage to sneak into the officer corps again? See that she gets it, and you might want to radio Jay to have a couple presents ready for the other kids so they don't become too jealous, but I only had time to find the one," the Reaper growled in response while Purcell held up his hands, laughing.

"Kidding, OK? Sure will, Reaper, you have my word. Captain Sokowski, I did not intend to show disrespect. It's good to see you in one piece, and I understand it's still touch and go with Captain Hewitt?"

"Yeah kid, he did the job though."

"From what I read of the after action report transmitted last night, I concur, sir, and don't let that vicious killer fool you," Purcell jabbed a thumb at the Reaper before continuing,"he has a habit of making others perform. The reports were amazing."

Sokowski rubbed his chin in thoughtful introspection for a moment before responding. "He's a lot like Jay. The commands come through at the right moment and the tactics we used were solid. We couldn't help charging near the end to take the fight out of them. Granted, we are lucky as hell we didn't suffer more casualties, but it was a good op against the odds we faced."

"Well, Robinson, your CO, and Jay will want to debrief you when you return, but their primary concern is the viability of this community. We're expending quite a bit of resources giving them a kick-start."

"I think it's good. Solid people in charge. Some loose cannons here and there, but all manageable. Good location," Sokowski responded.

"Are you guys going to ignore me as if I wasn't here?" growled the Reaper while he traced a finger over the drawing Emma had given him, then looked up, the scowl on his face causing Purcell to laugh again.

"Reaper! You should see your face when you're looking at Emma's drawings of you and her. The Reaper doll is still a major hit by the way, and Jay is still complaining about there not being a Commander doll," Purcell quipped.

"Well, they wouldn't be able to make it anatomically correct from what I've heard, something about too much material or something," deadpanned Sokowski. The commander, or Jay to his friends, was widely known to have been a 'gifted' player in the Newaygo community. He’d done a lot of growing up, but it had taken a zombie incursion or three along with an attack by marauders and also rogue government agents, including an airstrike that did not succeed. Throughout those ordeals, he had earned the respect of the military that had joined him and the community at large. He was one of those true commanders you read about in the history books in school.

"You're both think you’re too funny, don't you? And if I hadn't seen you in action, Sokowski, I would question Congress for approving that commission and promotion."

"There's a Congress left?" both Purcell and Sokowski said simultaneously, then high fived each other as the Reaper simply rolled his eyes.

"Actually I need to talk to you, and it's important. Sorry, sir," Purcell was now addressing Sokowski, "but I don't have clearance to inform you of developments. I’m sure they'll fill you in upon your return." But Sokowski was already shaking his head.

"Don't worry about it, kid. Reaper?" As Sokowski turned to the Reaper, he saluted with precision—a salute the Reaper returned just as precisely, and then both men shook hands, strong and hard. "As always, sir, it's been a pleasure, and with the commander’s permission, please call on us frequently."

"I will, Captain, and thank you," responded the Reaper. Sokowski waved to his waiting men and they all boarded the plane as the Reaper turned to Lieutenant Purcell. Jason had already both thanked and congratulated all the men of the Red and Blue Teams, and now waited patiently for Purcell to fill him in. The young Ranger officer waved the Reaper over to a nearby truck hood and, after pulling a large topographic map from an inner pocket, spread it out.

"Here is the projected staging area, Reaper." Purcell used his finger to indicate the city of Topeka, Kansas. "Any chance you're going there next? Intelligence indicates quite a few survivor groups in the area. We need that airport. It will support our air wing elements for the last push against the shadow government, and it's also the maximum distance Blackhawks can fly with external tanks."

"That would take some time, Purcell, but no. I'm heading here next.” And the Reaper laid out his own map of the area, with quite a few red circles covering its surface. "Macon, Missouri is my next destination."

"May I ask why, sir?"

"Because they purchased a large number of captives already from this marauder group, and my sources indicate they’re crucifying the people that refuse to worship their particular god."

"I see." Purcell was nodding with immediate understanding.

"Is there a timetable I need to be aware of?" the Reaper inquired.

"Well, Jay says spring, so you have time to secure Topeka, but that's relative." The Reaper was nodding.

"If he's attacked, he'll counterattack, is what you're saying."

"You know him better than I do, Reaper."

"That I do. OK, well, I have some wrongs to right first. My first mission is to the Lord, as you know, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir! We all get it, and support you. In five months I'm sure you'll be in Topeka and that you’ll have the airfield and surrounding facilities under control."

"We'll see. I go where the Lord tells me, but ..." and now the Reaper slapped Purcell's shoulder, as he was looking a bit worried. "The Lord has been telling me to move in the direction Jay needs to reunite humanity."

Purcell visibly breathed a sigh of relief. The Reaper was not only a friend and brother-in-arms, but also Newaygo's advance scout against the last stronghold of the shadow government that had started this whole 'end of the world' mess. He nodded thoughtfully as he looked at Macon on the map, before looking back up into the Reaper’s eyes.

"Call if you need anything. That's only about ten miles and well within field radio distance. You can contact Paris and they can get a hold of us."

"I will, thanks! Now get on that plane and take those wounded to better facilities. Don't forget Emma's present. I won't forgive you, though the Lord might."

"Got it, Reaper. You take care and make a small attempt at staying safe." Then Purcell was shaking the Reaper’s hand again before loping back to the plane, Emma's present safely tucked away in his jacket.

The Reaper stood back with the others and watched as the plane started up, then turned a hundred and eighty degrees. Rodriguez stood beside him, and together they watched as the C130 made a rapid ascent before curving gently east and finally disappearing into the distance.

"You're leaving soon, aren't you," spoke Rodriguez and it was not a question.

"I'm needed elsewhere," responded the Reaper.

"We can never repay this debt and this hope you've provided for us."

Slowly the Reaper turned to Rodriguez and frowned. "There is no debt," he growled.

"Yeah there is, on my books anyways."

"I'm going to Macon next."

Rodriguez pondered that for a moment before responding. "It's only ten miles away or so. We can go with you." But the Reaper was shaking his head.

"I work alone, I go in alone. The Lord will protect me or call me home to be with my family."

"If you need us then, we'll be there! Count on it."

Slowly the Reaper smiled as all the events over the last month came into sharp focus within his head and nodded. "I'm counting on it!" The Reaper wasn’t going to hold their hands. They were capable of making it on their own ... and if he needed help in the coming days ... he knew whom to call.

*****

Heidi had been moved to a nearby home that had been cleared, and others with similar psychological conditions were in adjoining rooms. Rossi would get to all of them, but right now, Heidi needed his attention the most.

Dr. Rossi entered the smallish room slowly so as not to alarm the young girl within. The door he left open, and made sure he did not block her path to it. In his hands he held a small children's book. Slowly he moved around the room and viewed the various drawings, pictures, even snapshots of strangers she had used for decorations. He had been watching her now for several days. Heidi hid in her room, only going to the cafeteria for meals when forced to do so, and many of the staff had started bringing them to her. He glanced at her small desk and saw breakfast dishes sitting there. It was obvious the child was sinking into depression, and it was past time for him to act. He had wanted to meet with her in a more generic room, one without a bed, but it was proving difficult to get her to leave what she now perceived as familiar surroundings. With luck, they would soon be in a more hospitable environment, but in the here and now, he worked with what he had.

"Heidi," he said softly as he approached her bed.

"Yes, Doctor." Her voice was faint, with a definite tone of despondency; she looked up from where she sat at the end of her bed, her hands tightly clenched in her lap, her eyes constantly shifting between the doctor and the open doorway. Finally they settled on Rossi. Those liquid pools of amber were wide with an innocence and hurt that belied her age, and inwardly Rossi shuddered at what he knew she had been through.

"May I sit, please?" He indicated the small chair next to her bed.

"Sure."

Rossi settled himself carefully and then held the book out to her.

"I would like you to read this for me."

She watched him closely, and he detected resistance as her face clouded up. He quickly added, "Humor me please," and she slid across the bed until she could just barely reach the book. Taking it from his outstretched hand, she turned it over several times before she flipped through the pages, then looked up at him.

"This is a children's book?" It was both a statement and a question, and Rossi smiled tenderly at her.

"That's correct. Read it please. It won't take more than a couple of minutes.”

She looked at him with skepticism, then shrugged and opened the small book. The pages flipped with regularity, and a few minutes later she was setting it down on the bed near him, but in a place he would have to stretch to reach.

"I can read, you know."

"I know, but you told the staff you didn't want to go to the school we’re starting."

"Is that what this is? A test to see if I can read so that I don't have to go to school?"

"No Heidi, but I do have a question. What did Tommy do to prevent the cookie monster from getting the cookies his mother made him?"

"He climbed out his window and escaped where the monster couldn't follow him. That's simple, Doctor."

"Okay, now you and I will create a story together. A story named Heidi, and how she kept the monster away."

"You're serious?" Now she appeared angry, but Rossi was not deterred. He had been through this before, many times, with other patients.

"Yes," and Rossi began the story. He told her about a girl named Heidi who had a bag of candy. The candy was delicious, but there were only a few pieces left, and her brother's friend wanted them. She could not hide the candy because they also smelled delicious, and her brother's friend would find them. So, she had to find a safe place to eat them where he couldn't catch her.

"Maybe she could just share them!" Heidi had finally spoken; it was obvious the story intrigued her.

"Oh, but this is special candy and she'll never have any more, and more importantly, it was given to her by her parents, and it was all she had left of their gifts." Instantly Heidi's face clouded again and she started to turn away. Rossi was quick, however, and spoke again, telling her that to respect her parents Heidi had to hide, had to get away. Like Tommy did against the cookie monster. He continued on for several minutes, and waited until he once again had her full attention before he asked his first question.

"What should Heidi do? How can she escape?"

"Uhm, well, she could climb out the window quickly."

"Good, but then what? She's sitting in the window, with nowhere to go."

"No! There's a tree outside, of course."

"There is?"

"Sure. There has to be a tree there or something she can do to get away." Heidi's voice and mood had transformed, her face animated and her body posture showing her excitement. Rossi knew at that moment he could get through to her.

"Well Heidi, since you know so much about what to do, I'd like you to finish the story."

And Heidi did, and as she spoke her smile lit up, and her voice became animated, stronger and more confident. Down the tree and up a ladder too small for the brother’s friend to climb, then a safe hiding spot for Heidi to hide in while she ate the gift, the candy her parents had given her. The boy kept yelling but eventually he went away and Heidi was happy.

As Heidi came to the end of the story and stopped speaking, Dr. Rossi looked over at her and saw her smiling.

"That was a wonderful story, Heidi. May I move closer? I mean you no harm," and he rose, then sat next to her when she nodded. She was still smiling and he held his hand out again, palm upward. With glacial slowness she once again took his hand and Rossi squeezed it gently as he stared into her eyes. Slowly she responded.

"I miss my parents, Doctor. I miss them badly."

"I know child, and it's OK to cry for them," he said, and almost instantly the dam within Heidi burst and suddenly she was in his arms, crying against his chest, her body shuddering with deep wracking sobs as her grief burst forth. Rossi let the tears trickle down his own cheeks as he held her gently and kissed the top of her head. This was major progress, and he felt, with the proper long-term treatment, she would be OK.

*****

Epilogue

The Reaper crouched, hidden in the snow-covered undergrowth as the patrol walked by. They were carrying automatic weapons and wearing thick brown robes of what looked like homespun fabric. They walked with an almost mechanical precision, and from the way their heads rarely turned, were unaware of their surroundings. The Reaper did not move his body, but followed them with his eyes. Soon they were out of sight and sound and he proceeded forward slowly. Carefully placing his feet in the tracks they'd made, the Reaper backtracked their trail. As he rounded a corner, he saw that the woods quickly ended and the trail continued through a clearing.

He had spent the last day and a half getting to Macon, Missouri. Once a simple location on a map, the notebook had told an entirely different story. The Reaper remembered the handwritten words clearly: “#1 Religious nutcases, but willing to deal for young female slaves 9-12. 3oz gold + 15 bushels wheat in spring/per. Killed my first two men. Killed 4 of theirs. Guards suck ass. Now they're dealing and happy about it. Good customers.10 stars on this bunch.”

