The Wretched Series | Book 4 | Wretched Aftermath

by Michaels, E. G.

  As Silas proceeded along the street, he looked around and saw what looked to be a mess.

  “Got bodies,” the foot soldier said.

  “Check it out,” Silas said. He gestured with his head toward a group of Guardians standing nearby. “And take him with you.”

  “Who? Jones?” the soldier asked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Silas said. “Take him with you.”

  Silas watched as his two foot soldiers moved forward cautiously. They approached the dead bodies, and he watched as Jones cautiously kicked one of them, and then another.

  “Dead Reapers,” Jones said. “Four of them.”

  “Any idea who might have done it?” the other guy said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Silas said. “I say we need to investigate.”

  “But aren’t we supposed to stay on patrol?”

  “We go where I say,” Silas answered. “Anyone got a problem with that?”

  Jones shook his head vigorously, as did the other man.

  “Good.”

  “Guardian Central, this is Guardian One.”

  “Go, Guardian One.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got four dead Reapers here. I’m going to take my boys and check it out. We need to rule out a possible security breach here.”

  “It might be related to that disturbance.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Silas said. “Any idea who reported it?”

  “One of the congregation. Artie Wilkerson.”

  Silas grimaced. Wilkerson was not one of his favorite people in the world. For starters, the guy was a retired deputy sheriff. And being around cops always made Silas a little nervous.

  Wilkerson was a member in good standing. He had offered to join the Guardians, but Silas had declined. Told the guy there weren’t any openings right now. But if he was being honest, it was because Wilkerson was in his sixties and extremely obese. Silas wasn’t sure the guy could touch his toes, let alone find them.

  Of course, with one big plea in the chapel, Ezekiel unknowingly nuked Silas’s excuse. It was only a matter of time until Wilkerson hit him up again to join the Guardians. And this time, Silas would be hard-pressed to refuse him.

  But give the fat guy his due. Silas couldn’t deny that as a former law enforcement officer, Wilkerson should be able to spot someone trying to flee a scene.

  Silas mentally groaned. He might as well suck it up and get this over with. “Guardian Central, any chance you can raise Wilkerson for me? I have a few questions.”

  “Yeah, hold on, Guardian One. I’ll try reaching him.”

  There was a short lull, and then Silas heard a man’s voice. “This is Artie Wilkerson. Someone wanted to talk to me?”

  “Yes,” Silas answered. “This is Silas. Time is of the essence. Artie, I need you tell me what you just saw.”

  “Sure. Two SUVs, heading north out of Rehoboth at a high rate of speed.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Maybe five minutes. Why?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Route 1. Northbound. I’m in my Prius.”

  Silas grimaced. As far as he was concerned, a Prius hardly qualified as a real vehicle. It was another ding against Artie ever becoming a Guardian. Silas took the thought and shoved it to the back of his mind. He took a quick breath to help him feel a little bit more focused before speaking. “Okay, Artie, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Silas warned. “I need you to follow them, but without being spotted.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Follow them. Don’t engage. They’re extremely dangerous.”

  “Okay,” Wilkerson said.

  “Does he know how to tail somebody?” Jones asked.

  Silas released the transmit button and turned toward his underling. “He’s a former sheriff’s deputy,” he answered. “Anyone who ever worked in law enforcement knows how to do a proper tail.”

  “Sorry, boss,” Jones mumbled.

  Silas flashed a quick smile at his foot soldier and turned his attention back to the walkie. “Artie, we’re on our way there. But I need you to follow them until we can catch up to you.”

  “You want to know where they go?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Silas answered. “The people who you saw leaving are extremely dangerous. They killed a number of Guardians in a recent encounter. So I don’t want you to be playing hero by yourself there. There’s no point in making your wife a widow.”

  “I can handle myself. I was—”

  “I’m sure you can,” Silas interrupted. “But you have zero backup right now. You’re not armed.”

  “I have a Beretta—”

  “Just follow them from a distance and see where they go,” Silas ordered. “I’m bringing nine other Guardians with me. All of us are heavily armed. Once we get to your location, we’ll take it from there.”

  “All right. I’ll call you back with an update.”

  “Thanks, Artie,” Silas said. “Guardian Central, this is Guardian One.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Classify Artie Wilkerson as a deputized Guardian and give him clearance to reach you or me directly. Show us moving to Artie’s current location to intercept potential hostiles.”

  “Wait, we can deputize people?” Jones asked. “When did that happen?”

  “No idea,” Silas said. “But I did it.” He made a shooing motion. The foot soldier immediately clammed up and quickly retreated.

  “Understood,” the dispatcher announced. “Safe hunting.”

