The Wretched Series | Book 4 | Wretched Aftermath

by Michaels, E. G.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Nope. Got a question.”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “Are you going to call Sergeant Black?” Walker asked.

  “At some point,” Foster said. “If we want to get to Hope Island, then we’ll probably need his help.”

  “You think he’ll understand?”

  “Sure,” Foster answered. “But it won’t stop him from busting my balls.”

  “Comes with the territory of being a cop,” Walker said. “Or a soldier.”

  “You know it,” Foster said. “Especially when you’re dealing with Black.”

  “Good luck, Foster-san.” Walker quipped in a fake kung-fu master voice. “You will need it.”

  “Don’t quit your day job.”

  Walker chuckled. “Wasn’t planning to.”

  Foster watched as Walker stepped out of the room. Foster took one breath to calm his jangling nerves and began dialing the satellite phone. This wasn’t going to be an easy favor to ask. He heard the call connect, ring three times, and then a gruff voice answered.

  “Who the hell is this?”

  “Foster. Don’t you recognize the number?” Foster asked.

  “Wasn’t sure it was you,” SWAT Sergeant Black answered. “For all I know, you got beat up by the prom queen and she took your phone.”

  “You can’t make jokes like that anymore.”

  “Why? Because it’s not politically correct?”

  “That’s one reason,” Foster said. “But I was thinking there are a few former prom queens that are bad-ass martial artists. And they will gladly kick any guy’s ass who disrespects them.”

  “You’re not wrong. Listen, I’ve got some inquiring minds here that want to know when to expect you.”

  “We’ve had a setback,” Foster said. He proceeded to tell Black what had happened and then about losing the boat.

  “Dammit, Foster, that’s more than a setback,” Black growled. “That’s a fucking steel chair shot to the nuts. What are you planning to do to get yourself out of that mess? Or are you calling to ask us to come get ya?”

  “I don’t think we need a ride, but I appreciate the suggestion. We might have a way to get out of here. But I’m unsure about using another boat.”

  “Why the hell not? Just grab another damn boat and go,” Black said. “Anybody tries to stop you, then you shoot them.”

  “We only had two people in our group that knew how to operate a boat. Both of them died when our boat blew up. There’s no guarantee that any other boats at the marina here aren’t similarly booby-trapped.”

  “Well, that throws a fucking monkey wrench in things,” Black said. “Maybe you need to evac from a different location.”

  “That’s what we’re thinking,” Foster said. “But I’m still working on that part of the plan.”

  “Well, you might want to work a little faster. I’ll explain to Abrahams what happened. Maybe he can make a few calls on your behalf.”

  “That would be nice. Especially since we have information on the Reapers that he wants.”

  “Uh-huh. Trust me, you’re not going to sway him a lot with a big promise. Listen, if your nuts are truly in a vise, call me. I’ll see what I can do to arrange for exfil for you and your group. But I gotta be honest, it won’t be easy to make it happen.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because we only got one working Blackhawk,” Black said. “And that copter is out on a mission right now. How many are in your group?”

  “Nine, counting me.”

  “Should be able to fit all of you in the Blackhawk, then. Unless you’ve added a lot of weight since the last time I saw you.”

  “Black,” Foster warned.

  “I’m kidding. I’ll talk to Abrahams about coming to collect all of you. But I’m guessing he would prefer to not risk losing his only helicopter doing a taxi run.”

  “I don’t blame him. Give me some time to get my group to a less dangerous pickup zone. I’ll call you and give you an update once I have one for you.”

  “There you go. Now you have a plan. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “You really enjoy breaking my balls, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Black admitted. “Wouldn’t you, if the roles were reversed?”

  “I guess.”

  “Stay frosty, Malcolm.”

  “You too, Black.”

  “Oh, and Foster?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If the prom queen comes looking for you, you might want to run the other direction.”

  Foster chuckled. “Or I’ll just call for SWAT.”

  Black laughed. “Spoken like a true cop. All right. Got to run. Keep you and your people safe.”

  “You too, Black,” Foster said before hanging up.

  Foster was thirsty, so he headed into the impromptu kitchen to grab a bottle of water. It was really just an ordinary office, but whoever previously used it had installed a small dormitory-size refrigerator in there. As he stepped into the room, he spotted Gregory hunched over a plate of food.

  “Just grabbing some quick lunch before we head out,” the man mumbled.

  “Good idea,” Foster answered. He opened the mini fridge, eyeing the meager collection of food and beverages the group had managed to pull from their collective packs. He settled for grabbing a bottle of cold water and an energy bar. He closed the door and opened the beverage before asking, “Where’s your dad?”

  “In the other room. Said he wanted to pray a little.”

  Foster took a long pull from the bottle. The ice-cold water was a welcome treat. “Can you be ready to roll out in ten minutes?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Awesome sauce,” Foster said. He left the room and headed to where he thought he’d find Charles.

  As Foster stepped into the room, he saw the former priest was reading a Bible. He waited until Charles looked up and made eye contact. “You got a minute?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Charles said. “What do you need?”

  “Actually, I’m not here for me.”

