Wretched Retribution

by E. G. Michaels

  “My husband,” the woman blurted.

  “Right,” Walker said. “Sorry about your husband.”

  “We got a flat tire,” the woman sobbed, “and Gerald got out to try and fix it when those things attacked. They weren't supposed to do that.” She began crying even louder.

  Foster looked at the scene playing out in front of him. Walker looked like he was completely unsure what to say to the stranger who had watched her husband get torn to pieces. “Want me to give it a try?” Foster asked.

  “Absolutely,” Walker said. He motioned for Foster to switch places with him and began heading toward him.

  Foster backtracked until he reached the driver’s door. He did a silent count of three before he spoke. “Ma’am, my name is Officer Foster. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “They weren’t supposed to attack us.”

  Foster paused for a moment before continuing. He wasn’t sure why the woman kept repeating that crazy idea, but he still needed to find out if they were okay. “Unfortunately, ma'am, sometimes they seem to have a mind of their own.” He looked at the car. The damaged tired was lying on the ground. The Odyssey was still jacked up with a perfectly intact spare was leaned against it. Foster said, “Is anyone hurt in your car?”

  “No, we’re fine.”

  “Nobody got bit?”

  “I said we’re fine.”

  “Ma’am, it’s really important you answer my question,” Foster said. “Did anyone in the car get bitten by a Reaper?”

  “No, my children and I stayed in the car the entire time.”

  “Okay, I’m glad to hear that. Do you have someplace you can go?”

  “We have friends we're staying with.”

  “I see,” Foster said. “Well, tell you what, if it's okay with you, I'll replace your tire for you, and then you and your kids can go on your way. I'm sorry about your husband. Do you have far to go?”

  “No. Maybe twenty minutes.”

  “Foster,” Walker hissed under his breath. “A word.”

  Foster took three steps toward Walker and met him halfway. He waited to hear what his friend had to say.

  “Are you sure it's a good idea for them to be traveling by themselves?” Walker asked in a low voice.

  “Would you rather take them on in our group?” Foster countered.

  “Lizzy might.”

  “That’s not what I asked you.”

  Walker sighed. “No, I’d prefer they don’t join us,” Walker muttered. “We don’t need three more mouths to feed right now. Especially ones we don’t know a thing about.”

  “I agree,” Foster said in a low voice. “That’s why I offered to help them on their way.”

  “We just need to make sure they're going to make it okay.”

  “What if we escort them part of the way?”

  “That might work,” Walker said. “Rock, paper, scissors on who changes the tire?”

  “No need,” Foster said. “I already offered to do it. It’s part of the territory of being a police officer.”

  “Copy that,” Walker said. “Sams, we're on overwatch while Malcolm changes the tire.”

  “Better him than me,” Sams said. “I hate working on cars.”

  Foster walked back to the minivan and said, “Ma’am, I’m going to change your tire now. Can you keep your family inside the car?”

  “Y-Yes, I can.”

  “Great.”

  Foster rolled his sleeves up and set about replacing the damaged tire.

  Ten minutes later, Foster had replaced the tire and double-checked to make sure all the lug nuts were secure. He lowered the minivan carefully with the jack.

  “Ma'am, if you can pop the rear hatch, I'll put your jack and other equipment inside it.”

  The woman was back to sobbing, so Foster repeated himself a bit louder.

  He saw the woman lean over and grab a lever. Foster heard the latch pop open, lifted the rear trunk, and slid the hydraulic jack and its handle in the back, tucking it securely before closing the trunk again.

  “All done,” Foster said.

  “Thank you. We’re going to go now.”

  “You said you have friends nearby,” Foster said. “Do you want us to go with you and make sure you get there safely?”

  “That won’t be necessary. Really. Thank you for changing the tire.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. It's only a few minutes. I'll just keep the doors locked and won't stop for anything. You've already done too much. Thank you, Officer.”

  “You're welcome,” Foster said. He heard the vehicle's engine start and took a step away to watch as she pulled away. He watched the vehicle go to the next street corner, hang a right, and then it quickly drove out of sight.

  “Well, that was strange,” Walker said.

  “You're not kidding,” Foster replied. “Most people would welcome having a few extra guns making sure they got to their destination in this kind of shit storm.”

  “Yeah. No doubt.”

  “Well, nothing we can do about it. It's not like we can force them to let us drive them.”

  Walker said nothing.

  “I meant in a following the letter of the law kind of way.”

  “Right,” Walker said. “I agree.”

  “All right,” Foster said. “Mount up, everybody. Let's get the hell out of here.”

  “Thank you, boys,” Lizzy said. “They may not have made it without our help.”

  “You're welcome,” Foster replied. “I just hope that they make it to their friends' safely.”

  “I'd like to think so,” Lizzy said. “But I suppose it's best if we get going ourselves before it gets much darker.”

  Chapter Six

  The Reaper crept carefully into the throne room and immediately dropped onto to one knee. The creature immediately lowered its head and stared at the floor like it had been instructed to do when in the presence of its master. It had learned from the mistakes of others before them that their master didn’t tolerate less than the expected etiquette when you entered his private chambers.

