"Yes, this would have been worse if not for you. Mind telling me why you took a hand, stranger?"
"Names, Reaper and it seemed like the thing to do." Responded the Reaper as he surveyed the bodies lying all around them. "Looks like you suffered casualties," he continued.
Gareth sighed as he rubbed a hand across his face, and then noticed it still had fresh blood on it from checking the bodies of their group members who had perished. "Crap," he muttered as he pulled a rag from his pocket and rubbed his face again, hoping he removed most of the blood, then wiped his hands thoroughly before holding his right out. "My name is Gareth Wood, this is my brother Dean and it's a pleasure to meet you, Reaper. The two big men shook hands strongly, before the Reaper turned to Dean, hand outstretched, who clasped it in return. All three men nodded at each other. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the others. Normally we would not be so friendly, but most of us saw what you did. You're good with that thing, military?" he finished while nodding at the modified Remington 700.
"The Lord guides my hand, Gareth. Let me give you a hand with those who have fallen. “Former yes, and you?"
"2nd CE Batt (Battalion) with the 2nd, USMC."
"1st Recon Batt, 1st, out of Pendleton, though we were rarely there." responded Jason in return.
"Recon?"
"Force!" the statement was said with pride and Gareth nodded in return. There was a difference between USMC Recon and Force Recon.
"I met a few Force Recon guys at Legeune, in between blowing things up in various exotic places. Quiet bunch they were. Team sniper?"
"Correct."
"Well, let's go, we can talk more later," and with that, Gareth and his brother continued walking towards the others.
Three trucks had been backed up and gently the bodies of nine people were laid within their beds. Dozens of people had gathered, surrounding the vehicles and silently looking on while the process took place. Some were silently crying while others just looked mad as hell and not a few stern looks were directed at the new arrival in their midst ... The Reaper.
"Who's this?" The voice was husky yet melodious, an odd combination and the Jason turned to view the speaker. Before him was woman, early thirty's perhaps, and of incredible beauty.
"Jen, this is Reaper. He's the one that helped earlier when the zombies attacked." Gareth was now speaking to his wife, who looked suspicious while fingering the Beretta 92 shoved in her waistband.
"What do we know about him Gar? You guys are looking all comfortable over here, yet I'm suspicious. Is he from one of the other nearby groups?" she inquired as her stare bore into the Reaper.
"Ma'am. I mean you and yours no harm. I've just arrived and figuring out what's going on."
"It's Mrs. and what do you mean figuring out what's going on?"
"Hun, he took down maybe thirty of the bastards himself. He kept more from losing their lives. Calm down please. Reaper, this is Jenny, my wife." Then Gareth was caressing her tense shoulder as he indicated the woman. Distrust was still plainly written in her stiff stance and narrowed eyes, but finally she nodded minutely to Jason.
"Thank you, Reaper, but why do you call yourself by that name?"
"You're welcome. As for the name..." The Reaper paused then waved a hand around them before continuing. "My given name is Jason Scott. However, when all this occurred over a month ago, I came home from work to find my entire family slaughtered by these, Hell Spawn of Satan. I killed every one of the demons and then buried my family. It was then that I realized the Lord had a mission for me, as I had survived. To be the Lord's Reaper of the Devil's undead progeny, and those who would visit evil acts upon the survivors."
"I'm sorry for your loss, Reaper. Everyone here has lost people, most of them close family." Jenny remarked.
"I know. It's the way of things in this new trial of the Lord's."
"I hate to break up this gathering but we have nine of our own to bury and say a few words over. The holes are already dug and they're getting ready. We'll dump the zombies in one of the out pits the city dug when we're finished," commented Gareth who had been speaking with another of those near, but in low tones.
Several minutes later, on the backside of the motel, Jason stood near the back of all those assembled to say a final goodbye to friends and family. Gareth was in front, beside him Jenny and he was fumbling with the small bible in his hand. The Reapers eyebrow rose as he watched the confusion on their leaders face, and called out.
"You do not have a pastor in your group?"
Startled Gareth turned looking at the Reaper and shook his head. "I just usually pick a few verses at random and go with it." He backed up for this man called the Reaper was already striding forward, approaching and removing his equipment.
"Then allow me."
"You're a minister?"
"No, but I know the bible."
When Gareth started to hand Jason the bible he shook his head, clasped his hands before him, head bowed and started speaking.
"Romans 14. Verses 7-9.
For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself.
For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord.
So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.
For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.
These men and woman sacrifice themselves that others may live. Their souls are now resting at God's side, their bravery, and sacrifice, is a testament to what good, honorable, and caring people will do for each other. But know deep in your hearts, that God is with us and everything has a reason." The Reaper lifted his head and stepped back from the nine freshly dug graves before him. As he did so he heard a deep, murmured "Amen" from behind.
"Thank you Reaper. That was fitting." Gareth had stepped closer and was now speaking.
"You're welcome. We are all in this together."
"So, do you need a place to stay? We could use someone like you in our group. You're obviously religious and you took out quite a few of the bastards that attacked us. Every group in town has mostly cleared the undead out, but more and more of the undead keep arriving. In fact some have come from as far away as Kansas City, according to their driver's licenses." Gareth quit speaking for he saw the Reaper shaking his head.