  “What do you mean?” Charles said guardedly.

  “I’m wondering how you’re holding up,” Foster said. “You lost your wife, your daughter, and your son-in-law. And it happened in a matter of days.”

  “About as well as anyone could, I suppose,” Charles said with a sigh. “Well, I feel like I'm on autopilot sometimes.”

  “I can’t imagine how terrible you must feel,” Foster said.

  “It hasn’t been easy,” Charles said. “I keep wondering if this is all really worth it.”

  “It has to be. You still have other loved ones remaining.”

  “That’s what I try to remind myself. Gregory and my grandchildren still need me. It’s times like this that I reach out to God for comfort.”

  “Does he answer?” Foster asked.

  “In his own way,” Charles said with a forced smile. “Sometimes when it feels like we can’t walk another step, that’s when God seems to help us the most. I keep reminding myself he never puts a challenge in front of us that we’re not capable of overcoming.”

  “Got a hell of a challenge with the Reapers.”

  “Of course,” Charles said. “But from what Nicholas tells me, we’ve got several ways of dispatching them much quicker. If we can get the word out, then it goes from our small group of survivors to all of humankind fighting back.”

  “Yeah, still working on that.”

  “I understand,” Charles said. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

  “So do you, padre. Listen, if you ever need to talk, don’t hesitate to come to me, okay?”

  “Of course,” Charles said. “The same for you.”

  “Right,” Foster said. “Okay, good talk. Listen, I’ve got to go get ready to go car shopping with your son.”

  “Good luck,” Charles said. “Please keep my son safe. I’d ask you to order him to stay here, but I doubt he’d listen to me. Not when hi
s own children need to get to Hope Island too.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all any of us can ever do.”

  Chapter Six

  It had been forty minutes since Foster and Gregory had left the group’s base. The two men stuck to the shadows as much as possible as they moved through the neighborhoods. Time was of the essence, and with each passing hour, he felt like a proverbial noose was tightening around his neck. It wasn't a question of if but when they would cross paths with one of the groups currently hunting them. Foster heard someone clear their throat and turned toward them.

  “What should we be looking for?” Gregory asked. “A car? Truck?”

  “I’d prefer some type of SUV,” Foster answered. “Something that is solidly built like the Suburban.”

  “Got you. Would a minivan work?”

  “It wouldn’t be my first choice,” Foster answered. “Unless you’re used to them, but I’ve found them awkward to drive. I’m also not sure how well they would hold up to any kind of Reaper attacks.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “In a perfect world, we’d find a couple Humvees sitting with the keys in the engine and a full tank of gas.”

  Gregory chuckled. “I think we’re a long way away from a perfect world. Not much to choose from. I would have expected more abandoned vehicles here.”

  “Walker and Sams mentioned most of the vehicles they came across had been disabled. I wonder if the Disciples just confiscated vehicles from around here.”

  “Maybe. It’s possible some folks managed to get out of town before things got bad.”

  “Do you know anybody who lives near this part of town?” Foster asked. “Someone who you already know that might have kept their SUV in a garage or carport to protect it from the weather?”

  “You’re thinking what we’re looking for might have been missed by the Guardians?”

  “Exactly. So, anyone come to mind?”

  “I don’t think so. Wait. Actually there might be. The Gallaghers. They were friends of my wife. I mean, former wife.”

  Foster had a feeling there was more to the story. “Go on,” he said gently.

  “They had a pair of Broncos. Red for him, blue for her. We used to joke that it was like his-and-her towels, except with vehicles.”

  “Got you. Any idea where the Gallaghers live?”

  “I was only at their house once, which is why I didn’t think of them before we left base.”

  “I understand.”

  “But if I remember correctly, I think it’s about another block or so ahead.”

  “Any chance they’re still alive?” Foster said.

  “Hard to say,” Gregory said. “If anybody would’ve joined the Disciples right away, it would’ve been them. They tended to be followers, if you get my drift. They wouldn’t have felt comfortable striking out on their own.”

  Foster nodded his head silently. He could see how once the Reaper outbreak began, a group like the Disciples could take advantage. There would have been plenty of people who were terrified and looking for safety in numbers.

  The two men quietly worked their way toward the next block. Foster saw a Chevy Suburban on the right-hand side. As he got closer, he saw that two tires were flattened on the driver’s side and dismissed it as an option. The vehicle might have a suitable spare tire, but it would still leave him one good tire short. He slowly scanned his surroundings once more. This particular street appeared mostly abandoned, as if most of the residents were out of town or had fled when the Reaper outbreak began.

  As they reached the middle of the block, Gregory muttered softly, “There. Third house up on the right.”

  Foster nodded once quickly and continued moving forward.

  A few minutes later, they had reached the edge of the property.

  “How do you want to do this?” Gregory asked.

  “I doubt the garage door is going to be open,” Foster said. “It’s also in plain view.”

  “You don’t want anyone to see us going into the place.”

  “Definitely not. Even if we get into the garage, we don’t know if it connects to the house.”

  “I think it does.”

  “You think or know?”

  “I-I’m not sure.”