  “Yes, what is it?” Beeks snarled. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” He stood up from his throne and began to pace in front of it.

  The Reaper uncontrollably gulped and began to answer in a series of growls and yips.

  Beeks stopped moving and turned toward the reporting soldier.

  “You’re taking too damn long to get to the point,” Beeks growled. He mentally reached out and grasped the soldier's mind.

  The minion stiffened in pain and let out a low yelp of pain.

  Beeks ignored his soldier’s outburst. It didn’t matter what the minion thought. There was only one Alpha in their world, and only their opinions ever mattered. And until proven otherwise, Horatio Beeks was the uncontested leader of millions of his own personal minions. He turned his attention back to the minion’s exposed mind and began quickly sifting through its memories to get the information he was seeking.

  “Are they sure it's Foster?” Beeks said aloud.

  “Yes, my Lord,” the soldier answered in a series of growls and yips. “It has been confirmed by more than one pack member. It’s a place with much grass and shiny surfaces that our packmates can see through.”

  “It’s called glass, you idiot,” Beeks snapped.

  “S-sorry, my Lord,” the soldier stammered. “There is much glass here. I’m afraid the ones who gave the initial report have been unreachable since.”

  “What?”

  “I-I’ve tried, but they don’t seem to be answering me. I can’t find them. The rest of the pack isn’t sure if Fos-ter is still there. They’re searching the area, but so far they haven’t seen him yet.”

  “You’re disappointing me,” Beeks growled. “Must I do everything myself?”

  The solider unconsciously let out a small yelp of fear.

  Beeks reached out mentally. “Malice, where are you?”

  “Not far from the den. Do you need me to return?”
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  “No. Change of plans. Others have seen Foster.”

  “Excellent. Where is he?” Malice asked.

  “Close. But we’re not sure if he’s still there.”

  “Can you share the thoughts with me? It will help me find him.”

  “Hold on.” Beeks reached into his memory, found the images he had retrieved from the still kneeling soldier, and sent them to Malice. He saw his soldier look at another minion. That creature was smaller in stature and Beeks immediately reached out and grasped it’s mind, too. Accessing two different minds while mentally communicating with Malice was stretching his powers a little more than he would have liked. But it was the best way he could think of to be able to see any telltale signs that Malice wasn’t properly behaving.

  A minute later, he heard Malice’s voice inside his own mind.

  “My Lord, I will take some of my soldiers and head to Fos-ter’s last known location. We will kill anyone who is foolish enough to be with him.”

  “No, you will not. You are to observe only. Do not engage him on your own.”

  “My Lord—“

  “I mean it,” Beeks mentally interrupted. “If you find him, you are to report to me. Then I will send additional soldiers to you so that you'll be guaranteed to succeed.”

  “And by that time, he might have gotten away,” Malice argued. “My Lord, I have one hundred of our finest soldiers with me. I'm sure that Fos-ter does not have many in his group. We will crush him and all who are foolish enough to not flee.”

  “You mean, like you did the last time?” Beeks challenged. “Oh, wait, that’s not what happened last time. If my memory is right, the last time you ran into him was outside the airport. And what happened? You lost nearly all of your troops. You had to come scurrying back to me with your tail between your legs.”

  “My Lord, we did not know Fos-ter had additional soldiers with him. It was—“

  “I don't want excuses,” Beeks mentally roared. “I want results. Do you understand me?”

  “I want him to answer for what he’s done. I want him to beg for his life before I take it from him.”

  “You answer to me,” Beeks commanded. “Do you understand?”

  Beeks reached out mentally and began to squeeze his commander’s mind. He felt Malice’s knees begin to buckle and then a moment later the sensation of ground under them.

  “Yes… my Lord,” Malice gasped.

  “If you were not so valuable to me, I would end you right now. I will not tolerate your back talk and disobedience. Especially in front of the other soldiers.”

  “My Lord, I-I did not mean to upset you.”

  Beeks felt the soldier’s body continue to be wracked with pain. He felt Malice begin to curl up into a tight circle, clutching his head.

  “I expect more from you, Malice. You need to stop disappointing me.”

  Beeks mentally pictured his hold on the soldier’s mind releasing like he was opening his fist. He switched to another soldier’s eyes and watched as Malice slowly picked himself off the ground and moved into the proper half kneeling position. He was content with what he saw and withdrew his hold from both minions’ minds. Now that Malice had received a proper attitude adjustment, Beeks fully expected him to do as he had ordered.

  A wave of hunger came over Beeks. He motioned for an underling. The minion scurried forward, dropped onto one knee, and stared at the floor.

  “I’m hungry,” Beeks said.

  “What would my Lord like?” the minion asked.

  “A cow,” Beeks replied. “Take several packmates with you and get me one.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “And make sure it’s still mooing when you bring it to me.”

  Malice picked himself up and knelt on one knee as his master expected. He checked the area around him. None of his soldiers were looking his way, and Malice felt relieved. It would have been incredibly embarrassing if he’d lost control of his bladder. He wasn’t going to be like so many other soldiers who pissed themselves when their master applied his mental hold on them.