His current location was not Macon itself, but just north and west of there, outside the town limits. His first inclination was to scout out the town itself, to look for survivors and attempt to consolidate them while putting them in communication with Paris. He knew without doubt that a town this size would have other survivor groups, especially if one was religiously oriented in an unhealthy way. Those who wished to remain hidden would do so, but the Reaper also knew he would be able to find them.

Slowly he approached the clearing before crouching again. The trail led over a hill less than twenty meters ahead, and the Reaper crept forward while listening for sounds around his position. Silence reigned so he kept moving. This was only a recon of the group’s position. He did not want to get close enough to become involved without knowing the rest of the situation in this area.

Approaching the crest, he carefully lifted his head, peering down into the valley below. Before him lay a palisade, for that was the only way he could describe it. It was an extremely large compound which stretched off into the distance in both directions, with a fence comprised of what he estimated to be wooden stakes every four to six feet, barbed wire strung between them. A large gate adorned the front where the trail ended, and more barbed wire could be seen, strung across the top.

The Reaper lifted his binoculars and slowly panned the visible areas around the palisade. Then he saw it. There was a large wooden cross a quarter-mile distant, deep within the woods. It appeared to be constructed of plywood and steel, with a height of at least thirty feet, but that was not what made his eyes narrow and a low growl escape his throat. Nailed or tied to the cross were bodies. A great number of bodies and even from this distance the Reaper could see that many were children. He knew without any doubt that soon the line to purgatory would grow in length.

*****

Not the end ... Only the beginning!

Blood Brains and Bullets

If you enjoyed The Reaper: No Mercy, check out this excerpt from the book that gave birth to the characters here. Blood, Brains, and Bullets is coming soon to Permuted Press!

Chapter One

My daughter has the TV on too loud when I walk in the house, arms loaded down with groceries. It takes me a number of trips to get everything in the house this time. Maybe I got carried away. I hear some announcer coming over the TV, just the sound, not making out many words. Then the emergency warning sound came over the voice. Like the kind you get during a tornado warning. That emergency broadcast warning tone! All three kids are in the living room and I glance at the receiver seeing the channel set to sixty-six, which was Disney. But what I see instead of animated characters is red bands across the top and bottom of the screen and a typical news announcer waiting for the warning to end so he can speak again. I say ‘Hi’ to the kids and they started complaining about the interruptions to their program when the warning sounds stop and the announcer’s voice picks up again. I hush them so I can hear.

"For those of you just tuning in let me repeat. It is imperative that all citizens stay inside their homes until further notice. Do not travel or leave your homes unless it is a medical emergency. Anyone with flu like symptoms should go immediately to your nearest hospital or medical facility and seek treatment. I repeat. Stay in your homes unless you have a medical emergency. There have been reports of large numbers of deaths associated to the flu virus and vaccine treatments, the President of the United States has declared the country in a state of National Emergency until further notice."

Holy shit, I thought. I had never heard of that happening before and it had only been a half hour since the last warning. I kept listening.

"Do not under any circumstances let strangers into your home, especially if they look sick or have any noticeable fluids on their clothing or skin. There are FEMA facilities being prepared to handle refugees. Reports coming in from some of the major cities tell of widespread violence as feverish flu victims attack their fellow citizens. There have also been reports of deaths associated with the vaccinations and reanimations but everyone is to stay calm. Lock your doors and stay inside. If you have not received the vaccination yet, do not do so. Law enforcement is responding to emergencies and the President has signed an executive order calling up the National Guard to maintain order during this crisis."

He started to repeat himself, reading from the paper in front of him and I tuned him out. I grabbed the remote and switched it to FOX seeing a variation of the same thing being broadcast. Then to NBC, ABC, CNN but it didn't matter. The emergency broadcast was on every channel.

I was bewildered. What the hell was going on? ran through my mind at high speed as I started putting groceries away. Then I turned on the radio and a FEMA announcement was broadcasting there also.

"We interrupt normal programming to bring you news live from Washington D.C., where the Secretary of Homeland Security is addressing the Nation." Another voice immediately followed the announcer’s. "The Department of Homeland Security is issuing a national advisory warning. The flu virus has officially reached epidemic proportions within the continental United States and there are widespread reports of looting and vandalism going on in most major cities and some smaller rural communities. We are issuing an advisory warning for all individuals to stay in their homes during the current crisis. This applies to everyone not associated with civil law enforcement, emergency and crisis workers or medical personnel. If you must report to work, do so cautiously, as we have received reports of roving bands and some of the encounters with these criminals have been quite deadly. Please wear facial protection when going outdoors and communicating with other individuals. The CDC has also issued a report that the flu has now infected over a third of the population of the United States. There are also reports of some mutations of the flu virus causing an increase in mortality rates. We strongly urge all citizens to stay indoors until authorities have brought this contagion under control. Please my friends, this is for your safety. Stay indoors." The announcer came back on when the Homeland Security Secretary was finished to inform us that the normal broadcast would resume. I turned it off and thought, maybe I should grab a couple more guns, just in case.

There was a pounding at my back door. What the fuck?! I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound and then felt like slapping myself when rounding the corner to the back room; I saw that it was just Michael, my cop neighbor from the house next door. Actually, Michael was practically my only neighbor within shouting distance. He looked frantic and he opened the door and came in when he saw me.

"Brother, grab your guns. This is it and no joke." He not only looked scared but also like he was about to cry. I noticed he had his bulletproof vest on and was wearing his service automatic and yet I knew he had the day off.

"What?" I was bewildered. What in hell was he talking about?

"Zombies!" He deadpanned. My jaw dropped.

*****

That night and the following morning was crazy times, I had dusted off my old shortwave receiver and my listening in across the United States and Europe we learned quite a bit more about the undead and the state of the World in general. Some scientists were conducting experiments in Europe. Probably in the U.S. too, but those U.S. experiments were not being broadcast on shortwave. The European scientists were holed up in their version of our CDC in Belgium. They had a detachment of Swiss troops guarding them and were working as fast as they could, trying to figure this out. Communications were down worldwide with the exception of shortwave and military communications. The cell phones quit working this afternoon. Not sure why. We were still getting a signal, but just silence then beeping came over the speaker when we tried to dial out.

The zombies were in truth zombies mostly. The Europeans had found out much by carefully monitoring several subjects that had gotten sick from the vaccines. By examining the subjects’ brainwaves and other vital signs through the super fever, then cool down and subsequent rage, it was determined that there really were no brainwaves left. Not as we knew them. Instead, what remained was some limited activity at the brain stem, or the lower brain as it’s called. This is where all our instinctive responses are located. Like breathing, basic motor skills like walking, and of course the instinct to eat in a most predatory way. Neanderthal level I guess, or even earlier, perhaps animalistic. They were finding the virus to be an actual parasite that linked itself together like a hive. The scientists speculated that within a human host it had a hive mind that was constantly hungry. That actually made sense in an awful way. The only good news out of Europe was that if you were bitten you would not catch it. Somehow, the virus or parasite bonded with its host almost immediately upon vaccination. Once bonded it could not survive in another vessel. When hearing that I would not become like them if bitten, you have no idea how relieved I was. With zombie blood and guts everywhere, it would be almost impossible not to become infected if the reverse were true. Hell, we would all have to wear HAZMAT suits and fighting in those was a bitch. This I knew from firsthand experience.

More disturbing news. Either God was weeding out his creations or this thing was mutating. The people from Europe were saying we had been hit three different times. First, by the original vaccine that they gave to the military and health care workers, and that sort had a minimum gestation period of three weeks before people got sick. Then the second vaccination series distributed to the third world countries had a two-week gestation period before people dropped like flies. Then the last round of vaccinations rushed on the public showed that people were succumbing within two to three days after receiving it.

Now, normally I don’t believe in coincidences. I still don't. The three rounds of vaccinations resulting in almost everyone getting sick within the same timeframe. Lab mutations? The scientists that were broadcasting were hesitant to speculate, but if you read between the lines, the gist was that this whole mess was manmade, and there was careful planning put into it. The odds of anything else were mind-bogglingly against it.

It was depressing. Maybe ten percent of the human race was left alive or would be left alive after everyone got sick that was going to get sick. Maybe less. Of the ninety percent that did get sick from the vaccinations and died, about eighty percent of them came back from the dead as zombies. So not all, just most. Factoring in how many people were killed by the zombies by the end of the first day and my best guess was maybe five percent of the people on this planet were still alive.

*****

Tommie and Abigail had been trying to remain hidden and quiet. This was something very hard for little Jack to do. He was their miracle child, their precious gift from God. The two of them had never hoped to conceive a child until little Jack came along, as Abigail had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer at nineteen. The doctors said she would be unable to conceive after three surgeries and even more chemotherapy. However, they had lived their lives happy with each other, only missing the one thing that would fulfill the void within them. A child of their own. A child, Thomas, or Tommy as his friends called him, could pass his small woodworking business too when he retired. Abigail didn't care about passing a business on in retirement; she had grown up as a young girl dressing her stuffed animals in baby clothes waiting the day when she would have a child of her own to care for, to nurture, and raise.

That day came when they were least expecting it. They'd married at eighteen, against both their parents' wishes. Now twenty-two years later, she unexpectedly became sick. Throwing up, bloating, and her breasts hurt. They were worried it was a new onset of cancer. They had expected the worse when they scheduled the doctor’s appointment, and she went in for a full checkup.

Tommy and Abigail couldn't begin to describe the feeling they experienced, nor the wonder in the doctor’s voice and eyes when he informed them...she was pregnant. It was against all hope and medical science. A partial ovary and ravaged Fallopian tubes were all she had within her, but the miracle had still happened. A one in a million chance, but it did. She immediately quit her job and did everything to keep the child within her healthy. Tommy put in fewer hours at his business, regardless of customer requests he received. This baby was more important than they were. He was her triumph. He was their legacy, their little miracle.

During the last two months of her pregnancy, she rarely got out of bed, for little Jack would be arriving soon so she took no chances. Yes, they knew his name. Because of the rarity of a conception of this type, she was receiving ultrasounds every month from the third month on, so they knew it would be a boy. In their youth, they had fantasized about one day having a child, even knowing such a thing would never happen. However, they needed these fantasies to stay sane. Even so, up until the moment of revelation by an incredulous doctor they still led fulfilling lives, very much in love and dedicated to each other like few other couples. They were the everything of each, and their love knew no boundaries.

Then little Jack was born and he was so perfect. So beautiful and right in their lives. No expense they or their parents could afford was spared. He was, after all, their miracle. Then he started growing, and boy, did he grow. He was also all little man, and as anxious parents they dreaded his daily rough activities afraid he would be hurt or worse. It took all her willpower to allow him to grow up somewhat normally. Yet now, growing up had suddenly become a live and death issue.

When their neighbors first started turning strange, they didn't know what to think. Everything was strange. You could not turn on the TV or listen to the radio without hearing the government warnings cycling repeatedly. Something having to do with the flu shot, the vaccinations that they had not received yet. Oh, they'd meant to. But little Jack was just getting over a bad cold, and Tommy and Abigail wanted to give him an extra day or two before they loaded his system down with more immunizations, and this was something they would do as a family.

However, people started walking across their lawn, stumbling actually and appeared sick. When Tommy went out to talk to them to find out what was going on and if he could help, they had actually attacked him. Tommy and Abigail had immediately locked all of the doors, and it was only then that the TV news issued warnings to avoid strangers. So, they had hidden within their home. From behind closed blinds and drapery, they had watched the savagery occur within their neighborhood. Tommy and Abigail were beyond scared, not for themselves, but for their little Jack.

Now it was coming to an end. The creatures, their deranged neighbors, had finally broken in. Abigail and Tommy had nothing to fight them with, nothing to defend themselves from the horrors intruding into their home. As devout New Testament Christians, they firmly believed in turning the other cheek. However, this day they had to do more than just turn their cheeks, they could only use the weight of their bodies against the doors trying to keep the creatures out. It had worked for that day. Now the day was ending.

"Baby, I will try holding them back. But you have to hide little Jack." Tommy was frantic. They had slid the dining room hutch across the floor to block the hallway to the kitchen but it would not hold them long. They knew their time was short, already they could hear boards splintering. He held her hands tenderly, his tears splashing their joined wrists. "We have no time left. I love you baby with all my heart," his voice was breaking. He reached down and caressed his small son's face with the palm of his hand. The last touch he would have in this life. He cherished it and turned to meet their invaders as his beloved Abigail solemnly nodded with her own tears streaming down her cheeks, then turning away taking little Jack with her. He watched them retreat with a sad smile on his face, as his back pressed tightly against the cherry wood hutch he had handcrafted from a few boards. He felt the creatures slamming against it, felt it breaking. There was no more time. No time for more kisses. No time for more hugs. His only regret was that there were not a dozen of him to protect his family.

