Wretched Retribution

by E. G. Michaels

  “I'm sorry, brother,” Malice said. “I-I…failed…you.”

  Foster watched the life in the Reaper’s eyes fade out, and then Malice was gone.

  Chapter Forty

  She had only lost consciousness for a few seconds, and Vasquez came to with a start. Her instincts immediately took over. The controls were still sluggish, but somehow she managed to get the F-35 out of its corkspin. Vasquez glanced at her altimeter and swore under her breath. She was already too close to the ground to pull the fighter up in time. There was only one option left, and Vasquez didn’t hesitate.

  “Green Mountain Boy Seven, bailout! Bailout!” she yelled over the comms before activating the ejection seat system. The canopy jettisoned a moment before the seat rail system sent her seat skywards at more than 12 Gs. The sudden velocity slammed her body against her harness, and she felt an immediate pain as her left collarbone broke from the high-speed impact. Vasquez bite back a yell. The ejection seat served her immediate need to get clear of the failing plane as quickly as possible. She couldn’t do anything about any injuries she might have until she landed. Several small rockets propelled her seat even higher, and then she heard a small charge go off a moment before her parachute deployed. She felt her ejection seat move away from her body, and then she was drifting back toward land.

  Vasquez glanced at her surroundings. She was over top what looked like a forested area. There was a lake in the near distance. One side of the lake had a noticeable clearing which could make a safe place to land. She grasped the parachute’s controls and began to steer toward it.

  There was a loud explosion, and she glanced toward it. Her plane had crashed into the forest. A large cloud of fire and smoke billowed up from the wreckage.

  A gust of wind kicked up, and her parachute suddenly shifted sideways. Vasquez tried to adjust her descent, but her left arm didn’t seem to be working correctly. The ground came rushing toward her and she tucked her feet, bent her knees, and got ready for what was going to be a hard landing. The side of her right foot touched down first and then the outside of her right thigh, dissipating some of the impact. She felt the rest of her body slam into the ground and yelped in pain. A moment later, the parachute fluttered to the ground behind her, and she reached up with her right hand and triggered its release. Vasquez pulled herself up onto her feet, took a tentative step, and her right leg went out from under her. She landed in a heap on the ground.

  She took a moment to assess her body. Everything felt battered or bruised. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she went fifteen rounds with a heavyweight boxer only to find out afterward the fight was declared a draw. She began to gently check her body, starting with the areas bothering her the most. Her right ankle was definitely badly sprained, maybe even broken. She slowly climbed back onto her feet and put some weight on her leg gingerly. It hurt like hell, but this time the ankle didn’t give out on her. That was a good sign. The odds were in her favor that she probably hadn’t broken her ankle. If she had landed on her feet, then the impact would have definitely snapped her ankle or leg. Vasquez continued to check herself for injuries. A quick palpation of her left collarbone brought a stabbing pain rushing through her limb that was enough to take her breath away. Broken, definitely broken. Not good, she thought to herself.

  Vasquez hobbled to a nearby cluster of trees and sat down gingerly against the base of the largest one. She was miles away from the nearest base, with a gimpy ankle and a busted collarbone. She’d done everything by the book. Now she just needed to wait until the military sent someone to rescue her. She pulled out her survival kit and laid it in her lap. She opened it carefully, extracted the two pieces of her disassembled GAU-5/A rifle, and quickly assembled it. Vasquez inserted a magazine into the rifle. There were three other full magazines in her kit, giving her one hundred twenty rounds of ammunition if she needed it.

  For decades, pilots carried a handgun in their survival kits. But a recent change in Air Force regs provided a weapon with superior range and firepower. The modified M-16 had a ten-inch barrel but could hit a target up to six hundred fifty yards away. Of course, that’s what the military manuals said. With a broken collarbone, Vasquez wasn’t sure how accurate she could fire the rifle. She hadn’t even tried firing it one-handed and wasn’t about to try it right now, either. Seeing how her luck had been lately, she’d probably wind up accidentally shooting herself instead of an intended target.

  Vasquez laid the rifle across her lap. It was quiet in the woods, and she hoped it would stay that way. But in the event that she was discovered by any Reapers, then she was ready to protect herself as best as she was able. She just hoped the cavalry would show up before then. A wave of sheer exhaustion came over her. She was working on almost no sleep. She was banged up and injured with at least one broken bone.

  “Come on Angel, focus,” she said softly. She felt tired. So tired, and yet she had to try to stay awake. Her eyelids fluttered as her head slowly tipped downward. Her breathing grew slower, and then everything went black as Angel’s body shut down and she lost consciousness.

  A small voice sounded in Beeks’s head, and he mentally cringed. He really needed more red-eyed commanders so he didn’t have to handle every single question or request that came from one of his minions. At one time, he didn’t mind. It helped him feel even more in power. But now with tens of millions of soldiers, it had grown into a massive constant management headache.

  “Yes, what is it now?” he snarled.

  “My Lord, we have spotted a very strange-looking human,” a minion spoke.

  “Strange in what way?” Beeks said. He sat up in his throne a bit straighter. This might be something completely new and different than the usual boring requests he got, and Horatio absolutely welcomed the change of pace. “Show me,” he commanded.