  “Roger that. Silas out.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Haas had returned to the animal hospital. It was close enough for him to reach most of the town if needed. Just as important, it offered a dry and isolated location for him and his warriors to spend the night. He had tasked a pair of his fighters to go find several animals that would provide a late meal for them. Preferably rabbits, which would challenge his warriors to catch them. Haas was resting comfortably on a padded surface when he felt four separate life forces sever from him. He flinched instinctively in discomfort. He reached out to one of the dying troops and confirmed it was Foster’s group before he released the mental hold on the dying fighter. He wasn’t happy about having to sacrifice any of his soldiers, but it was more important right now to ensure Foster and his group managed to escape the town safely. He silently hoped his loyal warriors hadn’t suffered before they died. It would have been best if their deaths had come swiftly. He still had plenty of fighters. Worst case, he’d pressure Ezekiel to provide more humans to be transformed.

  Meat for the grinder, he thought absently. That’s all they are.

  Another voice unexpectedly popped into his mind, and Haas immediately bolted to his feet.

  “Haas, where are you?” Beeks said impatiently.

  “The same place I was when you asked me last time,” Haas answered impatiently. Beeks was the last person he wanted to deal with right now.

  “Wait. You haven’t left that town?”

  “Of course not,” Haas answered. “You told me to stay here.”

  “I want a report on Foster’s whereabouts.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “What do you mean? Don’t you have soldiers keeping an eye on him, trying to track him down?”

  “Of course.”

  “So why don’t you have anything new to tell me?” Beeks scolded. “What are you doing there? Do I have to do everything myself?”

  Haas deliberately kept his voice calm. “A handful of our warriors unexpectedly turned up dead.”

  “What? What happened?”

  “It appears someone killed them near one of the roads out of town. I don’t know who is responsible, but we’ll find them.”

  “Foster.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. It might be someone other than him.”

  “It has to be Foster,” Beeks snarled. “Dammit. I thought you had him cornered.”

  “I thought so, too,” Haas lied. “But let’s face it, the man has been slippery like an eel. A
nd dangerous, too. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t he kill both Malice and Nails?”

  Haas heard Beeks growl in frustration. “Don’t remind me. This human has been a thorn in my side for far too long.”

  “So let’s say that you’re right.”

  “Of course I’m right,” Beeks declared. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m the master of millions of soldiers. Including you.”

  “I wasn’t looking to start an argument with you,” Haas said carefully. If he could steer Beeks carefully, then he’d have his oppressor’s blessing to pursue his plan. “Suppose you are right and it was this human, Foster. Do you want me to track him down and see where he’s gone?”

  “Hmm, you raise a good point. No, I want you to stay where you’re at.”

  “But didn’t you just complain about me still being here?”

  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, and then he heard Beeks say, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I have someone else nearby.”

  “Achilles?”

  “Of course.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I’m not sure Achilles could find his way out of a cardboard box. I mean, he’s not exactly the brightest—”

  “Achilles will pursue this,” Beeks interrupted. “I want you and the soldiers you have remaining to continue to search that town for Foster. Maybe it’s a decoy and he’s still there.”

  “You think someone else dared to kill some of our soldiers and then flee town?”

  “It’s possible.”

  Haas chuckled softly. “If you say so.”

  “You dare to question my judgment?”

  “Of course not, Horatio.”

  “You need to be more respectful to me.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “And don’t call me Horatio, dammit. You know I hate that name.”

  “I meant no disrespect,” Haas said with a forced smile. “I assumed since we were talking privately that no one else had to know how we talked to each other. Or have you forgotten our past history together?”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten. I still remember you kneeling in front of me not that long ago. Don’t you?”

  Haas clenched his teeth and quietly seethed.

  “I’m waiting for your answer.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  “Good. I’d hate to have to remind you again so soon,” Beeks gloated. “Find me Foster or some clue of where he has gone. I don’t care what you need to do. Tear that town apart, if you need to. I want Foster found.”

  “As you wish, sir.” Haas felt a connection break, and then Beeks was no longer in his mind. Haas began to pace the room nervously. Did he handle it correctly? Would Beeks ever suspect that he had helped Foster escape from town? He hoped not.

  “Achilles,” Haas said aloud. He didn’t care for the other red-eyed Reaper. But Haas had to give him credit. He’d be a powerful foe for nearly any human opponent. There wasn’t much he could do right now to help Foster. He’d have to hope the human could elude Achilles and whatever soldiers that Beeks had sent in pursuit.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  President Vickers could feel her heart racing. This was it. In less than one minute, their attack on the Reapers would begin. She turned her attention to the wall-mounted screens. There were hundreds of Reapers gathered around the sound system. Someone had managed to surround the speaker system in some type of secure metal caging to protect it prior to deploying it. Even so, she watched as different Reapers continued to attack the enclosure, trying to get to the source of the sound. A noise near her pulled her attention away from the live event.

  “Five, four, three,” a tech counted aloud. “Two, one, initiate. Operation Poison Arrow is now live.”

  Vickers frowned. She shouldn’t have been so easily distracted. It was a not-so-subtle hint that she was running on fumes lately. If this military operation was a success, then it would turn the tide in their favor, and then she’d be able to sleep for as long as she wanted. Vickers turned her attention back to the display of wall-mounted monitors once more. There were two different overhead drones sending their own live footage. She saw a large streaking light come across one of the screens. There was a loud explosion, and she watched as the dust plumed up into the sky.