His face clouded up and determination settled in. He turned in place and braced his wide strong hands against the lovingly created masterpiece he had built for his family. Only moments now were all he had left. His mind went back to their earliest days together. He and Abigail, fantasizing about having a child when they knew they could not. But, that child had been born. A precious miracle of life.

The remaining boards splintered around him as he fell back half a step. He lifted his face to the Lord and a firm look countenanced his features as his head tilted downwards directed at the approaching invaders.

"You will not have my SON!" he roared. He stretched his arms out sideways in the narrow hallway, with his fingers digging into the painted sheet rock. He didn't even feel the pain when the bones in three of his fingers snapped. With almost superhuman strength, he tensed, pulling his arms forward as his hands dug through the plaster grasping the wooden two-by-fours within the walls and held on; his face turned to meet them with a snarl. It was the only defiance he had left, for his body was the barrier. He would hold them back as long as possible. He would hold them back long enough.

"Go Abby," he whispered as he started the Lord's Prayer, images of his wife and son filling his mind, a kaleidoscope of memories he cherished and would die with. He felt the creatures slam into him. He held. They were biting him now. Still he held. He heard their growls, and he growled back staring their expressionless faces in the eyes. They were clawing at his waist and legs now, and the pain was unimaginable. But images of little Jack filled his mind. And he clung, and held on screaming his hate and rage.

Abigail pulled little Jack to the kitchen. They had discussed this; she had no idea what to do. She could only think to open the cupboard little Jack was always hiding in when he played hide and seek with her. He went inside and willingly. He was scared and he knew something was wrong, but he was trusting mommy and daddy to make it right. That this was only a game. He looked up as mommy placed him in his favorite hiding spot and saw her smiling down at him. She leaned in and kissed him tenderly, as she always did. A mommy’s kiss, only longer. He could see wetness on her face, he didn't understand. Then she played the game. She told him to pretend he was asleep so she could hide. "Pretend for five minutes," she said. "Then lay there until I come back for you. Do not make a sound. Just like at bedtime." He felt bottles being pressed against him. She was laying bottles of water on top and around him after loosening their tops. Why was she doing that? A bag of Oreos, followed by chips, and then his favorite blanket. He remembered her last kiss. Then he heard her last whisper. "Stay quiet until I come back, like always. Be a good boy Jack. We love you. Never forget, baby." The cupboard door closed. He was confused but it was a game. It was okay.

Abigail rose with her shoulders in a set position. There were so many things she wanted to tell her son, but there was no time. She hoped, if their Jack survived, that he would at least remember a mommy's last warm embrace, and her and Tommy's love for him. She turned slightly to the muted sounds her husband, her love, was making as he held them back for a few more moments. She could do no less to try to save their son. She reached over the counter and pulled her two largest butchers knives out of the hardwood butcher’s block Tommy had made her, sticking them behind her belt. Then looking up and reaching overhead, she pulled two pans from the rack suspended there. She backed to the mudroom door waiting. And they came. She did not doubt they would. She saw them look around and immediately started banging the pots together over her head.

"Hey! Look at me! I'm what you want!" Abigail shouted. Her mind was clear with the knowledge her Tommy was gone, but she was determined to save their son. Instantly, the creatures turned towards her and started moving forward. She saw what looked like fresh blood on some of their faces. She did not bother wondering whose it was; she knew it was Tommy's. She backed through the door leading them. Oh my, they followed her. She opened the back door, dodging the creatures waiting there and continued to lead the others away from the house banging the pans continuously. They soon had her surrounded with no room to dodge or run, so she dropped the pans and pulled the butcher knives out as they descended on her. What she felt then was transcended by her love for her son. She was giving him the only legacy she had left to give. The legacy of life. She clenched her teeth tightly against the pain and started slashing silently.

*****

Little Jack had pretended to be asleep for the five minutes, then five minutes more. Now it had been too long. Mommy was coming back. She was just taking a long time. He heard the loud noises but sometimes mommy did that in their game at bedtime. She made noises to try to fool him. However, he was a smart boy. Then he heard many other sounds, feet shuffling on the floor and growls. He was scared. After a while, there was silence. Then Tolly came to him. She pushed her nose against the cupboard door crack and forced her way in lying down next to him. He hugged her tight. Now he was really scared but exhausted. He fell asleep.

The next morning when he woke he was thirsty. He drank from a bottle of water momma had left. She had loosened the tops so he could open them himself. He was afraid to go out. Mommy had not come back yet. Daddy didn't come for him either. Where are mommy and daddy? he thought as he ate Oreo cookies. Tolly was here, he shared his cookies with her. He didn't know what Border Collie meant, but he heard "collie" so she was Tolly. It was simple to him. It was also cold, and Tolly kept him warm. It was before his naptime but he fell asleep anyways holding her. Where were mommy and daddy?

He finished the Oreo cookies. He still had two bottles of water. He could count to ten after all. Tolly ate the chips. He only got to eat two or three, so he shoved her out the cupboard door as he was really mad. But he didn't leave the hiding spot. Mommy didn't say to leave. He was getting hungry, really hungry.

Later that day, Tolly dragged her dog food bag to the cupboard door. That was her food, not meant for him. But it didn't taste that bad. It was crunchy and actually tasted pretty good. He hoped mommy and daddy did not see him eating Tolly's food. They would yell at him but he was hungry, so it was okay. He waited. Mommy did not come back. He continued to wait. He had to go to the bathroom but by now, he was beyond scared. He was afraid to leave the kitchen. He peeked out Tolly's dog door into the back yard and saw many strangers. He didn't see mommy or daddy, so he did his business in the corner over by the stove. He didn't know where else to go. The refrigerator was still cold inside and he drank some milk, spilling it all over the floor in the process. Mommy would be mad! But he was too small to get a sippy cup down. He cried a lot. Where were Mommy and Daddy? He called softly for them, they didn't answer; and mommy never said he could leave, so he hid back in his favorite cupboard with his blanket and Tolly and waited. He slept a lot.

When he woke this time, it was getting dark again. He was hungry and ate more dog food, then drank some water sharing it with Tolly. Tolly didn't drink too much. She probably had her own water bottle wherever she went too. He saw her push the cupboard door open again and leave the house through her doggie door. He didn't know where she went but she always came back. He played with some Styrofoam cups he found in the back of the cupboard. They could be stacked like his building blocks. He was learning to do it in the dark because there was nothing else to do. After awhile he fell asleep again. Tolly had returned but left again. Maybe next time he would follow her. Where did she go? Did she go to mommy and daddy? If so, why didn't mommy come get him? He missed her and daddy so much. Where were they? Then Tolly was back. Jumping up and down but not making a sound. He noticed that Tolly hadn't barked in days. He had his blankie wrapped around him for warmth and Tolly grabbed its edge with her teeth and started tugging it and him through the cupboard door. Where did she want him to go?

The first thing he saw as he crawled out of the cupboard was the open back door. The second thing he saw was the large figure silhouetted in the entrance. His eyes widened in fright.

*****

DAY 4: 2000 ET

It had been a nightmare of a day, from the morning rescue, through the drama here, then a break in of the damn zombies on the north side of the property. Hadn't lost anyone that time but it had been too close. The women got the RAC granary straightened out with the help of Miguel's crews and about half of the group was over there. The place was all concrete and steel, very easy to defend with only a few doors leading in or out. Those silo towers also offered great vantage points to survey the area and I had some ideas on more protection later but it could wait until morning.

Sam's crew had raided the State Police post just up the road in Newaygo while Wayne's crew was raiding Parsley's. Sam had used the simple expediency of backing his truck through the side wall to gain entry. They stripped it of everything usable: guns, ammunition and clear plastic riot shields. Now those shields were great news. They would help in cleaning zombies out of buildings and homes, while the city snowplows cleared them off the roads.

I didn't know when I started referring to them as Miguel's crew, Sam's crew, Rosita's crew and Michael and Wayne's crew but I did. It was certainly more convenient than having to figure out which extra man went with whom. I was letting them add new people as more survivors came in; it was simply easier that way. I was also bone tired and it was time for bed. I turned over the to-do lists I had been putting together to Miguel. Miguel was turning into an excellent quartermaster and organizer. His days in the Federales had evidently prepared him well for it.

"Okay gang, I'm going to bed. I'm totally bushed. We have more, a lot more to do but right now I'm getting some sleep. I'll be in MY bedroom if you need me." I had emphasized the words, my bedroom; because even as packed as we were with refugees, I was not giving up my only private refuge left.

I climbed the steps slowly. I hadn't seen Bridget in awhile but didn't feel like searching for her. I was just too tired. She had gotten over Danielle taking off. Not easily, but she understood. Danielle had left to find her husband, but since he'd received the vaccination I figured we'd never see her again.

I was letting myself in then remembered I had forgotten a lantern for the bedroom as most of the house was still unpowered. It was not needed though. Someone had thoughtfully left one here for me turned way down. I could barely see but I was fine, I knew my bedroom. I dropped my holsters in the chair next to the bed. Sitting on its edge, I started on my boots, then the rest of my clothing. I decided to leave my long underwear on as it was already down to forty or lower in the room. The nights were getting colder. Winter was coming.

I heard a soft giggle and the covers stirred behind me as a small female hand and arm reached out and curled itself around my waist as I finished undressing. So that's where Bridget had gotten off to, I thought. I smiled and quickly removed the rest of my clothes including my long underwear sliding under the covers and rolling over her to get to the other side. I had a side I preferred, like most men. As I did, my outstretched hand landed on more female flesh and a different sounding giggle erupted from the covers next to Bridget. A black haired head poked up from the blankets. Cara. Holy shit! Both girls sat up and even in the dim light, I could see they were buck-naked. They wasted no time dragging me under the covers where it was warm.

Four hours later when they knocked on the bedroom door to get me for guard duty I was still awake with Cara. Bridget was already exhausted and was lying beside us asleep and I knew Cara would soon follow her. Me? What sleep? I was also ten minutes late getting downstairs. The grins when I arrived, told me they understood.

*****

DAY 5: 0200 ET

My guard duty never materialized. Miguel had replaced Bridget and I on the list then forgotten to tell me or the previous guards before my supposed shift started. He was still up working on his lists and schedules when I came downstairs. I made a mental note to get him some help. I decided since I was awake I'd do something that needed doing. I was wired now. Sex does that to me for some reason. I wanted to get an idea of our zombies travel patterns. It had been bugging me all through yesterday afternoon. So yeah, I figured we needed to get a handle on this. Lots of stuff were coming over the shortwave but the news was all contradictory. Since I was up and not sleepy anymore I figured to do some recon.

Michael was right. It was an outbreak and much worse than anyone could have imagined. Some might call it attack of the zombies. Some might call it judgment day, as some were. Some might say you were still asleep and it was time to wake up. The short of it was the flu killed some people, maybe ten percent, and mostly older people. The vaccinations on the other hand killed most people over the age of twelve or so. I breathed a sigh of relief thinking of Emma. Her fever was down to a little over a hundred degrees and steadily decreasing, she would be fine I felt. However, those that died from the vaccinations did not stay dead. Or rather, they did not really die. They went into a high fever coma of a hundred-ten to a hundred-fifteen degrees for a few hours. Then they died, or some semblance of it. Shortly after that appearance of death, their bodies cooled to room temperature very quickly. Too quickly, and they appeared clinically dead. Then they woke. Then went into a murderous rage and tried to eat the people around them, or anything alive from what we heard. Dogs, cats, pet fish. No source of live meat was sacred to the newly risen.

The airwaves were wild with speculation, but the few seeming reliable sources claimed it was some kind of crazy animal rage thing. The intense fever killed off all higher brain functions and what was left operated off lower function animal instincts. They were mad enraged beasts! When they ate, they would eat only flesh and then only living flesh. Like a wild carnivore. They would even eat each other but mostly those not infected yet. They could eat normal food but would not if they did not think it was alive. Weird. What was disturbing also was that they had changed. No longer being warm-blooded humans, but instead some kind of cold-blooded beasts. Not a lot was known, just that it was happening all over the world at once. It was not surprising after all, as America had been the producer and distributor of the vaccine worldwide. Well, actually the pharmaceutical companies in the United States along with a few major ones in Europe.