  An image appeared in front of him, and Beeks leaned forward to study it closer. It was a smaller than usual human about one hundred yards away from his soldier. Beeks squinted to make out more details on the human. It might be a female. The human was wearing a special uniform and helmet. A pilot. The clothing seemed to suggest a military one. Very interesting. He studied the image a little closer. The helmet was open, and its chest was slowly moving. It appeared to be asleep or unconscious.

  “Listen to me now. That is a very special human. A pilot.”

  “A pil-ot?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Beeks sent telepathically. “You are to capture but not kill that human. I want it brought to me alive. Tell your packmates that if the human dies, then all of you will die.”

  “Yes, my Lord. I understand. We will bring you the human alive,” the soldier answered.

  Beeks settled back in his throne. Things had definitely become a little more interesting. He couldn’t wait to find out why a military pilot was alone in the woods.

  Chapter Forty-One

  After watching his friend complete his fourth lap of the room, Giles felt the need to speak up. “Something on your mind?” he asked.

  “There’s a new player in the game,” Haas grumbled. “It’s got me worried.”

  “Friend or foe?”

  “Maybe a little bit of both.”

  “I see,” Giles said carefully. “This new player is like us.”

  “Yes. He was there with us when we transformed.”

  “Wait,” Giles said. “Are you talking about Horatio Beeks?”

  “I’m afraid so. He's put together his own group of soldiers,” Haas answered. “An extremely large number of them to the north and west of us.”

  “That’s not hard to do,” Giles said. “We’ve been very picky about who we’ve added.”

  “What do we have between us?”

  “Maybe two thousand warriors. Why?”

  “I accessed the mind of one of his dying soldiers.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?” Giles demanded. “Now he knows we exist. Or at least you do.”

  “It was dying. I wanted to see how it had gotten in
jured so badly. I thought I should find out who had hurt it and keep our group safe from their attacks.”

  “Well, that makes sense to me,” Giles said. “But Beeks has never been a rational man. I’m guessing he didn’t like you messing with his soldier.”

  Haas chuckled. “He’s always been a bit unpredictable,” he said. “Better to keep Beeks in front of you than let your guard down and have him stab you in the back.”

  “What did his soldier’s mind reveal?”

  “There’s a group of humans that Beeks really wants to capture. Their leader is a man. Someone they call Fos-ter.”

  “That name doesn’t make sense. Maybe they meant Foster?”

  “I’m not sure. My guess is that most of Beeks’s soldiers can’t pronounce it normally. Probably ours wouldn’t be able to, either. Beeks has managed to amass a massive army with millions of soldiers.”

  “M-millions?”

  “Yes,” Haas said simply. “Beeks has been busy trying to conquer as much of the area as possible. But this Foster man and his group has caused Beeks a lot of trouble. Beeks is angry about it and has tasked a group of his minions to find the man. They found him here, but most of them got killed trying to capture this Fos-ter.”

  “Beeks will freak out when he finds out.”

  “I’m quite sure he will,” Haas said softly. “He’ll send far more soldiers. And when he does, it will be extremely difficult for us to avoid drawing his attention.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “I’m not sure,” Haas admitted. “Our scouts have reported seeing Beeks’s minions exploring our boundaries. It's only a matter of time until we cross paths with him.”

  “Will he ignore us?”

  Haas laughed bitterly. “Not a chance in hell,” he said. “Horatio Beeks thrives on conflict and violence. The more of it he can get, the happier he is.”

  “What about reaching out to him for alliance?” Giles asked. “He lets us keep our area while he continues to expand elsewhere.”

  “What do we have to offer? Do you really think our numbers are enough to sway someone like Beeks? Even if we include your old friend’s cult.”

  “He doesn’t like people calling it a cult,” Giles interrupted. “Even if it probably is.”

  “Our numbers are growing, but it’s tiny compared to what Beeks has.”

  “Do we know he really has so many soldiers?”

  “I held his minion’s mind. Tore its memories out of its dying brain. It was in no position to lie to me.”

  “If Beeks has millions of followers, he could wipe us out in no time at all.”

  “Yes. If he attacked, we would likely perish.”

  “Let’s say we can reach a peace treaty with Beeks,” Giles said carefully. “Can we trust him to hold up his end of the deal?”

  “Of course,” Haas said. “I've known him for years.”

  “I disagree. What’s the old saying? ‘Never trust a con?’”

  “If that was true, then I shouldn't trust you, either.”

  “I’m different. So are you,” Giles argued. “We’ve become friends, too. Or, at least, trusted allies.”

  “We need a way to gain Beeks’s trust.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “This group of humans that has been giving him a hard time.”

  “The one led by this man Foster?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Haas said. “What if we were to assist in capturing him? We grab this guy and then hand them over to Beeks.”

  “It might work. At the very least, it would show him that our intentions are good.”

  “Right. A peace offering that also eliminates a problem for him. I like it.”

  “It's worth exploring,” Giles said. “At least until this group sees our soldiers and starts shooting. From what you’ve told me, we could lose a lot of our fighters.”