  “Target has been hit,” the tech called out.

  A loud cheer sounded out through the room.

  Vickers felt her spirits begin to soar. “Keep the cameras running,” she shouted over the noise. “Let’s see how well this works.”

  Beeks paced the throne room. He was feeling high-strung, but he didn’t know why. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He knew exactly why. He was completely bored out of his mind. In his position of absolute rule, there wasn’t much for him to do. He’d give a command, and his minions did it without question until it was completed. Even now, his soldiers were pushing the offensive against the remaining pockets of resistance scattered through the United States and Canada. And there was absolutely nothing for him to do until one of the squad leaders reported any problems. Sighing, Beeks flopped down on his throne. His stomach gurgled, and Beeks realized he couldn’t remember the last time he ate.

  “You… there,” he said.

  “Master?” one of his guards said, dropping to a knee immediately and looking at the floor as expected.

  “I’m hungry,” Beeks said. “Find me something to eat.”

  “A-As you wish, my Lord,” the guard bolted toward the door. He got partway through the door, stopped, and turned around.

  “Yes? What is it?” Beak said impatiently.

  “My Lord, I don’t know what you want to eat.”

  “I don’t care. Find me some type of livestock.”

  “Uh, Master, forgive me for asking. But what is livestock?”

  Beeks felt his ire rising. “Find a live cow or a pig. Kill it and bring it to me.”

  “Yes, my Lord. Of course, my Lord. Right away, sir.” The soldier stumbled backwards in his haste to leave the room.

  Beeks waited until the minion left before groaning aloud. It had gotten to a point where even bullying his underlings was losing its appeal. His soldiers were still having trouble finding Foster. It was the same shit, different day in pretty much every facet of his life. He needed something new to happen. Something to distract his mind from the monotony.

  Suddenly, Beeks felt a strange burning sensation traveling up his arms and into his neck. He clamped down his teeth.

  What the hell was happening? Was he having some kind of heart attack? Wait, no, it wasn’t his pain. It was some of his children. He focused his attention on trying to track down where the pain was coming from.

  A lone voice sounded out in his head. “It hurts, Master. Make it stop! Make it stop!”

  A split second later, a cascade of new voices joined the first one in his mind, each screaming in pain.

  Beeks felt his body buck in agony.

  “What is happening?” he growled.

  Beeks reached out to one of the minions howling in pain. He seized control of their mind.

  “Show me what you see,” he commanded.

  As the minion’s eyes began to focus on its surroundings, Beeks saw there was a loud plume of dust and smoke around them. He saw his soldiers lying on the ground, writhing. A growing number of voices in his head were screaming at once in anguish and pain.

  “Stay strong, my children,” Beeks commanded instinctively.

  “It burns. It burns so bad.”

  “Fight the burn. It will pass. I promise.” Beeks felt the sensation begin to diminish from his minions. It began fading a little bit moment by moment, and then it was gone.

  As the dust settled, Vickers could see nearly all the Reapers had fallen on the ground. Dozens were staggering away, trying to get away from the chemicals. She watched on camera as several dropped to one knee, or onto the ground, and she felt her spirits rise. It was actually working.

  She felt them crash down a split second later. One of the Reapers that had falle
n stood up. She watched on camera as its tattered shirt began to tear.

  “There,” she ordered. “Focus on that Reaper.”

  The camera zoomed in on the Reaper in question, and Vickers watched in horror as the Reaper’s shoulders and chest seemed to grow bigger. Its bare arms became immense, and striations of muscle became visible. The Reaper pounded its chest and let out a roar. More Reapers began to stand up, and they too began to grow bigger. One roar led to a second, then a third. Soon, hundreds of visibly enhanced Reapers were roaring as one.

  “Holy shit, those things are huge,” someone in the room blurted.

  “Cut the damn camera,” Vickers said. “It’s like you just hit them with a bunch of steroids.”

  “We had no idea, Madam President,” General Weindahl said. The man looked visibly shaken. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Cease fire on the chemical weapons until we know what actually kills these bastards,” Vickers ordered. “I want the next test done by our scientists in a controlled environment. We just created who knows how many jacked-up Reapers. That’s completely unacceptable.”

  “I’m sorry, President Vickers,” Weindahl offered. “There was nothing in our research to suggest something like this.”

  “Well, I think it’s safe to say the research was wrong. This is unacceptable. We can’t take a chance on something like that happening ever again.” She stood up, and the rest of the room slowly stood on delayed reaction.

  “Madam President,” Weindahl muttered. “If you would like my resignation—”

  “Not a chance in hell,” Vickers interrupted. “Your country needs their best people in place and not retreating in shame.”

  “We’ll do better.”

  “We have to,” Vickers answered. “For the sake of our nation. And maybe the rest of the world.”