There was little from the government on the emergency channels just what FEMA was saying. The usual about staying inside with doors locked. That order would be restored shortly. Yeah right. We listened and drank coffee in the kitchen.

As I entered the back room, Miguel muttered something about being sorry for the mix-up, barely looking up from his writing but I waved the apology away. This was actually the perfect time for what I had planned. I looked around the house moving from room to room silently. I had perfected the silent walk technique years ago while married. It had been the only way I could sneak a couple of beers late at night without the ex-wife knowing. As I said before, I loved my beer. There he was. I had spotted Jason's brown bedroll and squatted beside him. I had meant to wake him gently with a tug on his foot; instead, I found his eyes staring at me. Jason, a.k.a. the Lord's Reaper, had helped us save almost sixty survivors yesterday. A retired Marine Corps sniper, he was par none with a long rifle.

"Your knees creak when you crouch," he whispered. Was that a grin on his face? Jesus, everyone's a comedian. I quickly explained what I intended. He nodded. He was in. We decided on pistols and machetes. Machetes for any dirty work we needed to do, and pistols if we were boxed in and had to make a run for it. I alerted the guards to our little recon: they and many others would come running if they heard us shooting. I hoped it wouldn't come to that. This was a recon, not an attack.

We made it to the north corner of my property without any trouble. We walked slowly and quietly letting our eyes adjust to the moonlight and darker shadows. Contrary to popular belief, it actually takes several minutes for your pupils too fully dilate. The difference in seeing ability is significant between the first minute in the dark and ten minutes later. With the moon out it was practically like dim daylight by the time we reached my property line and we used it to our advantage, scurrying from tree to bush to house, staying as hid as possible. The zombies were definitely out and while not actively looking for prey, as close as we could tell, they were pausing before houses and watching. We had to low crawl a few times but made it to the edge of town and kept watching.

What we saw scared the hell out of us. In ones and twos, zombies of all ages and genders were slowly coming from the woods and less settled areas just outside town and converging on the larger buildings. It was almost supernatural. We watched them carefully. Slowly over the course of the next two hours larger groups were formed. It must have been close to four in the morning by now. During this time, the zombies stood silently before some of the larger buildings in the town central. Between us, in whispers barely above a breath, we discussed the ramifications of their method of communication and intelligence for they appeared to be waiting. Waiting for what, we did not know.

Without anything to mark the event, most of the groups we were watching slowly shuffled into the buildings. I don't know about Jason, but that just freaked me out. I had been doing a scan, my eyes slowly moving up and down the street in front of us slightly out of focus to take it all in and it appeared to me as if they all moved at once. Oh no, this wasn't good at all, I thought as we watched them disappear into the dark interiors of the buildings. I estimated in two hours at least a few hundred had come out of the woods and nearby rural streets. Where in fuck were they all coming from? My main theory had been answered. They were indeed moving in during the night, and then hiding. This was scary shit.

Wordlessly Jason and I exchanged glances. I turned to head back and stopped. Directly behind me was a small dog. A Border Collie or miniature Collie I think. All black or brown and white. It was sitting there just watching us. Moving very slowly I held out my hand. It came forward a couple of steps and sniffed at my outstretched fingers then licked them quickly before backing up several paces watching us. Then it struck me. I hadn't seen any family pets since the virus outbreak. I had assumed they had been eaten by the zombies but I simply didn't know. I never asked any of the refugees about their pets. It hadn't occurred to me. But where there was one, there were more I was sure.

It whined in a very low tone, almost inaudible. Obviously, this dog recognized the need for silence. Then it took off running to the corner of the house and disappeared from view. I sighed rising from my crouch and nodding at Jason, we started back. The dog darted out from the corner as we moved away huffing at us. Jesus Christ I hoped it didn't bark. I made calming gestures with my hands and it ran to the corner again, then ran back to us turning a couple circles and again ran to the corner looking back at us. I was intrigued. It was as if it wanted us to follow. Well I had read all the news stories about this kind of thing. So, we crept to the corner as it backup up. I looked around and saw nothing, but the dog ran another thirty or forty feet, and stopped waiting, while watching us. I glanced at Jason. He nodded. We followed.

Carefully taking advantage of every cover, we proceeded further into town. We were now three houses north from where we had originally hid while watching the zombies. The dog was at the back of this property at a row of hedges waiting. Shrugging, I ran in a crouch to its edge taking advantage of cover provided by some bushes. Another house was behind this one and, of course, another street. The canine led us forward. I crept out and was immediately surprised by two of the undead who had been standing motionless. Jesus, they were hard to spot in the dark when motionless. They advanced with that weird breathy whispering moan. It took only seconds; Jason and I took them down with machetes to the necks. I had quickly learned to swing just about as hard as possible. I needed the machete’s razor edge to cleanly cleave through the neck and tough vertebrae incased within in a single strike. Two heads bounced away and the bodies slumped boneless to the ground. I noticed one was a woman but it was too dark to see if her tits had been large. God, I am what I am, and even though I had been in some hot little Mexican only two hours ago, I still couldn't help looking. I made a vow then and there that if things ever got back to normal I would at least consider counseling for a few minutes.

The house was typical and quite unremarkable from the others around it. Well, unless you counted the large pile of bodies off to one side in the backyard. Other than that, what made it stand out was the little doggie entrance inset within the back door. The Border Collie disappeared through the doggie door, then poked its head out of the flap seconds later watching us, waiting. Yeah we get it, we're coming, I thought.

Easing the door open and stepping very quietly into the interior I found myself in a small room, another opening leading into a kitchen. A washer and dryer were across from me. A mudroom, as we called them here in Michigan. A place for shaking off the mud during warm months and snow during cold and of course that's where most of us put our washer and dryer if not in the basement. It was a convenient location.

I saw the Collie at one of the cupboards. It had forced it open and was tugging at something inside. I advanced to the kitchen opening. Then my eyes widened beyond anything I ever thought possible. A small child crawled out. Oh My God, I think it was a boy and had to be all of two years old, maybe three. The child was petting the dog then straightened when he saw me. Moonlight shining through the kitchen windows showed me his scared visage and he quickly crouched behind the dog hugging it tightly. I saw him looking at me not saying a word.

"Hey, little man," I whispered. He hugged the dog tighter, still not saying anything. I moved forward very slowly not making any sudden moves. I crouched mere feet away and held out my arms. Instinctively, I knew. I simply knew. It all hit me at once: the cupboard, a blanket, a couple bottles of water visibly lying on the ground nearby. His parents had hid him when the zombies attacked and the dog was his only companion. I knew we wouldn't find his parents or if we did, they wouldn't be what he was waiting for. I simply knew they had given their lives to protect their offspring. I sighed. It's what we do after all. Who knew how many days he had been alone. Even in the cold, the place smelled and the boy only had a light shirt and pants on. Jesus. I stretched my arms out further and whispered urgently.

"Mommy and Daddy wanted me to come get you, little man." The little boy perked up and mostly released the dog and stood straighter. His hand waved slightly.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, little man. But we have to be quiet. We have to whisper or not talk. Mommy is away and is waiting for you. She sent me to bring you to her. She needs her little man." I was hoping like crazy he would come to me; my arms remained outstretched.

With a rush, he ran into my arms hugging me tightly. I held him as I hold my own. Tightly until they squirm. He squirmed and I slowly eased off my hug. He smelled of sour milk and dog food.

"Daddy." he whispered, pointing with his tiny finger to the opening of a hallway leading away from the kitchen into the interior of the home. I slowly rose with the little guy in my arms, moving to the opening and looked. I almost cried at that point. I could easily see what happened. A large shape, what had once been human, was in the center of the short hallway with arms outstretched to the sides. I could see where the walls had been gouged in as his daddy dug through the sheetrock, gripping its supporting members to make a last stand against the horde. My heart and prayers went out to his soul. He had been successful after all. I didn't know where his mommy was but I suspected the backyard, and the pile of bodies in the corner. It simply fit. You didn't need to be psychic to see some things clearly. I ducked back into the kitchen and held the child against me. A figure loomed before me. It was Jason. He took everything in at a glance. God, I needed at least forty of him. I pointed upstairs and whispered, "clothes," pointing at the child in my arms. He didn't bother nodding, just took off in a stealthy glide.

How we made it back without being seen I'm not sure. I think God had a hand in it, protecting the young and the foolish, but we did. There were a couple of narrow escapes as the little guy rode on my back giggling occasionally. No amount of hushing could get him to stop. He was having fun. The first in days I suspected. I estimated he was two and a half and to this day, I'm surprised he survived. Jason had grabbed up a bunch of his warmer clothes from his room upstairs and stuffed them in several pillowcases. I had put his winter coat on him and off we went. Rosita took him from me when we finally arrived. Yeah, it was almost five in the freaking morning and she was still up. She cried when I described the scene within the house and just outside and hugged the little guy tightly. Miguel didn't get any sleep and I didn't see any coming my way either. Many people were up. I called a meeting. Jason and I had information to impart and our lives just became an order of magnitude busier.

We tried to make the back room work for the meeting. No go. It was too small and every room in the house had people sleeping in it. We went outside. God yes, it was cold.

Michael had lit two lanterns and we sat around the backyard fire pit, which some thoughtful soul had lit. I stood with my back to it enjoying the warmth it was starting to provide. Sure, I was worried about the light, but we were four-hundred feet back from the road surrounded by a dense stand of thick hardwoods and we already knew the creatures were more attracted to movement than lights.

"Alright folks, things just got busier but before I explain, Miguel, how many adults do we have?" His answer was almost sixty. Wow. Lots of refugees. I didn't bother asking how many children as I knew it would be twice that at least. I saw earnest faces gazing at me waiting for what I had to tell them. Why they trusted me, I do not know.

"Any issues?" I inquired. He shrugged.

"A few, Señor Jay. Mostly some of the men not wanting to help guard or do chores. A few of the women also but I showed them the driveway and told them to leave if they didn't and we are okay now." I nodded. I had expected it. Some of these folks had never worked a day in their lives and had no conception of doing anything different. Good that Miguel had taken care of it. I'm positive he had been much nicer than I would have been.

"Okay, we have children out there hidden by their parents. Michael and I knew this would happen. We need to find them. This morning Jason and I rescued a two-year-old boy. You don't want to see the inside of the house, trust me. It's obvious his parents died hiding him. But where there's one there's more. We need more food, more Medicine, more everything. The zombies are much smarter than we thought and we think they have some means of communication. Jason, tell them what we saw tonight."

Jason told the assembled men and women about our excursion. All of it. There were sharp intakes of breath when he related the zombies all walking in at the same time, and there were more than a few tears when he got to the rescue of the boy and the description of the hallway and backyard. They understood what we needed to do. Most important they understood the urgency. I relied on Miguel. I had quickly figured out he was much smarter than my main man Michael. I spelled it out for them. I needed as many teams as we could muster.

We had to empty out the two pharmacies in town and get those drugs under lock and key at RAC. I had no doubt some of these survivors were or had been drug addicts. They had the look. While my men were at it, they needed to empty out Pine Medical of anything useful. We needed a second generator. Lakes Energy had a big one that was 120/240 three phase. Perfect for our needs. There was some bitching about that. RAC already had one but I wanted a spare. We would need the additional power later. We also needed to get the fans turned on in the grain storage at RAC. There were upwards of three million bushels of wheat, corn and soybeans stored there. If the ventilation fans quit for any length of time it would quickly rot, even in this cold.

We had to empty out the grocery stores and restaurants in town like now and we had to start searching for survivors. Later after some sleep, I would lead a team to get fuel. We would need a lot of it to be viable. The fuel farm depot south of Grant would supply all our short-term fuel needs. The list went on and on. The supplies would be gathered and the empty rail cars at RAC would store any excess we couldn't fit inside the main buildings.

Of special importance were the twelve feet concrete ‘T’ barriers I wanted assembled around RAC. I knew the Newaygo maintenance yard had a couple hundred of the damn things along with a flatbed truck to haul them and I wanted every single one a quarter mile away at RAC arrayed around the buildings. Years ago, I had seen a movie about a volcano erupting in downtown LA or somewhere. At four feet high and twelve feet wide, weighing two and a half tons each, the things stacked two high had kept the lava away, so I knew they could keep zombies at bay. I wanted a double row surrounding the complex. They could use the propane forklifts at RAC to move them. I also wanted every single forty-five foot electric pole from the LE electrical yards. They had hundreds and we would need them along with a line digger and pole truck. I was getting ready to fortify.

