Wretched Aftermath
E.G. Michaels
Contents
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
The Story Continues
Author Notes and Acknowledgments
Wretched Aftermath
Copyright © E.G. Michaels 2021
The author has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988 to be identified under this pen name as the creator of this work of fiction.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed, or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author.
TITLES BY E.G. Michaels
THE WRETCHED SERIES
The Wretched
Wretched Culling
Operation Freedom (A Wretched Novella)
Wretched Retribution
Wretched Aftermath
KYLE SIMMONS SERIES
Before The Clock Strikes
The Countdown
On The Clock
Time’s Up
Every Minute Counts
On Borrowed Time
COLE HUTCHINSON BOOKS
Gone Too Far
Prologue
Night Two of the Reaper Outbreak
Location: Back streets of Rehoboth Beach
The little-traveled alleyway was dark and damp, but Silas Johnson didn’t mind. It meant that there were very few people who would look for him there. The middle-aged man hunkered down between two trash cans. There was a roar of one of the monsters out on the street, and he huddled tighter inside his tattered coat. He had been renting a room in a shithole of a house nearby when those things had broken in last night. They may have gotten him if he hadn’t shoved Mrs. Founders into the arms of one beast bearing down on him. Founders, the old fuddy-duddy who owned that place. She’d been on him about finding a job and paying the back rent he owed. Well, the joke was on her. She was dead now, and he wasn’t. And there was no way in the world he was going to pay her anything now.
There was a noise in the alleyway, and his eyes immediately darted toward it. A lanky man started walking cautiously toward him. The man was holding a bat in one hand. There was a strange green band of cloth around his other arm.
“Hello. Are you hurt?” the man asked carefully.
“Who are you?” Silas croaked. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat was.
“Name’s Avery,” the man said. “I’m with the Disciples. We are God’s chosen ones.”
“Chosen? Those things are chosen.” Silas laughed bitterly. “We’re just their food.”
“Not true,” Avery said. “Ezekiel and the Disciples have been chosen by God to be protected by those creatures.”
“Yeah, right.” Silas scoffed. “And what makes you different from the rest of us? That cloth?”
“It shows that I’m a chosen protector of God’s flock. The creatures recognize that and stay out of our way.” Avery took a small step forward and stared at Silas. “Are you okay?”
Silas smiled uncontrollably. So this nutjob’s armband would keep him safe from those monsters. That was the best thing he’d heard in days. All he had to do was figure out a way to take it off this fool without drawing any unwanted attention. A plan began to form in his mind. He deliberately let out a low groan.
“Something wrong?” Avery asked.
“Sorry, I can’t hear so well,” Silas lied. “I lost my hearing aid somewhere.”
The man came a little closer. “I said, are you injured?” he asked a bit louder.
“My leg,” Silas said as he slipped his right hand into his coat pocket and wrapped his fingers around a serrated knife he had found somewhere.
“Have you been bitten, or are you—” The man gasped as Silas brought the knife up and slashed his neck. Avery dropped in a heap next to him, clutching his throat, as the crimson blood began to spill out. Silas watched with detached interest as rivulets of blood flowed freely from the dying Guardian’s neck.
A voice suddenly called out. “Avery?”
Silas looked up and saw a man approaching from the end of the alleyway. Two more arm-banded men followed closely behind. Silas sprang into action. “He’s hurt!” he yelled, clutching Avery’s neck. He pushed the edges of the wound open more so it would bleed even faster. The bleeding Guardian vainly grabbed at his hands, trying to stop Silas’s further actions.
“He was attacked. A pair of teenagers. They went that way.” Silas pointed. “I don’t know if I can stop the bleeding. Please, sirs. Please help me.”
“Jonas, stay with him,” the leader ordered. “Let’s see if we can find those criminals.” He took one of the other men and darted off in the direction that Silas had suggested. A third man, who must have been Jonas, stayed there to render aid.
Silas closed his eyes to think of a moment in his past. One of great sorrow and pain. He needed to sell this moment as convincingly as possible. There was one moment in his childhood. A time when he was forced to watch his father beat his dog to death in front of him. Despite his sobs and cries, his father hadn’t relented once. Silas felt tears forming in his eyes.
“I don’t know if I can stop the bleeding,” Silas said as he watched as the life in the mortally wounded man’s eyes begin to fade out. “I-I don’t know.”