"I'm sorry Gareth, I'm on a mission not only of the Lord's, but also the Governor of Michigan. You may not realize it, but there is organized evil afoot within the world."
"You mean this whole rogue government organization we've heard rumors of?" interjected Gareth.
"You know of them?" Surprise was clearly written on the Reaper face, and Gareth chuckled.
"Yeah, we get rumors. City Hall has some radio equipment and we understand a lot is happening out there. We've heard stories, even of Newaygo. So you're from there?"
"Yes!" Jason wanted to tell them more but knew operational security came first. "You have a functional city government?" he inquired.
"Well, somewhat. The hospital is all about, pay as you go, but the police and fire departments are still there along with what's left of the city managers. Not many of them left either, but they have their own group and are trying to keep some order in town."
"And they haven't asked you to relocate closer to them?"
"No why? Why should we."
"Because there is safety in numbers. Why didn't they respond to this incursion?"
"Because they don't. They don't want more numbers, and there are other reasons."
"What reasons?" the Reaper growled and for the first time, Gareth received a hint at how dangerous this man called the Reaper really was.
"There is a cult, north of town. Mostly, the police try to keep them out of Macon. Early on, this cult was taking people when everything went down. The City barely put a stop to it. Now they do their thing and the rest of us do ours."
"I need to talk to the city. Can you take me there, Gareth?"
"Sure, I suppose, but they don't take to strange
rs."
"I'm used to that. Why don't we get the undead cleared away and then you can introduce me," remarked the Reaper while Gareth nodded.
Chapter 3
"Did your boys find out what that ruckus was all about, Ray?" Harley Dunnon was the fire chief of the city of Macon and had been for over the last dozen years. At six-foot and two-hundred pounds with a bald head framing blue eyes he had become a permanent fixture at the firehouse, for he had worked there for over thirty-five years. Since the apocalypse occurred, Chief Dunnon found himself understaffed and forced to cut back on most of the activities they used to do. Between his remaining firemen and their surviving dependents and those of the police department they were trying to keep a semblance of order within the primary business and housing district of Macon city.
"Yes, two of my boys, Graves and Wilson, witnessed a herd of the zombies attack Wood's bunch over at the motel. They got there too late to help, but said wood took care of it, along with someone shooting from on top of the old Sonnelly Sons warehouse. That might have been one of Gareth's, or someone from another group; we simply don't know." Ray Thomas was the chief of police for the city of Macon, Missouri. Five-foot ten inches and one hundred and seventy pounds portrayed a muscular man with crew cut brown hair and matching eyes. He was Harley's counterpart and co-leader of the city. Together with Douglas Atwood they were all that were left of the city management and were the drivers behind holding Macon together in almost one piece.
"Casualties?"
"Some, but I don't know how many. They held a funeral out back. Graves said it looked like quite a few."
"Damn, too bad. I know we talked about this, but isn't there any way we can extend coverage to more of the outlying groups?"
"No, I wish, Harley, but simply not possible. We have to keep most of our men on the north side to counter those damn Children of Mesoch. If we let our guard down, they'll wipe us out."
"Crap! I wish there was something we could do about them. If they were out of the picture we might be able to bring this town together. We can't keep living like this. We have to get it together and we have an obligation to the people in our community!" ground out Harley as he slammed the palm of his fist down on the desk in frustration.
"I know, but while we outnumber them, they have heavy weapons, which we don't. We wouldn't last long if we attacked," replied Ray, equally frustrated at the situation. It was an old argument between them. Both Chiefs and the men under them wanted to keep safe the people they were sworn to protect as civil servants but there just was not enough of them to go against a heavily armed religious cult sworn to eradicate the ungodly. Ray had no idea where they had gotten the weapons but had lost two officers when they had driven up to the front gate of the compound. The freaks had opened fire before Ray could even speak, and it was only by luck that he managed to escape. Just then one of Ray's remaining eleven officers rushed into the office where Harley and Ray were talking, blurting out.
"Chief! Wood's is here. He has another guy with him. Big rifle and looks military. They say they need to talk to you." The newcomer was Greg Jones, and before the end of the world had been a new trainee in the department. He was a good solid officer who rarely became excited.
"Calm Greg, what's got you all excited? This isn't the first time Gareth's come to visit."
"It's the new guy, Chief. He has military written all over him and I'll kiss your ass if that isn't a sniper rifle he's carrying. Maybe help is on the way, against...you know who!"
"We'll see, but don't hold your breath, Greg. Invite them in after disarming them gently. We'll see what it's all about," responded Chief Ray before turning to his best friend of almost thirty years. "You coming, Harley?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the end of the world," quipped Harley, sarcastically.
*****
As they drove further into the city, more and more people were seen. Some were in vehicles and others walking the streets in armed groups. There were also, quite a few armed patrols in evidence and every one of those patrols had at least one man with a badge of some kind fastened to their winter coats.