Each crew would be accompanied by a snowplow. My reason was simple that if the damn things could shove aside a six foot drift of heavy wet snow in winter, they could for sure move any number of zombies out of the way, no matter how determined the creatures were. With their low prows and rubber skirts, we didn't have to worry about the dead-mother-fuckers getting underneath and jacking the trucks up. It was simple, really.

My gut told me we would continue to see more and more zombies as they migrated from the major cities. If we were going to get stuff, now was the time. I also dreaded the outbreak of violence or gangs of marauders. Those I also knew were coming to any community that advertised its 'alive' presence, as we were doing. Everything had to be done yesterday. We had no time to relax or we were done for. With a sigh, I passed the meeting onto Michael and Miguel leaving instructions to wake me in four hours, or less, if an emergency cropped up they couldn't handle. I hoped to get that much sleep but I doubted it.

I knew sleep would be elusive when I dragged my tired ass into the bedroom, for my mind was moving in a millions directions at once. When I did, in the lamplight, I saw both girls sitting upright in bed still naked with the covers bunched around their waists smiling at me. A man does what a man needs to do I thought as I smiled back. So much to do and the day had just begun.

The Reaper: Avenging Wrath

Copyright 2013: Sean Liebling

The following chapters are an unedited portion of the next book in The Reaper series.

Because you are reading what is an unedited text, any punctuation, spelling, or grammar issues that would normally be corrected during the editing process will still exist in the following chapter. As an early purchaser of this book, you are receiving the raw, unedited text, direct from the author’s pen to your page. Enjoy! And be on the lookout for The Reaper: Avenging Wrath, coming in 2014 from Permuted Press!

Chapter 1

The Reaper, also known as Jason, and even Captain Scott, paused to rest for a moment as he neared the fenced boundary of Highway 36. During the previous two hours since leaving the religious cult compound he'd carefully made his way south, through the heavily wooded strip of land between Macon and Long Branch Lakes. The density of Hell's offspring was higher here, in and near Macon, which stood to reason for it was a much larger city, yet the Reaper stayed in thick wooded area's for he wanted to identify all the players before announcing himself. In the four mile trek from the compound he had encountered and been forced to dispatch over a dozen of the undead spawn, using only his machete, for he did not wish to reveal his presence to any other surviving groups until he had a firmer grasp on the conditions here in Macon. He checked his watch briefly, noting that he still had over thirty minutes before the satellite would be within range then looked around his position. Forward and to the west, he saw a large group of Satan's spawn approaching the city along the highway in herd-like fashion. They were not moving especially fast, but they also never stopped. These minions of Hell were in search of prey, and he ignored him for now. They were too far away to spot him and he needed to get a message out first.

*****

While he watched and listened, the Reaper’s mind drifted back to his very first encounter with these spawns of Satan. A family man, and retired from the United States Marine Corp as a Force Recon sniper with the 1st Marine Division, he had taken a job as a machinist to supplement their family income. Upon arriving home after working third shift on the day the undead rose, he found his entire family slaughtered. Going berserk, he had killed every zombie in sight using any means at hand. They had truly died under his wrath, and he, the Reaper, had survived. It was then that he realized the Lord had a new mission for him.

Jason had always been deeply religious, even as a child. He knew the Lord had a purpose for everything that happened in life, so the fact he had lived indicated God's plans for him were unfinished. He had prayed to the Almighty, and realizing his mission through divine guidance, he once again donned his old tools of the trade—the tools of a Marine Corps sniper—and set out to eradicate the spawn of Hell from the surrounding Newaygo, Michigan area. After weeks of combat and slaughter, along with more than a few signs from God, he realized his mission had changed in a subtle manner. No longer was his mission to hunt only the undead, but also the evil men living amongst them, who in many ways were much worse. These incarnations of evil preyed on other survivors, and the Lord had spoken loud and clear. The unspeakable acts of murder, rape, and immorality he’d witnessed had shown the Reaper where he could best use his talents.

*****

Macon was a much bigger city than Paris, Missouri. The Reaper had just left the smaller town after uniting the survivors and brought in additional military personnel to eradicate a menacing group of marauders. The population here in Macon was six times larger and the size of the city illustrated this increase. In Paris, the Reaper had called in reinforcements from Newaygo, Michigan, who had been sent two full twelve-man ODA's (Operational Deployment-Alpha) of Special Forces to assist in the suppression of hostile survivor forces. Through the grit of the full combination of all local survivor groups, they had prevailed and wiped the menace from the face of the planet. In that final battle though, the Special Forces had lost two men, another critically wounded, along with another nine members from the local groups. Now, they were on the fast track to recovery and the Reaper wished them the best.

It was almost two p.m. and several hours ago, he had been carefully scouting out the southern perimeter of what appeared to be the very large compound of a religious cult, located two miles northwest of the city at the tip of Macon Lake. Looking down within its interior from several vantage points along his path he'd estimated it at one mile square in size. Now he needed to get word back to Paris, Missouri about what he had seen, specifically the large upright cross, deep within its interior and decorated with the spiked bodies of a great many men, women and children. It was just two miles from the city limits and from the plumes of smoke, the Reaper already knew there were a multitude of survivors in or near this large town.

Initially, when he'd peered into the compound, his first inclination had been to slip between the strands of barbed wire, which were strung between the twelve foot tall stakes, spaced six feet apart. The fence had stretched for almost a half mile in every direction with roughly fifty yards of cleared area on both sides of its wooden and steel construction. Within, the cleared area ended in a dense wooded front and Jason knew it would only take a few minutes to run the distance to cover. It was while he was mulling over the decision to penetrate, or not, while carefully scanning the forest front, when he spotted the guard posts.

Placed just within the tree line were small enclosed platforms positioned every one hundred feet along its length and built on stilts, leaving them approximately twenty feet off the ground. Another careful examination of several of the platforms, revealed a large window in the front of each, and mounted within were what appeared to be machine gun emplacements. That those weapons were manned became obvious when he witnessed the barrels moving slowly back and forth. Interior penetration of this heavily armed fortress would need to be done at night and the recon a slow one.

The Reaper glanced over too his right, noting a large warehouse like structure that appeared to be abandoned, and immediately headed towards it. He needed a stable surface to set up his radio gear to communicate. It would suit his purposes and the vantage point the two-story structure afforded would allow him to get a better picture of the county and city limits he was approaching.

Fifteen minutes later, saw him approaching the metal structure while noting its rust-streaked sides and broken windows. He held his machete in his hand and had already loosened the Navy Colt .45 in its side holster in case it was needed. The Colt had belonged to his father and upon the elders death had gone to Jason. The Reaper preferred to believe that by carrying the old, yet serviceable weapon, his pa was accompanying him on the Lord's mission.

This was an older facility, maybe 60's era and obviously abandoned for a great many years. He crouched in the snow-covered undergrowth as he came upon the cracked asphalt parking lot surrounding the building and slowly scanned for Satan's spawn. Yes, they were here! Over a dozen of the undead were standing motionless between the main structure, and what appeared to be a large maintenance shed.

Carefully he backed until he was fully hidden from their view, while circling around to the south. He was looking for a ladder mounted to the side of this large building. Federal fire codes always demanded an easy egress to the roof surface of all commercial buildings, and it was for that ladder, he was searching. He found it within minutes, right where he expected it on the backside of the warehouse, with its vertical length surrounded by a metal cage-like framework. Thirty-five feet separated him from his destination and peering closely he saw that the safety barrier had already been removed, which would allow him to scale the roof without hindrance.

A careful look in both directions showed no signs of the undead from this side and he sprinted to the ladder. Removing his pack, he unclipped the support strap, lengthened it and fastened it to his leather belt. He would ascend while supporting the heavy bundle under his body for there was not enough room with it strapped to his back. His Rifle he slung muzzle down across the front of his body and grasping the metal rungs through his leather gloves, he quickly rose to the rooftop. Another few seconds saw him creeping to the southeast corner of the warehouse and dropping his ruck he quickly pulled his binoculars and started scanning the city that lay before him.

There were smoke plumes in evidence, a sure giveaway for survivor groups. He counted five in total and observed the movement of vehicles along some of the streets. Busy little town, he thought as he continued panning, noting what looked to be a school just ahead to his east and what looked like a decent sized motel just to his south, occupying approximately four square acres of space. As he slowly took in the details of what was a spread out, single story America's Best Value Inn; for he had read the sign in front, he noticed with interest that the zombies he had seen earlier were entering its crowded parking lot. No time for that now, he needed to get a message out.

Strapped to the side of his rucksack was a plasticized canvas bag measuring almost twenty inches in length. Inside this protective covering was an RF-3080-AT001,

A high gain UHF SATCOM Antenna assembly. State of the art military issue, paired with the AN-PRC-152 it was the most commonly carried device in the field for secure extended communications. The Falcon III® AN/PRC-152 single-channel multiband, multi-mission handheld radio had been in use for many years by all branches of the U.S. Department of Defense. It was capable of providing real-time information and communication for units in the field. Its range was effectively limitless as combined with the SATCOM antenna, bounced signals through satellites overhead for world-wide coverage. This particular model also had a built in GPS (Global Positioning System) identifier.

During the Extraction at Paris, the Reaper had been pleased that Newaygo had provided several paired units of these communication devices and quickly secured one of them. He was the forward scout for Newaygo's advance towards the shadow government and needed the immediate ability to communicate resource and manpower needs with higher authority.

It took him less than a minute to unzip the pouch, extract and assemble the rapid deploy, high gain, crossed Yagi antenna for SATCOM communications. Opening the top of his ruck to remove the lightweight radio transceiver itself, and connect it to the leads from the antenna array, only took a few more moments and he was powering it up while punching in the agreed upon frequency for Paris, Missouri. Checking his compass, Jason rotated the wire frame dish into optimal position while adjusting the angle of its primary antenna. He then then pressed the button to record his current GPS coordinates. He would need those shortly and while continuing to scan his surroundings, he raised the small hand held device to his mouth.

"Reaper to Paris Six, over."

"Paris to Reaper, stand by for Six." almost a minute had gone by before he heard a return response. The reception was amazingly clear, but he didn't recognize the voice that spoke.

"Roger that, Paris." The Reaper continued to wait, and then heard Rodriguez's voice over the speaker. SFC, or Platoon Sergeant, Dennis Rodriguez had been the leader of the largest survivor group in Paris, Missouri and the only surviving military elements in that area. Though Rodriguez had been skeptical at first, he had joined forces with the Reaper while supporting the combination of all local groups to take on the much larger group of marauders that occupied the northern half of the city. Now, he was the interim leader of a growing and soon to be thriving community until elections could be held in the spring. Jason was proud to consider him a friend.

"Reaper, Paris Six! What's the situation over there, and do you need our support?"

"Paris Six, not at this time. Initial assessment is incomplete. Am transmitting GPS coordinates now," and the Reaper was thumbing the buttons that would burst the coordinates along the data link to the receiver in Paris, Missouri. "Copy that you received them, over."

"Transmission recieved. Don't leave us in suspense, Captain. I've read the copy we made of that notebook and the situation doesn't look good."

"It is what it is. I'll know more within a day. The cult appears to be bad news. I was able to scan some of the interior and deep within their compound is a large cross that they've nailed men, women and even children. I was unable to do a forward recon during daylight, as they have manned machine gun emplacements every hundred feet along the exterior. At this time, their beliefs are unknown, but the fact they've killed children doesn't speak well for them."

"Reaper, we can and will provide support. Things are going well here. Already, in the last two days, over two thousand refugees have come out of hiding and joined us. It's busy."

"I knew it would be, Rodriguez, but not at this time. Let me feel the players out and I'll get back to you. As previously discussed, if I don't report back by tomorrow then I'm compromised and this information needs to get to Newaygo."

"I will make sure it does, but I do not see you being compromised, Reaper. Yes, I'm familiar with your dogma. When the Lord decides it's time for you to go home, he'll collect you!"