“Slide over. Let me look,” Jonas said. Jonas put fingers next to the side of Avery’s neck and felt for a pulse. A moment later, Jonas stood up, shaking his head slowly. “He’s gone.”
“I tried,” Silas said. “I-I really tried to help him.”
“I know that,” Jonas said warily. “Say, stranger. What’s your name?”
Silas studied the man in front of him. The man was visibly on edge. He quickly weighed the odds and decided it was too dangerous for him to try to overpower this man and take his armband right now. It was even worse odds to lift one off the dead body. Even if he managed to kill Jonas, the other two Guardians could show up at any moment. He’d been able to lie to them about the guy he’d killed i
n the alleyway. But two sudden deaths? That wouldn’t fool anyone at all. An alternate plan began to quickly form in his mind. These Disciples seemed to have a good thing going. Maybe it was time for him to take advantage of it.
“Silas,” he said softly. “Your friend was trying to tell me about your group when he was attacked.”
“Yes, that’s right. We’re part of a local group called the Disciples of the Divine.”
“I want to learn more about your group,” Silas lied. It was time to really go for the gusto. “Maybe this is a sign. A new calling. I feel like God wants me to learn more.”
The man smiled broadly.
“Then you’re in the right place,” Jonas answered. “You’ll definitely want to meet Ezekiel.”
Silas smiled broadly. He didn’t give a rat’s ass whoever this guy Ezekiel was. He was having trouble remembering the name of the Guardian who was standing in front of him right now. But if it got him a chance to get off the streets, a safe place with some regular meals, some new clothes, and complete protection from those things, then he was game. He’d play along with their ridiculous cult beliefs. He’d play their little game until it no longer benefited him.
“Yes, I would like that,” Silas answered with a practiced smile. “Heaven must have spared me so I could be discovered by your kindred souls.”
Chapter One
Present Day
Location: Rehoboth Beach, Delaware
Malcolm Foster scooped another handful of cold water and splashed it onto his face. He felt a small portion of the exhaustion he was feeling shrink a little. He had managed to grab four hours of sleep, but it didn’t seem to matter. In all his years of having been a Philadelphia police officer, he couldn't remember ever feeling this tired, even when pulling an extended shift.
Foster looked in the mirror and studied the visibly tired, crystal blue-eyed athletic-looking man looking back at him. He studied the image a bit closer. There was a time where he would have jokingly said he looked like shit warmed over. Now he would say he was simply surviving instead.
They had been attacked by the Reapers and the Disciples of the Divine at the marina. They had somehow survived the combined attack and managed to get away. Foster had managed his group to a new place safely. It was only a matter of time before someone checked the second floor of a locally-owned gun shop they had found. Then their new refuge would be gone, and they’d be on the run again.
Foster glanced over at the still-closed bathroom door. He knew that Nick Walker, along with a few others, were waiting outside for him.
Foster splashed one more handful of water on his face, then grabbed the towel next to the sink to dry himself off. He took a deep breath, steeled himself for the conversation about to come, and stepped into the common area.
As he cast his eyes upon the group in front of him, he saw a mixture of anxiety and exhaustion greeting him.
“Where are the kids?” Foster asked.
“Still sleeping,” Lizzy Walker replied. Nick’s wife was a nurse. Or had been, before the Reapers had shown up. Now she was part of a group fighting for survival every hour of the day. “Same with Amanda.”
Foster nodded in approval. “Probably best that some of us do,” he said. “It doesn’t help if some of us are sleep-deprived.”
“All of us need a lot more sleep,” Lizzy pointed out. “And contrary to what my husband and you might believe, none of us are superhuman.”
“Sounds like we both agree,” Foster answered. “Best if we take shifts to grab some rest.”
“Amanda wanted to stay up, but I overruled her,” Lizzy continued. “She looked like she was ready to fall asleep on her feet.”
“Good call,” Foster said simply. His mind quickly diverted to thinking about the athletically built doctor. Amanda and he seemed to share a spark. They had even shared a kiss at one point, but with everything going on, would something more develop? It was hard to say. Right now, trying to stay alive needed to stay at the top of everybody’s priority list. He turned his attention to a man who was busy loading bullets into an empty Glock magazine.
“Sams, how are we on ammo?”
Derrick Sams looked up from what he was doing and grimaced. The former Army Ranger was their resident smart-ass. Despite his regular verbal jabs about Foster’s background as a cop, the two men had developed an unspeakable bond of respect and teamwork.