The entire central part of the city was blocked off with gates established on four sides. The city's forces held approximately sixty square blocks, all blockaded in with larger vehicles and armed guards spaced out along each side's interval. The gate they had been stopped at held ten guards, four of them men and the rest women. After verifying that it was Gareth attempting entry to speak to the Chiefs, they had allowed him to pass unmolested after radioing it in.
"How many people are in this group?" inquired the Reaper as they slowly drove north along Rubey Street.
"I guess, at least a thousand. It's hard to say. They took in many survivors fleeing the major cities during the first week of apocalypse. We're not getting as many groups coming in now though."
"Mostly children?"
"Of course."
"Where's all the food come from?"
"Well, Macon does have big box stores, you know; a super Wal-Mart and others, which the city grabbed early on."
"That won't last forever."
"Too right, that's why we're looking for a big farm come spring, or earlier."
"Wise decision, Gareth."
Gareth turned right after about four blocks then pulled over to the side of the road into an angled parking space and gestured for the Reaper to get out. "We're here."
To their right, was an open paved lot filled with several police cruisers and an emergency response vehicle. A large L shaped building occupied the far corner, and it was towards this, that Gareth led him. The front entrance was built up with sandbags to resemble a guard post and it was manned by two armed men, one of whom held a German shepherd on a leash and in the near distance, the Reaper could hear a generator running. As Jason moved closer, he saw the canine focus on Gareth and him, its attention alert and the muscles in its forearms and thighs tense, indicating a trained K-9 unit. The rifle in the other guards hand trained on him and Jason saw that it was a typical small police force AR-15.
"Bill. We're here to see the Chief if possible. I have someone that would like to meet him," said Gareth as they came to a stop. The Reaper made sure he made no sudden movements and that his body was relaxed, as the man Bill, the guard with the dog, responded.
"He's expecting you Gareth, and I'm sorry for your loss. A couple of our guys were near the area, but by the time they arrived it was already over."
"Thanks, I guess it's the thought that counts," commented Gareth ironically.
"I need you gentlemen to leave your weapons and equipment here," responded the guard, ignoring Gareth's comment. A low table was indicated and the Reaper carefully laid his rifle and munitions bag down, then his colt, and finally the machete strapped to his side. His rucksack he shrugged off and set on the ground beside the table after removing a packet from a side pouch, as Gareth did the same with his own weapons. A quick pat down was performed and they were finally allowed inside the well-lit interior where another guard waited for them.
"Follow me."
"Nice to see you also, Officer Michaels." Gareth ground out as they followed the uniformed officer deeper into the complex. "Officer Michael's insists on being called 'Officer Michael's' instead of by his first name Stan. He gets quite upset if you don't show him the respect he deserves," stage whispered Gareth to Jason.
"You're not funny, Gareth. Get in there, the Chief's are waiting for you two," scowled as he opened a side door and pointed inside.
Inside a large spacious office were three desks, two of which were occupied. Behind one was an older, heavyset balding man wearing the uniform of a Fire Chief and behind the other occupied desk was a muscular middle-aged man with short crew cut. This second man's uniform was that of a Police officer bearing the insignia of Chief of Police. Before their desks were several chairs and the Police Chief stood while indicating two chairs in front of the other.
"Thank you Officer Michael's that will be all. Gentlemen, have a seat plea
se. I do not recognize your friend, Gareth. By the way, I'm sorry for your loss, but please introduce us to your friend," he said indicating the Reaper.
"Thanks Chief. This is the Reaper; he just arrived, but has some major skills and helped us out in a tight jam when a herd moved in on our group. Reaper, this is Chief Ray Thomas and Chief Harley Dunnon," he said as he indicated each man in turn.
"Chief's," responded the Reaper as he shook each man’s hand, then handed over the packet containing his commission and orders. Slowly the others read the proffered documents before handing them back. There was silence for a moment before Thomas spoke.
"So you're a Captain in the military, and an advance scout. We know all about the rogue government and Newaygo. We have a shortwave receiver. It was from their general broadcasts we knew to secure a dairy farm, fuel supplies and plant all the edge of town nurseries. We also know the general status of America and that no help will be arriving anytime soon. What is it you're here for?"
"To take down this cult north of the city!" growled the Reaper.
"Good luck with that. You will need an army for they have some serious firepower. The compound they call Magog and there's no way to take it. We're barely holding on here against them."
"Magog?"
"Yes, Magog and they call themselves the Children of Mesoch and their leader refers to himself as Rho's, the prince of Mesoch. They claim to be descends of the original Magog, whatever that is.
"Ahhhh that explains everything." the Reaper murmured as he nodded.
"What do you mean?" asked Dunnon as he leaned forward in his chair.
"You do realize that they intend to eliminate you soon?" answered the Reaper with a question of his own. His stare was hard as he sized up both men.
"No, we do not know that! We currently have an armed truce which looks to last until at least spring." Chief Thomas had jumped into the conversation, and was glaring at the Reaper.
"They won't wait. They need to be taken out now."
"How do you know that?" Harley now asked in frustration.
The Reaper: No Mercy Page 28