"That's right," this time the Reaper growled, and at that moment, he heard gunfire to the south. The rapid staccato of weapons going off simultaneously made it sound like a pitched battle and quickly the Reaper held the binoculars to his eyes as he zoomed in on the motel across the highway, less than five-hundred yards distant. Instantly he was speaking into the hand-held unit again.

"Paris Six, something needs my attention. Reaper out."

"Copy that Reaper, keep us informed. We'll be here." Then the Reaper turned the handset off as he lifted his M40A1 sniper rifle, then crept to the south edge of the roof.

Looking down and across, he idly noted the distance was too short to require a sandbag and after flipping the magnetic covers up from the scope, he wrapped the sling twice around his hand gripping the fore stock of the Remington 700 and settled into a comfortable prone position. Slowly he panned across the parking lot and saw a myriad of Hell's spawn intermixed with human survivors in pitched battle.

The scene before him was too confusing to draw more than general picture of the events happening. It appeared the zombies had sensed survivors hiding within the motel premises, and had already breached several of the room doors in search of ... food. By combining their mass, the undead could and did breached locked door, simply by continuing to move forward. The survivors in return were out in force, rushing from surrounding rooms and engaged in melee with the undead creatures in an attempt to hold them back. It did not look good for the defenders as the Devil's Spawn had vastly superior numbers and were aroused in their need for human sustenance. The Reaper instantly recognized the spawn of Satan were in fast mode as they intermixed with humans and as he watched, several of those alive were pulled to the ground. Time to step in, he thought as he chambered the first 7.62 x 51mm round in place and sighting carefully, fired!

In the parking lot, one of the undead had gripped a machete wielding female survivor by the hair and was pushing her to the pavement. As the lady's mouth opened in a scream of pain and denial, the Reapers ultra-sonic jacket of death was already passing through the head of the creature holding her, bringing it instant, ultimate death to ricochet off the pavement behind them. The unfolding battle was busy, with alive and undead fighting in close proximity to each other. Jason had to be careful that his rounds did not impact a friendly target, after passing through one of the spawn. He had no worries though, as he never missed and carefully aiming, he fired again.

This time, the jacketed round passed through not one, but two semi-decomposed heads, before impacting against the lower stone archway fronting the main entrance to the motel. The Reaper shifted minutely as his right hand automatically rotated another round into position. Three of the undead were crouched over a young man as he fired upward into their dead bodies with an automatic of some sort, clenched tightly in his hand and quickly Jason sent a round through the head of one, then a second, allowing the man to push the other aside as he staggered to his feet. Before Jason could fire again, the evil ones teeth had fastened on the arm of the gun-toting survivor, bearing him to the ground again. Another round passed through the barrel of the Remington 700, putting an end to the undead wishes.

Quickly yet methodically, the Reaper kept firing until he was switching magazines. Then again he serviced another of the undead horde before him. The survivors in this group were winning, and the Reaper continued to fire. Every shot through the head, with no misses.

Jason was on his fourth magazine before the battle was over. The firing from below had ceased and the survivors were milling around while checking on their own dead. As he slowly panned across the turmoil of the last ten minutes, he counted at least eight dead of the groups once living members. He could also see many of those below staring up at his position and relaxing, he slowly stood, while facing them and rested the butt of his sniper rifle against his hip. It was time to get down there and see what was going on.

Packing his gear up quickly, he proceeded to the ladder only to find the area below crowded with Hell's minions who had heard the shooting and came in search of Prey. The Reaper smiled grimly, for it was he who would prey on them and drawing his colt .45, he started shooting.

Chapter 2

Gareth Wood was thirty-six and a large man at six-foot three and two-hundred forty pounds. With his dark hair, broad face and calm demeanor, it was easy to mistake him for just a big happy-go-lucky guy that easily resembled your neighbor and was easy to trust. Few knew his past though, and if they had, such neighborly trust might not have come so readily.

Originally a native of British Columbia, the sixth province of Canada, as a young boy he had made the journey to the United States with his family as they searched for better paying jobs. Finding them in Macon, Missouri many of his immediate family had followed the move to the United States taking advantage of the boom in Natural Gas exploration. The Gas companies paid well above average wages, with plenty of overtime, and while not rich, his family had become comfortably upper-middle class.

Though his father had insisted he go to college, Gareth had always charted his own destiny and instead joined the United States Marine Corps. Stationed in the infantry with the 2nd MarDiv (Marine Division) out of Camp Lejeune, North Carolina and ultimately assigned to the 2nd Combat Engineering Battalion, saw him in exotic places doing exotic activities. Exotic was relative however, unless you considered several tours in Iraq, and Afghanistan, while planting demolitions and blowing up a significant percentage of every area he was assigned.

Two enlistments later, he'd finally decided the placid environment of heavy combat operations in hostile territories was too tame for his dynamic nature and elected to become a semi-pro wrestler. His big break had come through a friend, who knew a guy and that had lasted for quite a few years while he toured the circuit from West Coast to East. The money had been very good; the female groupies better, and if he hadn't blown his knee out in a power move turned bad might have still been in the biz.

Three surgeries, several pins and two screws later, found him out of wrestling and working at high-scale nightclubs in Atlanta as a bouncer where two things eventually happened. He became involved in the Mob, and then met a sweet little casino waitress named Jenny, whom he fell in love with. Life had been idyllic until Jenny's superior looks had caused problems with his bosses, for they were not content with her remaining a waitress and the pressure for her to become a stripper had become overwhelming. She wanted to leave, but the one thing you never did was leave the Mob.

Jenny had quickly turned into a listless shell of her former self, causing Gareth to intervene on her behalf. He had gone to the Caporegime and when that proved fruitless had requested, and been granted, an audience with the underboss for the Atlanta area family. His interference in the local boss’s plans had earned him a beating, and a bad one, along with a warning to get himself and his girlfriend in line or they would find themselves permanently unemployed. Gareth had taken their threats seriously, but what the Mob did not account for was his determination to rid their lives of this looming shadow, and the skills and friends he had accumulated while in the Marine Corps. The Mafia knew he was a former soldier in combat engineering and assumed that meant he operated heavy machinery and built bridges and other forms of infrastructure for developing nations that the United States deemed to have national security interests. They had no idea that the battalion he had spent almost seven years in actually blew those bridges and heavy equipment up, or that his working knowledge of lethal chemistry meant every grocery and hardware store was a haven of supplies for homemade plastique. They knew he was from Canada and assumed he had immigrated to America in order to join the service. They also did not know his family resided in Macon, Missouri and Gareth did not intend to reveal that information.

The Mob was into many lucrative activities, one of which was insurance fraud. They would buy older facilities, insure them for sums larger than they were worth then have a contractor torch the structures for the money. The racket worked, for in each case they would start construction towards renovation, but said construction company's were also owned by the Mafia and while many hours were billed, no man hours were actually performed.

Gareth needed to make a clean example of what might happen if they were not left alone, but in such a way that he didn't make the underboss or boss of bosses unduly angry. So enlisting the help of two friends from his old battalion and after making several trips to different grocery and hardware stores they had assembled and set a great many charges. Then after ensuring the properties were vacant had detonated those charges, while ensuring his bosses knew that it was the work of multiple people. It had been a win for the Mob for the insurance money and a win for Gareth and Jenny in that they were officially 'retired'.

Sure, the Mob attempted to hire them in a different capacity after Gareth's skills were proven but they had turned down all such and quietly moved away in the middle of the night to Macon, Missouri. He and Jenny had married and started a new life together. Then, going back to school and passing his commercial driver's license exam resulted in a job as a truck driver for a metal stamping plant making runs to the west coast and back. After six years of incredible married life, they now had three children; two boys and a girl, ages three, four and five, but it was on one of those three-day runs when everything turned upside down.

For hours before arriving back in Macon, he'd listened to the emergency broadcasts continuously, driving faster, even pushing road conditions to make it back to Macon. Nearing the large city of his hometown, he'd been forced to weave in and out of traffic. In other circumstances he would have been paranoid of being pulled over, but right then, he knew the police had larger problems on their hands. He had made it back and reunited with his family though it had taken hours of fighting off the undead who were attempting to eat every living thing in sight. He was just thankful neither of them had taken the latest flu vaccine.

Gareth felt he and Jenny were still alive because of his paranoia. In previous years gone past, every time he or any in his family here in Macon had taken the yearly flu immunizations the government advocated, had seen them sicker than you would believe. Eventually, even before he met Jenny, they had stopped doing so and it had proven a successful strategy. They had not contracted the flu since. Once he and Jenny were together, he had convinced her to continue the new family tradition, to which she agreed. It was only later, the day after the rise of the zombies that they learned a tainted batch of vaccine had caused this entire mess.

He was now located at the America's Best Value Inn, their inner city home having been deemed too small and too vulnerable to the undead hordes. With him were his remaining family; comprised of both of his parents, his brother, a few friends and other survivors they had taken in. Jenny's family had not been as lucky as his, for they had all been out to dinner when the end came and did not survive the aftermath. Those that had not already turned into zombies that is.

The Inn had all the space they needed and was mostly defensible. It contained a restaurant and bar of which both were well stocked with food stores. A generator out back provided power and they were located near a local grocery distribution center. Before the outbreak Gareth had collected fire-arms and once the violence ensued, he and his brother along with two friends had used those weapons to raid one of the several local gun shops whose owners were mysteriously absent. They had stocked up on everything and trucked it all back to their new location allowing all the adults to have decent protection against this new apocalypse. They numbered eighty-four breathing individuals, with sixteen men, twenty-five women and forty-three children. It was amazing how many children had survived. Immune from the tainted virus, they or their parents had hidden them from the ravaging horde of new risen dead and Gareth could not stop himself from taking every one of those little tykes in, not that his Jenny would have let him, and if they found even more children, they would protect them also.

Now, he mournfully surveyed their losses after an attack of the undead. The herd, for that's they only way the massed up zombies could be referred to, had caught them by surprise and even though all outside doors were barricaded, the bastards had pushed against the large glass windows of individual outside units and forced their way in by climbing over the sills. Gareth had immediately ordered a counter attack for that was the only way to keep them from the children, hiding in fear within the inner rooms. Now there were nine dead, includingtwo of his men and seven women, one of those men a close friend. Thank god the bastards had not gotten to the children.

"Who do you think that is? One of the other groups? Military?" asked Dean.

Gareth was pulled from his reverie at his brother’s question. "I don't know." he responded and together they watch as in the distance a small figure stood atop the old abandoned warehouse, a large rifle jutting from his hip. "But he helped save our ass. I'm not sure how many he killed but it was a lot. I saw them dropping all around me."

"Yeah, me too. Maybe we should pay him a visit after we get this cleaned up and express our thanks."

"Look!" and Gareth pointed. "He's disappeared. He may be coming to us." Together both men gazed at the distant abandoned warehouse in search of this man who had assisted them in taking out the undead. He was not to be seen and after several minutes, they turned back to the task at hand.

"Have Cody bring a truck around so we can carry our dead around back, then grab some boards so we can use the torch to burn in their names. We'll use the backhoe to dig the graves."

"What about these undead, now dead fuckers?"

"We'll dig a larger hole somewhere else and bury them there!" growled Gareth.

"Gotcha Gareth, I'm on it!" and Dean was walking quickly to another one of the men still standing, talking excitedly as one of the women stood beside him while patching the wound on his arm from a bite.

That was scary, as they had learned early on, that a bite from an undead left untreated, quickly festered into a massive infection. Thank God, they had also raided one of the many pharmacies within the city. Gareth hoped the wound would not become infected, for while the Samaritan Hospital was still open for business, abet with a greatly reduced staff, they literally charged an arm and a leg for their services. You had to bring your own medical supplies along with something of value; food, ammunition, they were even accepting livestock. As yet, supplies were plentiful with a majority of the population dying off suddenly, but Gareth knew that by next year, those supplies would dwindle as everyone hoarded. He was not looking forward to the headache. His group had livestock of their own out behind the Inn. Forty laying hens because everyone liked eggs and a half dozen dairy cows they milked twice a day, then boiled it before setting it out in the snow too cool. The little kids needed the milk and even Gareth had to admit that the rich creamy taste of the fresh stuff was more delicious than any he had purchased from the store. In the spring they were planning on taking over one of the larger farms and he was suddenly wondering if locating one now might not be prudent.