  “Wait here,” he growled at his pack. A series of yips answered him. Malice stalked toward a nearby brick building and rounded the corner. He waited until he was out of sight of his soldiers before he pulled his arm back and punched the building as hard as he could. There was a loud bang, and the wall collapsed inward. Malice felt an immediate shot of pain. He looked at his hurting limb. He saw that his hand and wrist were visibly broken and hanging off-kilter.

  He was not a little weakling. He was Malice. Even before his transformation, he had been a killer and someone that many others feared. Now he was even bigger, stronger, and meaner. He didn’t care what his master said. He didn’t need Beeks to send more soldiers to do his own dirty work. If the opportunity presented itself, he would take care of Foster himself.

  Malice watched as his hand and wrist reset itself and began to heal. He turned, and with the swish of his cape, he stalked back to his soldiers. It was time to find and kill Foster.

  Chapter Seven

  President Mary Vickers strolled into the conference room with what she hoped was a confident leader-of-the-nation type of walk. It wasn't hard to blame her for not being quite sure how a president should carry themselves. Until recently, she’d only been the Secretary of Health and Human Services. But once the Reapers arrived, the chain of succession quickly fell apart. In a matter of hours, she was the last person remaining. Especially after President Marshall chose to cede his position rather than risk being used as a political hostage. It had to have taken tremendous personal humility and courage, knowing that he was likely to die as soon as the Reapers learned he was no longer the commander-in-chief. Vickers missed her friend terribly. There were so many things she wished she could ask. She knew if he were here, he’d probably be able to confidently tell her how she should handle the dozens of problems and crises she was currently dealing with. If she let herself even consider the magnitude of what she was trying to handle with practically no staff to speak of, it would quickly reach overwhelming status. But right now, she didn’t have time to have a panic attack. The tattered remains of her country were counting on her knowing the best way to handle every problem they were faced with.

  At least she felt safe now. It had been the right call to leave Camp David and move her skeleton crew and herself to the USS Eisenhower. The nuclear carrier was stationed far enough off the coast of Virginia where no Reapers could reach them.

  Vickers glanced over her right shoulder and saw special-agent-in-charge Malory Nash standing alertly at the doorway. If anyone was still feeling their way around their position, it was the former deputy special agent. Nash had received an unexpected in-the-field promotion when the rest of President Marshall’s detail was killed. As it stood, Nash was in charge of her presidential protective detail, which right now consisted of a motley group of random secret service agents, security personnel from Camp David, along with a few naval military police requisitioned from the Eisenhower. It was just an absolute hodgepodge of personnel from a wide range of backgrounds and training. The very idea made her flinch, but it was the best they could pull together under the circumstances.

  Vickers moved to the front of the conference room table and sat down slowly. A telephone had been placed at the end of the table near her, and she stared at it expectantly.

  “We're early, ma'am,” Agent Nash said.

  “How early?” Vickers asked.

  “Two minutes,” Nash answered. “Don't worry, he'll call.”

  “Yes. I suppose he is quite punctual like that, isn't he?” Vickers quipped. “I've never known the general to be late for anything.”

  “Ma'am?”

  “It's kind of annoying, isn't it?”

  “Well, I really couldn't say,” Nash answered. “I only recently met the general.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. It's just the two of us here in the room for now.”

  “Madam President, I’d say it comes with the territory.”<
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  The phone began to ring, Nash began to reach for it, and Vickers shook her off.

  “I think I still remember how to answer my own phone,” Vickers replied. “You've got enough on your plate already.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Vickers picked up the phone and answered.

  “Hello, President Vickers, please,” a male voice said smoothly.

  “Speaking.”

  “What a pleasant surprise,” General Weindahl answered. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had the commander-in-chief answer their own phone.”

  “I think it’s safe to say things are quite different from the old status quo.”

  “Indeed. Is everything still to your liking there, ma'am?”

  “As much as one could expect, under the circumstances,” Vickers said. “The doctor tells me that the motion sickness should probably begin to pass in a few more days. I guess I'm just not used to being on a boat after all.”

  Weindahl chuckled. “And you wonder why I haven't rushed right out there myself, Madam President.”

  “Are you saying that you get seasick?” Vickers asked. “I’m surprised to hear a four-star general and leader of our entire military force could suffer from such a common ailment.”

  “I will neither confirm nor deny such a statement.”

  “Uh-huh. I'll take that to be a yes,” Vickers said. “Having said that, I meant what I said before.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “General, you might be the most important person remaining in our armed forces. Our country would be in dire straits if we were to lose you to enemy combatants.”

  “Ma'am, I doubt there's many places safer than the Pentagon these days. I’m not worried about my safety here, and there’s no reason you should be, either.”

  “We’ve been extremely lucky the Reapers haven’t attacked the Pentagon yet,” Vickers pointed out. “We can’t expect our luck to continue to hold. Eventually, they will attack your location.”

  “If they do, we will be ready to defend it,” Weindahl replied. “I have round the clock drone surveillance watching for any Reaper activity that might be heading here.”