Wretched Retribution

by E. G. Michaels

  “Of course,” Randy said. “How long you figure it’ll take us to do all of these things tomorrow?”

  “Good question,” Foster said. “I'd like us to head out tomorrow morning and meet back here by lunchtime. If we get everything done in time, then maybe we can take off tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Sams said. He leaned over and stabbed the last remaining steak and pulled it onto his plate. “I'll take the last steak and first watch tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was early morning when Foster found Randy and Lizzy both waiting for him by the back door.

  “Malcolm, I’m going,” Lizzy said firmly, with her hands on her hips. “It’s not up for discussion.”

  “What about keeping everyone else safe here?” Foster asked.

  “Not my problem right now. Why don’t you ask my thick-headed, knuckle-dragging husband if he wants to do it?”

  “If I was you,” Randy cautioned, “I wouldn’t do that. It might wind up being harmful to your health.”

  “I don’t see any need to ask Nick. It sounds like Lizzy and her husband reached some type of understanding,” Foster said simply. He could only imagine what kind of verbal battle had taken place last night between the Walkers. Especially since Nick and Sams had left earlier than planned to begin their scavenging run. He looked at Randy and Lizzy. Both of them seemed nervous but ready to go. Foster motioned for the two of them to follow him. “Let’s roll.”

  The Reaper sat on the hill approximately five hundred yards away from the humans. He watched as they came and went into a strange structure. A small voice in the back of his head told him it was called a house, but he didn’t have any way to know for sure. What he did know is that his master would be pleased he found these people. It looked like several of them could be ideal candidates to join their pack. He’d been watching this structure since his scouting groups had sensed there might be humans in it. He’d sent them back to the den and personally kept watch all night long.

  His master had chosen him because he always followed his master’s orders. In this case, they were to find humans but not attack them. Even so, he might risk his master’s ire and ask him if it would be okay to feed on one of the smaller humans. They probably wouldn't make a very suitable packmate.

  He felt a rumbling in his belly. The same small voice told him it meant he was hungry. Which was completely true. He’d happily feed, if given the opportunity.

  But he’d seen how his master had punished other packmates who failed to follow their leader’s commandments. And avoiding his master’s disapproval meant far more to him than a new potential meal. He carefully climbed down from his perch. It was time to return to home. He couldn’t wait to tell his master what he had seen.

  Ten minutes later, Foster pulled the Suburban to a stop at the gas station. He shifted the vehicle into park and shut the engine off, leaving the keys in the ignition.

  “I don't understand why we had to bring this big gas guzzler,” Lizzy complained.

  “Simple,” Foster answered. “It has lots of cargo space so we can store more cans of fuel. It’s also got a bigger gas tank than the Tucson or Land Cruiser. That means we can roll out of here with the most potential fuel for one trip. We can even drain fuel from this vehicle's gas tank to help with topping off the boat.”

  “Gonna take more than a topping off,” Randy pointed out. “My boat holds eighty-four gallons of fuel.”

  “I figure we’re going to have to make at least two gas station runs,” Foster said. “Especially if we take some extra fuel on the boat.”

  “The place looks quiet,” Lizzy said.

  “Gotta love gas stations off the beaten path,” Randy replied. “Nobody but the locals know they exist. It doesn't get a lot of traffic, but even so we need to keep an eye out for any would be stragglers.”

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

  “Well, I'm guessing there isn't going to be anybody working at the station for us to pay,” Foster said. “We'll try using a credit card to start.”

  “Do you think they'll still work?” Randy asked.

  “Hope so. I’d prefer not to steal the gasoline,” Foster said. “Especially if the Disciples show up acting like they’re the local law enforcement. No point in giving them an excuse to give us any unwanted trouble.” He checked his surroundings and got out of the driver's side door. He closed the door carefully, ensuring the noise was kept to a bare minimum. He watched as Randy and Lizzy climbed out the other side and did the same.