  “Let’s try the back door, then.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure,” Foster said. “That’s what any criminal with a working brain would do.”

  “I’ll take your word on it. You’re a cop. I was raised by an ex-priest and a former nun.”

  “Good point,” Foster said. “Follow me.”

  “How in the world did a cop get so good at breaking and entering?”

  “You do this job long enough,” Foster said, “you learn things on the street from observing criminals. Add that to what they teach you at the police academy, and you’re left with a number of skills which can be extremely useful when you least expect it.” He pulled out the lockpick set and went to work on the back door. In less than thirty seconds, he had the door unlocked.

  Gregory started to reach for the doorknob, and Foster held his hand up.

  “Wait. Door may have been locked, but it doesn’t mean there might not be somebody home.”

  Foster gestured for Gregory to hug the side of the door. He reached over, rattled the doorknob once and mentally counted to five, then rattled it twice, and waited again. He heard no noises, and this time he opened the door. As he did, he saw the area was dimly lit, so he stepped in with his Glock in a ready position. He quickly swept the foyer, took two more steps forward, and motioned for Gregory to follow him.

  Suddenly, there was a loud crash behind him and the room immediately went dark.

  Chapter Seven

  The sermon had been a massive success, and Ezekiel walked back to his private office on an emotional high. There had been times before in the past where he felt like he hadn’t really reached his flock. But this time, he felt like he’d just experienced a new breakthrough. He could see far more people nodding and shouting in agreement. He would be sure to mention to Joseph a few parishioners who could be good candidates to become Guardians. The concept of avenging the loss of their Reaper protectors appealed to far more members than he would have ever guessed.

  The cult leader stepped into his office, turned, and closed the door. It was dark in the room, which wasn’t how he remembered leaving it. He leaned over and flipped the switch on the wall. As the room illuminated, there was a strange Reaper in the middle of the room. The creature was wearing some type of red cape.

  “Who are you?” Ezekiel demanded. “And you’re not supposed to—”

  The monster moved like a blur across the room. Ezekiel managed to emit a squeak of surprise a split second before he felt his body go airborne. A moment later, his back slammed into a nearby couch. The impact caused his body to ricochet off, and he landed in a heap in front of it.

  “Who are you?” Ezekiel gasped.

  Once more, the monster flashed across the room, grabbed the cult leader, and threw him in a different direction.

  This time, Ezekiel felt his head and shoulders slam into his corner liquor cabinet. He heard some of the liquor bottles inside break from the impact, and his body crashed to the floor. Ezekiel felt his shoulder and head screaming in pain immediately. He scrambled backward until he felt his back touch the wall. “You can't touch me,” he demanded. “I have a protector. One like you.”

  “You did,” the Reaper growled. “Not anymore.” He picked up Ezekiel effortlessly, pivoted, and tossed the man as if he weighed nothing.

  Ezekiel saw his desk rushing up toward him and managed to get one hand up in time before his body smashed into the front of it. He landed awkwardly on the ground. A wave of panic coursed through his body, and he began half-crawling, half-scrambling to get away. “Stop. I’m begging you.”

  “Begging is a good start.”

  “Y-You can’t do this,” Ezekiel stammered. “I told you. I’m protected. You’re goi
ng to have to answer to my friend Giles.”

  A low rumble came out of the monster’s chest, sounding almost like laughter. “What does a worm like you know about friendship?”

  “I’ve known him for years. You know, before he turned into...” Ezekiel let the sentence hang uncomfortably.

  “Into a freak, like me?” the monster demanded. “Tell me, human. Do you want me to be your friend now?”

  “What?” Ezekiel stammered.

  The monster lifted him up and Ezekiel screamed. “Wait!” He felt his feet dangling in the air, and he lost control of his bladder. Ezekiel felt the warm liquid spreading down his leg as the creature brought him close enough that their noses were touching. Ezekiel had no choice but to stare into the monster’s red eyes. This was a look of unrestrained hostility in the Reaper’s eyes, and Ezekiel heard a whimper escape through his mouth.

  “I’m only going to say this once. My name is Haas,” the monster growled. “I am not your friend. I am your master. Do you understand me?”

  “No. Giles is already my partner, and—”

  Ezekiel felt his body launch backward through the air once more. He crash-landed into what felt like his desk chair, and the piece of furniture collapsed on impact.

  “Giles is gone,” Haas growled. “You are not my partner. You will never be my partner.”

  “W-what?”

  “You are my bitch. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Ezekiel stammered.

  “Giles protected you. He kept you safe from harm,” Haas continued. “And I will do the same—for a price.”

  “What?” Ezekiel whimpered. “You want money?”

  “Not money,” Haas growled. “Humans. And I don’t want your rejects. I want the ones you find and add to your so-called flock.”

  “But, how?” Ezekiel pleaded. “We’re already having trouble getting-”

  Haas moved with frightening speed and Ezekiel felt himself being lifted off the floor again. A split second later, he felt his body flying across the room once more. Ezekiel slammed hip first into the corner of a wall and pinballed into another one. His body crashed hard onto the floor.