  “Probably,” Haas said. “If we lost too many, then we’d be even weaker to prevent Beeks from just overpowering us and taking over.”

  Giles began to laugh. His laughter grew louder and louder until Haas finally had enough.

  “What’s so funny?” Haas demanded.

  “I just thought of a way we can handle this problem,” Giles said. “Let me tell you how.”

  Giles began to lay out his idea, and Haas began to smile.

  “I like it,” Haas said. “How long would you need to make it happen?”

  “Not very long at all,” Giles said. “This Foster character doesn’t know it yet, but his luck is about to run out.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Beeks felt an agonizing pain, like something was being torn apart in his mind. He clutched his head, let out a roar of pain, began immediately searching out for his children, sensing where the disturbance had happened. As he did, he traced the mental threats, finding those which were still intact, and ones that were broken. There was one connection which seemingly had been torn from the roots. As he traced it, he realized it led to Malice.

  “Malice, are you there? Answer me,” he commanded, but there was nothing. A wave of panic rushed over him, and he reached out to Achilles. Perhaps his other red-eyed Alpha would tell him what had happened to Malice. “Achilles, answer me,” Beeks commanded.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “What has happened to Malice?”

  “Sir, I-I'm not at liberty to say.”

  “Achilles,” Beeks said with a tone of voice that suggested he was close to losing his temper.

  “My Lord, it's just that Malice swore me to secrecy.”

  “Tell me what happened,” Beeks snarled. He applied a small mental pinch to his soldier’s mind and felt Achilles startle in response.

  “Yes, my Lord. Malice had seen the one they call Fos-ter leaving a house. He took all his troops, and most of my soldiers too, to pursue the human.”

  “Wait, what? I spoke to Malice not long ago. He said they had found Foster. I thought it was a bit strange he didn’t mind me sending reinforcements.”

  “I’m afraid I can only imagine what happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My troops who went with him? They are no more, Achilles said. I sense their deaths.”

  “How many soldiers do you have with you?”

  “Just a handful, my Lord. Enough to watch the home where some of Fos-ter's friends are still hiding.”

  Beeks began to think wildly. Should he commit more troops going into this town in hopes of catching Foster again? With Malice likely dead, he felt completely exposed. Especially with no red-eyed warriors to protect him against any strong threats. Then there was Haas. He had felt him access the mind of one of his soldiers. What did Haas learn about Beeks’ family? What would Haas do next?

  A plan began to form in Beeks's mind.

  “My Lord, are you still there?” Achilles asked.

  “Quiet. I'm thinking,” he said. A moment later, he said, “There are two things I would like you to do.”

  “Yes, my Lord?”

  “The first is you will return posthaste to our den. You are needed here.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “The second thing is I have a special mission. You must pick your bravest soldier to do it.”

  “As you command, my Lord.”

  “Excellent.” Beeks proceeded to explain what he wanted Achilles's soldiers to do.

  “I vow we will not fail you, sir.”

  “See that you don't,” Beeks said. “That is all.”

  Beeks broke the connection and then quickly established one with the pack leader that was headed toward Rehoboth Beach. A quick command, and those soldiers were routed back to his den where they could best serve to keep him safe.

  After dispatching Malice, Foster had turned his attention to Nick. The two of them had to work together in order to move the rubble off his trapped friend. Once the debris was moved and he saw Walker wobble to his feet, Foster was immediately concerned about his friend’s condition. One close look into Walker’s eyes,
and Foster was pretty sure the man had suffered a concussion when the wall hit him. If the recent tumble down the staircase hadn’t made the former Ranger woozy, then a wall landing on him probably did. Foster managed to get the former Ranger back to the Suburban without crossing paths with any hostiles. Foster called Sams and gave him a quick report on what had happened. Both men agreed it was crucial to get Nick back to Gregory’s house, where Amanda could do a check-up before letting Nick join the fight once more.

  Once back at the house, Amanda gave Nick a thorough examination. When she had finished, the group's resident doctor announced that Nick had a slight concussion. She then suggested he take the remainder of the night off and rest. Foster figured the man had to be feeling pretty lousy, because Walker didn’t complain or argue about Amanda’s diagnosis.

  With Nick resting downstairs and Lizzy staying nearby in case he took a turn for the worse, Foster had some time to kill before he was due to talk with Lieutenant Abrahams. He tried to do a three-week-old crossword puzzle, but he couldn’t concentrate on it. There was too much crap to worry about handling and not enough time to do it.

  Foster glanced at his watch. Just ten more minutes until his meeting. He knew two things for sure. The first was his group really needed a safe place to go. From what Black had told him, Hope Island was definitely it. The second thing was he was completely unsure how the conversation with the Army commander was going to go. The talk with Charles had only created more uncertainty in his mind. On one hand, everyone needed to come together to stop the Reaper invasion. On the other, losing any of his group’s key people might lead to great harm or even death for the remaining members.

  The satellite phone began to ring.

  “Foster,” a voice said.

  “Black, is that you?” Foster asked.

  “One and the same,” SWAT Sergeant Vince Black answered. “How are things on your end?”