  “Lizzy, I want you on the front side of the vehicle. Keep an eye out for any incoming visitors,” Foster said. “I'll watch the back side while Randy fills the canisters.”

  “Gotcha,” Lizzy said. She drew a Glock from the holster on her right hip and held it in a ready position. Foster would have felt more comfortable if the woman was using a rifle, but she confessed that she felt far more comfortable with a handgun.

  “Good news,” Randy said. “It looks like they still got electric here.”

  “Awesome,” Foster said. He pulled out his wallet, grabbed his American Express card, and offered it to Randy. He’d worry about paying the bill at a later time. That was assuming it would ever arrive in the mail. “Use this,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Randy said as he grabbed the card and swiped it. “Pump is live.”

  “Great,” Foster said. “Do the Suburban’s tank first and then the containers.”

  “Why?” Randy asked. “We need fuel for the boat, not the Suburban.”

  “If we have to bail fast, we can always drain gas from the Suburban someplace safe and put it into containers for the boat then.”

  “If you say so.”

  “According to the owner’s manual, the Suburban’s tank holds thirty-one gallons of fuel,” Foster said. “You got a bigger container here that I might have overlooked?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Randy grumbled. “No need to rub it in.”

  “Here, let me help,” Foster said. He hurried over and unscrewed the cap on the first container. He set it on the ground near Randy and lined up the other ones repeating the process with each fuel canister. He watched as Randy pulled the nozzle out of the fuel pump and inserted it into the side of the Suburban. Foster turned his attention back to watching the surrounding area for any Reapers.

  “Pump is working really slow,” Randy called out.

  “Damn. Any ideas why?”

  “Maybe a clogged fuel filter,” Randy said. “Other possibility is the station’s underground tank might be low. I’m guessing it’s been a while since this place had a fuel delivery.”

  “There’s nothing we can do to fix either one of those problems right now.”

  “Want to go to another gas station?” Randy asked. “It might go faster.”

  “It could be eyeball deep in Reapers or Disciples, too,” Foster answered. “I’m afraid I don’t know this area very well. Do you know of any other gas stations nearby?”

  “Afraid not. I’m Virgina-born and raised.”

  “Gotcha,” Foster said. “I’m going to go back to keeping an eye out for trouble.”

  A few minutes later, he heard Randy call out, “Suburban's full. Switching to the canisters now.”

  “Good,” Lizzy said. “The sooner we get done here, the better.”

  “Anything on your side, Lizzy?” Foster asked. “I got nothing on my end.”

  “Still quiet,” Lizzy answered. “This place just gives me the creeps.”

  A few minutes later, Randy called out, “Moving on to the second canister.”

  “That was quicker than I expected,” Foster said. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “It doesn’t take long to fill a six-gallon canister,” Randy pointed out. “If this thing was pumping anywhere the normal ten gallons per minute speed, we’d be further along than we already are.”

  “You know how fast gas is supposed to pump?” Foster said. “I didn’t have the foggiest idea.”
>
  “Not by choice,” Randy admitted. “I got a buddy, Del, who worked at a gas station. At least, I did before all of this stuff happened. He used to like to share gas station trivia after he’d gotten a few beers under his belt. That’s how I knew about the fuel filter stuff.”

  “Makes sense,” Foster said. “Do you know if your friend is, you know?”

  “Alive? No clue. When the shit hit the fan, I was more worried about getting my family the hell out of Raleigh. But I tend to doubt it. Del rented a room near the gas station in town.”

  “Guys, I got something,” Lizzy said excitedly.

  “What is it?” Foster asked.

  “I see a Reaper.”

  “Hold your fire,” Foster said. “We don't want to engage them if we don't need to.” He quickly added, “How far out?”

  “Maybe two hundred yards?”

  “Keep an eye on them.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “What's wrong?” Foster asked.

  “They're moving this way.”

  Foster swore under his breath. “I knew we should've brought another person,” he said. “Randy, how's it coming with the fuel canisters?”