“Better than it’s been in the past,” Sams said. “But if we get in another firefight, then we’re going to be throwing rocks instead of bullets pretty quickly.”
“Two steps forward and two back,” Nick Walker replied. “We lost a good amount of supplies when the boat blew up. We’re back in the shitstorm again.”
“In other words, we need food, ammo, and a safer place to hole up,” Foster said. “We can’t rule out anyone stumbling across us here.”
“We’re actually decent on food,” Charles Powell said. The former priest absently scratched his chin before continuing. “We had managed to distribute it among everyone’s packs, so we only lost part of what we had.”
“Finally, something that resembles good news.” Lizzy sighed. “We’re so overdue for some.”
“That may be,” Charles continued, “but I don’t think our current food supply will last more than a few days at most.”
“Well, we’ve got about an hour until sunrise,” Foster said. “At that point, I fully expect either the Reapers or their Disciple cronies will be looking for us.”
“That’s assuming they’re not already,” Sams pointed out. “We did put a serious hurt on both of them.”
“Very true,” Foster said. “Do we have any idea how many hostiles we might still have to deal with?”
“Are you thinking of taking the fight to them?” Walker asked. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“No, I’m not looking for a fight. Not if we can help it,” Foster said. “My gut feeling is we’re grossly outnumbered. But I’d feel a little better if I could confirm my hunch. Gregory, do you have any ideas on how many Disciples there might be?”
Charles’s remaining son grimaced. His sister was one of the people who had died in the boat explosion only hours ago. And yet here he was, trying to keep the remains of his family still alive.
“Easily a couple hundred people,” he answered. “I personally know about twenty people who joined the ranks when they were given the ultimatum.”
Foster let out a low whistle.
Sams chuckled. “Disciples definitely had a hell of an ultimatum. Where else are you going to hear ‘join up, or get eaten by the Reapers?’”
“Maybe their leader will run for president someday on that platform,” Foster replied. “But right now, I’m more worried about getting all of us out of their territory and to someplace we can be safe from Reapers, too.”
“Okay, let’s review, Officer. They have hundreds of members,” Sams said. “An unknown number of them actually know how to fight or fire a gun.”
“You’re on a roll,” Foster said. “Keep talking.”
“They’re coming after the eight of us,” Sam continued. “Which includes two kids, an old man, a nurse, and a doctor.” He quickly added, “No offense to any of you.”
“None taken,” Lizzy said with a smirk. “Of course, you're welcome to head down to the shooting range with me sometime to see how this nurse handles her Glock.”
Sams laughed. “That’s a sucker’s bet, if I ever heard one,” he answered. “I know for a fact you and Nick used to go to the shooting range a couple of times a month. He probably taught you everything he knows about firing a gun.”
“Not everything,” Walker answered. “I’m still better on a rifle than my wife.”
“Totally fine with me, dear,” Lizzy said.
“Folks, we really don’t have time for a dick-measuring contest,” Foster scolded. “We need to stop wasting time and come up with a plan. Even if we were all bad-ass shooters—”
“We’re not,” Sams interrupt
ed.
Foster shot him a withering look, and the former Army Ranger immediately shut up.
“As I was saying,” Foster continued, “even if every one of us were excellent shooters, we’re still grossly outnumbered between the Disciples and whatever Reapers may still be in the area. We know for a fact the Reapers can bring even larger numbers to this area, too.”
“In other words,” Walker interrupted, “we’re deep behind enemy lines with limited resources. We need to come up with a plan to get the hell out of Rehoboth Beach. And then we need to find another way to get to Hope Island.”
“Well, I think we can rule out leaving by boat,” Gregory said. “Randy was the only one who knew his way around one.”
“There’s definitely plenty of ways we could get ourselves in trouble out on the open water,” Walker admitted. “Like that Guardian guy said—”
“Walter?” Foster interrupted.
“Yeah, him,” Walker agreed. “They didn’t just booby-trap Randy’s boat. They probably compromised every other boat in the marina.”
“I’ll be honest. At the time, I thought he was lying,” Sams said. “But we found out the hard way that he wasn’t. And I really don't want to have to hunt through every nook and cranny of a boat to find a hidden bomb before we can use it.”
The Wretched Series | Book 4 | Wretched Aftermath Page 1