"Hey! Who's that?" One of the women was calling out and Gareth recognized the voice of Karen as he looked in her direction. An outstretched arm and pointing finger had him turning again north in the direction of the highway. Coming towards them was a lone figure of a man with a large rifle slung over his shoulder, a large pack of some military design on his back and a large machete swinging from his hand. As Gareth watched, he saw two of the undead move from where they had been hiding amongst the vehicles stranded, or simply left on the road, advancing on the walking stranger.

"Dean!" he shouted. "The guy needs help. Let's go!" His brother ran too him while looking out across the road and as he neared Gareth grabbed his shoulder and together they ran. His Ar-15, taken from the gun shop was in his hands as was Dean's and he flipped the safety off in preparation to firing, but it was already too late as this man moved to intercept the two undead.

With quick, sure movements, this man walking towards their sanctuary took out the two zombies approaching. Gareth grinned as he witnessed the lightening quick strokes with the heavy looking blade which saw the undead immobile on the ground within seconds. Man knew what he was doing, was his only thought as he watched the stranger wipe his blade off on the ragged clothing of the dead.

It was an older man who was approaching them; mid 50's or perhaps sixty, with a short, neatly trimmed beard and muscular build. The large rifle slung over his shoulder was large, obviously custom and had a powerful scope mounted on it. As he drew closer, Gareth recognized a brown Carhartt jacket with brown pants and the pack he carried on his back was obviously of older military issue.

"I see you had a bit of trouble," the man remarked as he came to a stop and sheathed his machete.

"Yes, this would have been worse if not for you. Mind telling me why you took a hand, stranger?"

"Names, Reaper and it seemed like the thing to do." Responded the Reaper as he surveyed the bodies lying all around them. "Looks like you suffered casualties," he continued.

Gareth sighed as he rubbed a hand across his face, and then noticed it still had fresh blood on it from checking the bodies of their group members who had perished. "Crap," he muttered as he pulled a rag from his pocket and rubbed his face again, hoping he removed most of the blood, then wiped his hands thoroughly before holding his right out. "My name is Gareth Wood, this is my brother Dean and it's a pleasure to meet you, Reaper. The two big men shook hands strongly, before the Reaper turned to Dean, hand outstretched, who clasped it in return. All three men nodded at each other. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the others. Normally we would not be so friendly, but most of us saw what you did. You're good with that thing, military?" he finished while nodding at the modified Remington 700.

"The Lord guides my hand, Gareth. Let me give you a hand with those who have fallen. “Former yes, and you?"

"2nd CE Batt (Battalion) with the 2nd, USMC."

"1st Recon Batt, 1st, out of Pendleton, though we were rarely there." responded Jason in return.

"Recon?"

"Force!" the statement was said with pride and Gareth nodded in return. There was a difference between USMC Recon and Force Recon.

"I met a few Force Recon guys at Legeune, in between blowing things up in various exotic places. Quiet bunch they were. Team sniper?"

"Correct."

"Well, let's go, we can talk more later," and with that, Gareth and his brother continued walking towards the others.

Three trucks had been backed up and gently the bodies of nine people were laid within their beds. Dozens of people had gathered, surrounding the vehicles and silently looking on while the process took place. Some were silently crying while others just looked mad as hell and not a few stern looks were directed at the new arrival in their midst ... The Reaper.

"Who's this?" The voice was husky yet melodious, an odd combination and the Jason turned to view the speaker. Before him was woman, early thirty's perhaps, and of incredible beauty.

"Jen, this is Reaper. He's the one that helped earlier when the zombies attacked." Gareth was now speaking to his wife, who looked suspicious while fingering the Beretta 92 shoved in her waistband.

"What do we know about him Gar? You guys are looking all comfortable over here, yet I'm suspicious. Is he from one of the other nearby groups?" she inquired as her stare bore into the Reaper.

"Ma'am. I mean you and yours no harm. I've just arrived and figuring out what's going on."

"It's Mrs. and what do you mean figuring out what's going on?"

"Hun, he took down maybe thirty of the bastards himself. He kept more from losing their lives. Calm down please. Reaper, this is Jenny, my wife." Then Gareth was caressing her tense shoulder as he indicated the woman. Distrust was still plainly written in her stiff stance and narrowed eyes, but finally she nodded minutely to Jason.

"Thank you, Reaper, but why do you call yourself by that name?"

"You're welcome. As for the name..." The Reaper paused then waved a hand around them before continuing. "My given name is Jason Scott. However, when all this occurred over a month ago, I came home from work to find my entire family slaughtered by these, Hell Spawn of Satan. I killed every one of the demons and then buried my family. It was then that I realized the Lord had a mission for me, as I had survived. To be the Lord's Reaper of the Devil's undead progeny, and those who would visit evil acts upon the survivors."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Reaper. Everyone here has lost people, most of them close family." Jenny remarked.

"I know. It's the way of things in this new trial of the Lord's."

"I hate to break up this gathering but we have nine of our own to bury and say a few words over. The holes are already dug and they're getting ready. We'll dump the zombies in one of the out pits the city dug when we're finished," commented Gareth who had been speaking with another of those near, but in low tones.

Several minutes later, on the backside of the motel, Jason stood near the back of all those assembled to say a final goodbye to friends and family. Gareth was in front, beside him Jenny and he was fumbling with the small bible in his hand. The Reapers eyebrow rose as he watched the confusion on their leaders face, and called out.

"You do not have a pastor in your group?"

Startled Gareth turned looking at the Reaper and shook his head. "I just usually pick a few verses at random and go with it." He backed up for this man called the Reaper was already striding forward, approaching and removing his equipment.

"Then allow me."

"You're a minister?"

"No, but I know the bible."

When Gareth started to hand Jason the bible he shook his head, clasped his hands before him, head bowed and started speaking.

"Romans 14. Verses 7-9.

For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself.

For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord.

So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.

For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.

These men and woman sacrifice themselves that others may live. Their souls are now resting at God's side, their bravery, and sacrifice, is a testament to what good, honorable, and caring people will do for each other. But know deep in your hearts, that God is with us and everything has a reason." The Reaper lifted his head and stepped back from the nine freshly dug graves before him. As he did so he heard a deep, murmured "Amen" from behind.

"Thank you Reaper. That was fitting." Gareth had stepped closer and was now speaking.

"You're welcome. We are all in this together."

"So, do you need a place to stay? We could use someone like you in our group. You're obviously religious and you took out quite a few of the bastards that attacked us. Every group in town has mostly cleared the undead out, but more and more of the undead keep arriving. In fact some have come from as far away as Kansas City, according to their driver's licenses." Gareth quit speaking for he saw the Reaper shaking his head.

"I'm sorry Gareth, I'm on a mission not only of the Lord's, but also the Governor of Michigan. You may not realize it, but there is organized evil afoot within the world."

"You mean this whole rogue government organization we've heard rumors of?" interjected Gareth.

"You know of them?" Surprise was clearly written on the Reaper face, and Gareth chuckled.

"Yeah, we get rumors. City Hall has some radio equipment and we understand a lot is happening out there. We've heard stories, even of Newaygo. So you're from there?"

"Yes!" Jason wanted to tell them more but knew operational security came first. "You have a functional city government?" he inquired.

"Well, somewhat. The hospital is all about, pay as you go, but the police and fire departments are still there along with what's left of the city managers. Not many of them left either, but they have their own group and are trying to keep some order in town."

"And they haven't asked you to relocate closer to them?"

"No why? Why should we."

"Because there is safety in numbers. Why didn't they respond to this incursion?"

"Because they don't. They don't want more numbers, and there are other reasons."

"What reasons?" the Reaper growled and for the first time, Gareth received a hint at how dangerous this man called the Reaper really was.

"There is a cult, north of town. Mostly, the police try to keep them out of Macon. Early on, this cult was taking people when everything went down. The City barely put a stop to it. Now they do their thing and the rest of us do ours."

"I need to talk to the city. Can you take me there, Gareth?"

"Sure, I suppose, but they don't take to strangers."

"I'm used to that. Why don't we get the undead cleared away and then you can introduce me," remarked the Reaper while Gareth nodded.

Chapter 3

"Did your boys find out what that ruckus was all about, Ray?" Harley Dunnon was the fire chief of the city of Macon and had been for over the last dozen years. At six-foot and two-hundred pounds with a bald head framing blue eyes he had become a permanent fixture at the firehouse, for he had worked there for over thirty-five years. Since the apocalypse occurred, Chief Dunnon found himself understaffed and forced to cut back on most of the activities they used to do. Between his remaining firemen and their surviving dependents and those of the police department they were trying to keep a semblance of order within the primary business and housing district of Macon city.

"Yes, two of my boys, Graves and Wilson, witnessed a herd of the zombies attack Wood's bunch over at the motel. They got there too late to help, but said wood took care of it, along with someone shooting from on top of the old Sonnelly Sons warehouse. That might have been one of Gareth's, or someone from another group; we simply don't know." Ray Thomas was the chief of police for the city of Macon, Missouri. Five-foot ten inches and one hundred and seventy pounds portrayed a muscular man with crew cut brown hair and matching eyes. He was Harley's counterpart and co-leader of the city. Together with Douglas Atwood they were all that were left of the city management and were the drivers behind holding Macon together in almost one piece.

"Casualties?"

"Some, but I don't know how many. They held a funeral out back. Graves said it looked like quite a few."

"Damn, too bad. I know we talked about this, but isn't there any way we can extend coverage to more of the outlying groups?"

"No, I wish, Harley, but simply not possible. We have to keep most of our men on the north side to counter those damn Children of Mesoch. If we let our guard down, they'll wipe us out."

"Crap! I wish there was something we could do about them. If they were out of the picture we might be able to bring this town together. We can't keep living like this. We have to get it together and we have an obligation to the people in our community!" ground out Harley as he slammed the palm of his fist down on the desk in frustration.

"I know, but while we outnumber them, they have heavy weapons, which we don't. We wouldn't last long if we attacked," replied Ray, equally frustrated at the situation. It was an old argument between them. Both Chiefs and the men under them wanted to keep safe the people they were sworn to protect as civil servants but there just was not enough of them to go against a heavily armed religious cult sworn to eradicate the ungodly. Ray had no idea where they had gotten the weapons but had lost two officers when they had driven up to the front gate of the compound. The freaks had opened fire before Ray could even speak, and it was only by luck that he managed to escape. Just then one of Ray's remaining eleven officers rushed into the office where Harley and Ray were talking, blurting out.

"Chief! Wood's is here. He has another guy with him. Big rifle and looks military. They say they need to talk to you." The newcomer was Greg Jones, and before the end of the world had been a new trainee in the department. He was a good solid officer who rarely became excited.

"Calm Greg, what's got you all excited? This isn't the first time Gareth's come to visit."

"It's the new guy, Chief. He has military written all over him and I'll kiss your ass if that isn't a sniper rifle he's carrying. Maybe help is on the way, against...you know who!"

"We'll see, but don't hold your breath, Greg. Invite them in after disarming them gently. We'll see what it's all about," responded Chief Ray before turning to his best friend of almost thirty years. "You coming, Harley?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the end of the world," quipped Harley, sarcastically.

*****

As they drove further into the city, more and more people were seen. Some were in vehicles and others walking the streets in armed groups. There were also, quite a few armed patrols in evidence and every one of those patrols had at least one man with a badge of some kind fastened to their winter coats.

The entire central part of the city was blocked off with gates established on four sides. The city's forces held approximately sixty square blocks, all blockaded in with larger vehicles and armed guards spaced out along each side's interval. The gate they had been stopped at held ten guards, four of them men and the rest women. After verifying that it was Gareth attempting entry to speak to the Chiefs, they had allowed him to pass unmolested after radioing it in.

"How many people are in this group?" inquired the Reaper as they slowly drove north along Rubey Street.

"I guess, at least a thousand. It's hard to say. They took in many survivors fleeing the major cities during the first week of apocalypse. We're not getting as many groups coming in now though."

"Mostly children?"

"Of course."

"Where's all the food come from?"

"Well, Macon does have big box stores, you know; a super Wal-Mart and others, which the city grabbed early on."

"That won't last forever."

"Too right, that's why we're looking for a big farm come spring, or earlier."

"Wise decision, Gareth."

Gareth turned right after about four blocks then pulled over to the side of the road into an angled parking space and gestured for the Reaper to get out. "We're here."