  “Two done, four to go.”

  “Coming to you,” Foster said as he moved toward Randy. “I’ll load the full ones. Keep pumping fuel as long as you can.”

  “Just make sure none of those things eat my face. ’Cause Lauren will be awfully mad at both of us if they do.”

  Foster reached Randy, grabbed the two full containers, and carried them to the back of the Suburban. He placed both of them on the open hatch and slid each one into the back of the vehicle. Foster then worked his way along the driver’s side of the vehicle and began to head toward the front where Lizzy was still on overwatch.

  “There’s four of them now,” Lizzy said, her voice noticeably straining with each word.

  “Coming up on your left,” Foster said. “Don’t shoot me.” He continued to scan the area in from him as he moved. As he reached the front of the Suburban, he noticed three more Reapers appear at the edge of the woods. They were about three hundred and fifty yards away.

  “Randy, time to wrap it up,” Foster said in a low voice. He brought his rifle up into a shooting position.

  “Just a little longer,” Randy replied. “I got three cans left.”

  “We're about to have company,” Foster said. “I need you to stop pumping fuel and get those cans loaded in the truck.”

  “Are you serious?” Randy said. “I could use a hand, if we’re gonna get it done fast.”

  “You want me to help you with the cans or keep them from eating your face? Because I can’t do both at once.”

  A shot rang out, and Foster saw one of the Reapers get struck in the chest. A fresh wound appeared and Foster watched as it immediately began to close back up. The Reaper began to run toward them.

  “Head shots only,” Foster said. “Wait until they’re closer to engage.”

  “I know that,” Lizzy shouted. “This is not the first time I've fought Reapers.”

  Foster bit back a snarky comment. Now wasn’t the time to argue with Lizzy. They had to work together, or all of them could likely fall to the incoming pack. Foster shifted his aim, acquired the charging Reaper, and fired once. He saw his shot strike the monster in the shoulder. The Reaper staggered back on its heels and then dropped onto all fours and continued to charge toward them. Foster felt a jolt of adrenaline course through his body. He adjusted his aim and fired twice. Foster saw one of the shots score a direct hit to the monster's throat. The Reaper spun like some type of demented top and crashed sideways to the ground.

  Foster shifted his aim to the next incoming target. He heard Lizzy firing, too.

  “Lizzy, take out the ones that get past the gas station sign,” Foster shouted. “I’ll use my rifle to pick off the ones further out.”

  “I-I’m trying, Malcolm,” Lizzy yelled back. “Changing.”

  “Covering you,” Foster said. He fired a double-tap at a Reaper that had managed to get about twenty yards away. He saw the top of the monster’s head explode in a crimson fury. The Reaper collapsed harmlessly nearby, but Foster didn’t have time to admire his handiwork. He pivoted seamlessly to his left and fired three times, kneecapping a pair of Reapers which had been charging toward his blind side. The flurry of lead hobbled the hostiles long enough for Foster to carefully aim a head shot at each one. The demonic duo were dropped in their tracks, and Foster heard gunfire to his right once more. He wasn’t sure how many bullets were left in his current magazine and silently cursed himself for losing track during a firefight.

  “Reloading,” Foster said. “Cover me.”

  “Hurry up!” Lizzy shouted back.

  Foster pulled the rifle’s current magazine and slammed a fresh magazine in its place. He seamlessly tucked the old magazine in his vest and brought his weapon back up to play.

  Foster spotted a Reaper just outside the gas station sign coming toward them. From its physical build and the tattered three-piece suit it was wearing, he quickly determined this hostile had once been a businessman. The monster suddenly stopped its charge, banged on its chest, and let out a loud roar. Foster sighted on the Reaper’s face and immediately shot it between the eyes. He watched the monster's head snap back, and then the creature toppled backward and went limp.

  “Dumbass,” Foster muttered under his breath.

  There was a series of growls and yips from the dead monster’s right, and then a dozen more Reapers came charging out of the woods.