To their right, was an open paved lot filled with several police cruisers and an emergency response vehicle. A large L shaped building occupied the far corner, and it was towards this, that Gareth led him. The front entrance was built up with sandbags to resemble a guard post and it was manned by two armed men, one of whom held a German shepherd on a leash and in the near distance, the Reaper could hear a generator running. As Jason moved closer, he saw the canine focus on Gareth and him, its attention alert and the muscles in its forearms and thighs tense, indicating a trained K-9 unit. The rifle in the other guards hand trained on him and Jason saw that it was a typical small police force AR-15.

"Bill. We're here to see the Chief if possible. I have someone that would like to meet him," said Gareth as they came to a stop. The Reaper made sure he made no sudden movements and that his body was relaxed, as the man Bill, the guard with the dog, responded.

"He's expecting you Gareth, and I'm sorry for your loss. A couple of our guys were near the area, but by the time they arrived it was already over."

"Thanks, I guess it's the thought that counts," commented Gareth ironically.

"I need you gentlemen to leave your weapons and equipment here," responded the guard, ignoring Gareth's comment. A low table was indicated and the Reaper carefully laid his rifle and munitions bag down, then his colt, and finally the machete strapped to his side. His rucksack he shrugged off and set on the ground beside the table after removing a packet from a side pouch, as Gareth did the same with his own weapons. A quick pat down was performed and they were finally allowed inside the well-lit interior where another guard waited for them.

"Follow me."

"Nice to see you also, Officer Michaels." Gareth ground out as they followed the uniformed officer deeper into the complex. "Officer Michael's insists on being called 'Officer Michael's' instead of by his first name Stan. He gets quite upset if you don't show him the respect he deserves," stage whispered Gareth to Jason.

"You're not funny, Gareth. Get in there, the Chief's are waiting for you two," scowled as he opened a side door and pointed inside.

Inside a large spacious office were three desks, two of which were occupied. Behind one was an older, heavyset balding man wearing the uniform of a Fire Chief and behind the other occupied desk was a muscular middle-aged man with short crew cut. This second man's uniform was that of a Police officer bearing the insignia of Chief of Police. Before their desks were several chairs and the Police Chief stood while indicating two chairs in front of the other.

"Thank you Officer Michael's that will be all. Gentlemen, have a seat please. I do not recognize your friend, Gareth. By the way, I'm sorry for your loss, but please introduce us to your friend," he said indicating the Reaper.

"Thanks Chief. This is the Reaper; he just arrived, but has some major skills and helped us out in a tight jam when a herd moved in on our group. Reaper, this is Chief Ray Thomas and Chief Harley Dunnon," he said as he indicated each man in turn.

"Chief's," responded the Reaper as he shook each man’s hand, then handed over the packet containing his commission and orders. Slowly the others read the proffered documents before handing them back. There was silence for a moment before Thomas spoke.

"So you're a Captain in the military, and an advance scout. We know all about the rogue government and Newaygo. We have a shortwave receiver. It was from their general broadcasts we knew to secure a dairy farm, fuel supplies and plant all the edge of town nurseries. We also know the general status of America and that no help will be arriving anytime soon. What is it you're here for?"

"To take down this cult north of the city!" growled the Reaper.

"Good luck with that. You will need an army for they have some serious firepower. The compound they call Magog and there's no way to take it. We're barely holding on here against them."

"Magog?"

"Yes, Magog and they call themselves the Children of Mesoch and their leader refers to himself as Rho's, the prince of Mesoch. They claim to be descends of the original Magog, whatever that is.

"Ahhhh that explains everything." the Reaper murmured as he nodded.

"What do you mean?" asked Dunnon as he leaned forward in his chair.

"You do realize that they intend to eliminate you soon?" answered the Reaper with a question of his own. His stare was hard as he sized up both men.

"No, we do not know that! We currently have an armed truce which looks to last until at least spring." Chief Thomas had jumped into the conversation, and was glaring at the Reaper.

"They won't wait. They need to be taken out now."

"How do you know that?" Harley now asked in frustration.

"Because if they are indeed followers of ancient Magog, then they'll follow the prophecy's written in the bible.

"Okay, I see it just became complicated. Explain," barked Thomas, as Jason sighed then continued.

"It is complicated, and it depends on which scriptures you read. Most indicate they will gather a host of armies that Satan has deceived, and rise against the true people of god. There are also a few passages that indicate that the peoples of Magog, are really the chosen ones of God and that all will follow them or suffer God's wrath."

"What in Hell's name does that have to do with us?" interrupted Dunnon who had risen to his feet in agitation.

"Because they won't wait. All the scriptures are clear, from the books of Amos, to Ezekiel, to Revelations. The sign for them to act is when the apocalypse occurs and locusts devour the land, which could be loosely mean, the undead. At that time, they are to act. If they believe in their prophecies at all, they must act. They will attempt to recruit you to their version of Old Testament God and mark each believer with a 'sign'. They cannot wait for if they are of that particular prophecy, then God has told them to act now. Time is of the essence." The Reaper paused briefly as he saw the Chief's looking at each other. "Tell me, have they approached you with the idea of assimilation and do their followers wear a mark somewhere upon their bodies?"

"Yes," muttered Thomas after a full minute of silence had ensued. "A capital G branded into their chests over the heart."

"Most scholars would say that 'mark' is the sign of the beast as spoken in Revelations. They are also reverting to Old Testament practices with crucifixions and slavery. That must be stopped before we revert into anarchy!"

Chief Thomas rubbed a tired hand across his face before responding. "Look, Reaper, or Captain Scott, whoever you are. Even if what you say is true, there's nothing we can do. It's possible we might be able to take their compound. Very iffy as they have heavy weapons, but still possible. We have numbers are on our side, but we would likely lose a majority of our capable shooters if it came to that. They tried early on to breach our north gate with some sort of heavy machine gun that one of my guys said was a .50 caliber, but we were able to take out the truck as it was closing. There were several other vehicles behind it which turned around after we filled them full of holes."

"Did you recover the .50?"

"No, damnit, it exploded as one of my men climbed into the bed of the truck. I lost two people that day along with a half dozen wounded. They booby-trap everything and yes, I know they're crucifying people on that big cross of theirs and are keeping slaves. One escaped; she's still recovering at the hospital."

"You have a functional hospital?"

"Yes, the Samaritan Hospital. We protect them, so get our medical free of charge, but all other outlying groups need to pay. They have several doctors and nurses, including other staff; it's a pretty decent sized hospital."

"What about the girl? Any Intel from her?"

"Limited. We haven't been able to question her much. A high powered round took her down, just as my men were taking her in. Maybe one of those .50's, because it blew a chunk out of the underside of the patrol vehicle after it almost took her thigh off. They had to finish the amputation at the hospital and currently she's still in recovery."

The Reaper nodded, as he thought for a moment before responding. "What are your long range plans?"

"You'll have to talk to Douglas Atwood, the serving city manager. Used to be on the council but the others either died or turned into those creatures. He's the planner but we're hoping to make the community viable. The shortwave out of Newaygo has good tips on getting started. New programs every day, and repeated. We just need power beyond generators in order to get more of the infrastructure back online."

"Newaygo can help. They helped Paris and there's an away team present right now getting power back on. That same power source can also be directed to Macon."

"Paris? That's only ten miles away. What's going on there? Power, as in electricity?"

"Yes, and a lot, and you need to start combining your separated communities together. Rebuild America. The longer you wait, the harder it will be for everyone!" intoned the Reaper.

By now both Chief's were looking at Jason with a combination of desperation and suspicion and bent their heads together to indulge in a whispered conversation before Wilson turned back to the Reaper, as he spread his hands.

"Provide a viable solution and we'll consider it. But right now we can't attack the cult. We'll lose over half our people just getting inside and we are not willing to risk the loss of life on that scale."

"Granted, but let's check in with Newaygo and let them know what's going on. Then I need to contact the other larger groups just outside your perimeter." The Reaper had been glancing at his watch to see where the satellites would be in relation to his position.

"How can you contact, Newaygo? We only have a receiver."

"I brought along some equipment, but we need to be outside and I'll need my ruck." he finished.

Another, brief whispered conversation between the two men in charge of Macon, and he received an affirmation. "Let's go outside and contact your superiors." Wilson said as he opened his desk drawer to grab, and then holster, his .40 caliber Glock 22.

*****

Rho turned away from the servant he had recently bestowed his blessing upon and rose from the bed. His godlike lust satisfied for the moment, he toweled himself off then donned his robes and walked sedately from the bedroom. That the slave he had just left was very young, had no meaning; for these were biblical times, with biblical rules. The host left on earth had only two purposes: To follow the rule of the one and only God, or to suffer under the heel of his chosen. Rho could only care about the chosen, for he had been anointed by God to collect the hosts from the four corners of the earth from amongst the warring survivors of the apocalypse as spelled out by Revelations and earlier. Like locusts, they would lay waste to the ungodly, bringing a final peace unto the world.

Rho, had not been born Rho. He had been the unwelcome offspring of billionaire parents who had conceived him during a moment of weakness in between their busy schedule of business and social commitments. He had rarely seen his parents as he grew up, and like most in his situation rebelled with frequency in a variety of creative ways. Vandalism was the first, to be closely followed by alcoholism as a mid teen. Drugs followed a short time later, and there was not a drug, he had not tried many times. Every car his parents gave him, he crashed, always high on something, or drunk. His young socialite girlfriends were legion and since he never wore protection, many had become pregnant, only to be bought out by his father, who would simply shake his head before heading out to his next appointment. So, he did his own thing and rebelled, until...

He found religion, or rather a variety of religions. Some of those religions were good, though some were bad. They all loved him, for he brought a great deal of money into their coffers as he experimented with each. Experimenting with Satanism, Druidism, Wiccan, Christianity, along with many others, they all blurred together, until he had the vision. One night during an intense party with the latest religious group he had attached himself too, he'd had a vision. The party had been going nonstop for two days and they had liberally used everything from Marijuana, to LSD, to Meth, to Ecstasy which culminated in a massive group orgy. The tab was on him, and everyone loved him. But, he experienced the vision!

Even high, they had been reading from the Old Testament, specifically Ezekiel, before moving to Revelations, doing all of this while under the influence of drugs he couldn't even name when he had fallen to the floor in convulsions. Those closest to him, dragged him outside and called 911 for they did not want their rich benefactor to die. He had felt himself being lifted, then the mild discomfort of his bare heels dragging over rough asphalt but it didn't matter as the vision was unfolding behind his eyes.

It was at that moment everything fell into place. He realized he was truly a descendent of Magog, from the line of princes and kings and 'The God' was telling him that the land of Magog needed to be reborn and that his true name was Rho. Rho he became and after his parents died, he'd invested in a one square mile of land in Missouri. Then he collected followers.

Being very selective, he'd started with those he knew and then branched outward. Seminaries were held, all expenses paid and he'd gathered more. Now the land of Magog was state of the art, with all the amenities, including weapons.

"Are the men vigilant, my servant?" Rho was addressing brother Jaaziah, who was waiting just outside the door. Jaaziah was his right hand man, the Captain of Rho's host. They had known each other for years, having met shortly after he realized through a vision that he was Rho, a direct descendent of the kings of Magog. It was also Jaaziah who had secured the heavy machine guns through a corrupt supply sergeant in the Army, from a base on the west coast. His Captain had also secured a great many of their other weapons and supplies from that same sergeant. The land of Magog was secured and about to gather their hosts and move outward.

"Yes. We are continuing our parimeter sweeps and all are dedicated to the cause." The cold stare of death greeted him as Jaaziah responded.

"Any word on the footprints you found?" he asked.

"No. We lost them. It was only one person though."

"Does an example need to be made?" Rho frowned as he gazed with equally deadly eyes at his disciple.

"No, Prince. It's under control and an example will be made, but of whoever was spying on us. I've sent one of our best to show the ungodly their sinful ways. Those within the city will join us shortly, or they will perish. You have my word!"

"Good, because I would hate to crucify a useful servant," responded Rho. He paused as a faint mewling could be heard behind the closed doors at his back. Jerking his head towards the direction of the sounds a very young child in agony would make, he continued. "Dispose of that. I may have damaged it, irreparably.

"It is only a slave, Prince."

"Agreed, and the godless shall be buried beneath the earth" said Rho as he walked off and Jaaziah entered the Princes quarters, to coldly stare at the infidel that lay upon a blood soaked bed, while rolling in agony.