  “Oh, hell,” Foster moaned. Maybe that Reaper hadn’t been so stupid after all. The damn thing had managed to call in additional reinforcements before Foster had managed to kill it. He shifted his aim and resumed firing more.

  “Randy, what's going on with the fuel?” Foster yelled.

  “Still working on it.”

  “Leave the rest of them. We gotta go.”

  “I just need a little more time.”

  “Not happening. We’re out of time,” Foster said, firing even more rapidly. He heard Lizzy's gunfire joining in. “Get as many of those cans as you can in the truck now.”

  Foster heard Randy swear out loud and shifted his attention back to firing again. Then he heard the weapon click dry.

  “Changing,” Foster said as he performed a fast combat swap. He brought his weapon up to fire and saw there were dozens of Reapers now pouring in from different directions.

  “Lizzy, fall back and help Randy get the canisters into the vehicle.”

  “Really? You expect me to lift those things?”

  “Would you rather stay here and deal with all of these by yourself?”

  “You don’t have to be a jerk about it,” Lizzy yelled. “I'm moving.”

  Foster continued shooting. He performed another combat swap and kept shooting. There were dozens of dead Reapers around them now, and he saw nearly as many still emerging from the woods in front of him.

  Foster heard a pounding sound on the Suburban behind him, and then Randy shouted, “Move your ass, Yankee.” He heard two doors slam behind him and began working his way back toward the driver’s side door, firing every step of the way. Foster opened the driver's side door, jumped in, pulled the door shut right behind him. He heard the locks engage, and then a trio of Reapers slammed into the passenger side of the Suburban. Lizzy screamed in surprise, and Foster felt his heart slam even faster against his chest. Foster turned the key in the Suburban’s ignition, and the engine turned over immediately. He threw the vehicle in drive and stomped on the gas accelerator. The Suburban lurched forward, pushing several Reapers out of the way, and began to slowly build up speed. Foster cut the steering wheel toward the roadway and felt the tires grab the smoother surface with ease. The Suburban picked up speed, and he glanced in the rear-view mirror, seeing the carnage they had managed to escape from unharmed.

  “Holy cow,” Randy said. “That was close.”

  “Too close,” Foster agreed. “Do
we head back or try to find another gas station and collect some more fuel?”

  “I say head back,” Randy replied. “I don’t have the foggiest idea where to find another gas station. Especially one that doesn’t have either Reapers or those Disciple wackos hanging around.”

  “Good point,” Foster said. “Return to home base it is.”

  “Malcolm, I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Lizzy said. “I-I guess I just panicked a little, with all of those things rushing toward us.”

  “Apology accepted.” Foster smiled. “Even seasoned cops and military personnel get scared sometimes.”

  “Do you think we got enough fuel?” Lizzy asked.

  “I hope so,” Randy said. “If not, it's gonna be a long swim to Hope Island.”

  Chapter Thirty

  After leaving the gas station, the three of them headed back to their makeshift base. As they pulled behind Gregory’s house, Foster noticed Nick and Sams had already returned from their scavenging mission. The rear door opened, and Walker stepped outside to greet them.

  “Good timing,” Walker said. “We just got back a little while ago.”

  “How did it go?” Foster asked.

  “Struck out on the filters,” Walker said. “We did find about six gallons of water.”

  “That’s not going to be enough,” Foster said. “Maybe Gregory and Amanda will get lucky and find some more.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Walker said. “We saw several Reaper packs moving around.”

  “Any problems with them?” Foster asked.

  “Not this time,” Walker said. “We were able to avoid them. But I got the sense they’re starting to linger around some of the more obvious places to scavenge.”

  “Like they’ve been ordered to stand guard?”

  “Yeah, exactly. I think I’m going to work on my latest weapon idea some more.”

  “Good idea,” Foster said. “I wish you’d had better luck with those desalination filters.”

  “Already ahead of you on that,” Walker said. “I asked our local yokel about it.”