The Wretched Series | Book 4 | Wretched Aftermath

by Michaels, E. G.

A chorus of no’s sounded out besides him.

  “Great,” Foster muttered. He began patting his pockets. The penlight that he usually kept in his pocket was missing. He must’ve dropped it in his hurry to get back to the attic. He reached down, felt for his rifle, and worked his way to the attached scope. He activated the light and then detached it from the rifle, shining it around the attic space.

  “Do you think they’ll go away on their own?” Charles asked.

  “Let’s hope so,” Foster said. “Otherwise, we could be stuck here until someone comes looking for us.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Achilles came to a stop, his chest hitching from exertion. He looked to his left and then to his right. His soldiers had managed to stay close to him. It was admirable, because he had been running for several hours and had finally reached their destination. He stared at a sign. There were various symbols and letters on it. As he continued to study the sign, words began to form in his mind.

  It said the Chauncey O. Simpson Memorial Rest Area, but he wasn’t sure why he was able to understand the letters on the plaque. The more he thought about this unrealized skill, the more his head began to hurt. It was probably best not to try and use that ability again. Not unless he really had to. Achilles took in his surroundings. It was a quiet scene. There was nothing happening here. Achilles looked around slowly. From the looks of it, there hadn’t been any activity at all in days.

  There were a number of decaying bodies of Reapers killed at some point here. Of course, with the way things had played out, it wasn’t like there was going to be anyone cleaning up after the gunfight anytime soon, either.

  “Search,” Achilles ordered. “Find any humans that are here and bring them to me.”

  “Yes, sir,” the grunts answered as one.

  He watched as a dozen of his soldiers spread out and began exploring. Achilles let out a low growl of frustration. It had been a complete waste of his time to come down here. Just like Haas had said it would be. And if he was being honest with himself, he had the same thought, too. A small voice in the back of his mind suggested it was a circle jerk. He wasn't sure what exactly it meant. Maybe it was getting sent to do something in a circle? Achilles dismissed the thought and began to walk slowly toward one of the buildings. He might as well help with the search. It might distract him from thinking about this fruitless journey.

  A new voice in his head completely shattered his train of thought.

  “Achilles, where are you?”

  Achilles froze in mid-step. He felt his teeth clench and quickly forced his jaw to relax. “Yes, my Lord,” he replied in his mind.

  “What’s going on?” Beek asked. “I want to know what you see.”

  “We just arrived at the rest stop a few minutes ago,” Achilles answered mentally. “I have my warriors searching the grounds now. But it’s very quiet. There doesn’t appear to be any humans here.”

  “Huh, maybe he retreated.”

  Achilles said nothing.

  “Do you think you’ll find anything?”

  “We will do a complete search,” Achilles said calmly.

  “That’s not what I asked you,” Beeks said. “What do you think you’ll find?”

  “I don’t believe we’ll find any recent human activity here, my Lord,” Achilles answered. He decided to take a small chance and hope his master would be agreeable. “Shall we return back to the den?”

  “No,” Beeks answered. “Do a complete search there, and make sure Foster and his group aren’t hiding somewhere. After you’re done, I want you to go back to the farm, where we encountered Foster before.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” Achilles asked hopefully. He really didn’t want to do another long journey so soon. “That’s quite a distance away.”

  “Do I sound like I’m not sure?” Beeks challenged.

  “No, my Lord. It’s just—”

  “I didn’t ask you to think, Achilles. I asked you to do.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Achilles said. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  “Let me know the first sign of seeing Foster or any news you might have for me.”

  “Of course, my Lord.”

  Achilles felt the connection break, and then Beeks was gone from his mind. A thought flashed into his mind, and he immediately dismissed it. He wasn’t sure he could remember what a waste of time might be, but he had a feeling it was probably something like this.

  Achilles looked down and saw his claws were digging into his hands. He forced himself to open his fists and watched as the cuts quickly healed up.

  Backtracking to where Foster had been how many days before was likely another dead end. But it wasn’t his place to argue with his master. And as long as he continued to follow orders and do what was expected of him, then Achilles was assured of staying in his master’s good graces.

  Beeks endlessly tapped his claws on the arm of his throne. He’d given out marching orders to several groups of fighters he recently sent out. He’d checked in with Achilles and was confident the Alpha would continue his needle-in-a-haystack search for Foster. Beeks’ mind shifted to Angel. He needed to figure out what to do with her. He had mentioned going for a hunt, but she seemed strongly against the idea. Maybe she wasn’t ready to spend time with him. Perhaps she needed to go with some of her pack mates instead.

  That might work.

  It could act like a form of shock therapy. Her primal instincts would kick in and take over, suppressing her old ways for good and introducing her to the preferred way of living as one of his flock. It was definitely worth a shot. Especially since he could dump the task onto his underlings to do.

  “You,” Beeks said, turning to one of his guards.

  “Sir?” the guard said questioningly.

  “I want you to bring me the new female.”

  The guard tilted his head to the side.

  “Angel,” Beeks growled. He made it a point to menacingly show his teeth. “Bring her here. Now.”

  The guard visibly gulped. “Of course, sir. Right away, Master.” He spun around and scurried out of the room with his tail tucked between his legs.

  Beeks waited until the minion had left the room to smile deeply. It was good to be the unquestioned master of his own domain.

  Haas stalked toward the main street like a former human pissed off at the world. It was bad enough that he was on some fool’s errand trying to find a group of humans. It was even worse that they had to move on foot to do it. A small, nagging voice in the back of his head kept telling him there was a form of transportation he could be using called an automobile.

  But his instincts would override that voice each time, telling him it wasn’t the best way for him to pursue his prey. Of course, if he was being honest, he wasn’t chasing after his own prey. He didn’t know this Foster guy from any other human he might cross paths with. It was Beeks’ prey. But like it or not, ever since he was forced to bend knee and submit, it meant that he was Beeks’ personal bitch. And his new master’s wishes had become his own.

  Haas just couldn’t understand why Horatio was so bent out of shape about a couple of humans. Beeks had millions of Reaper soldiers. What were a handful of humans in comparison?

  A pack of his warriors were running toward him. They slowed to a stop, and two of his soldiers immediately dropped to one knee in front of him. The rest froze, unsure if they were required to bow to him like Beeks demanded.

  Haas mentally dismissed the issue. He’d address it later. Right now he had more pressing matters than doing follow-up training with some of his warriors.

  “Report,” Haas said aloud. “And cut right to the chase.”

  “Sir, we don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Haas growled in displeasure. “Fine. Skip the formalities and tell me what I want to know.”

  “Oh, magnificent leader—”

  “Where is this Foster?” Haas interrupted.

  “We’re not sure, sir,” one of them stammered. “Fos-ter ha
s eluded us.”

  “How?” Haas said. “Weren’t you supposed to be looking for them?”

  A soldier who had begun to speak whimpered in fear. A small yellow puddle began to form underneath them.

  Haas felt a moment of disgust. “Get out of my face, you coward,” he roared. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

  “No, sir,” another soldier answered. “Just tell me what you want us to do, and I’ll make sure it happens.”

  Haas noticed the warrior was maintaining eye contact with him. Finally, one of his troops was showing a backbone. “Good,” he said. “It’s a couple of weakling humans. It shouldn’t be too hard to find them in this flea ball town.”

  “We know where the other humans are.”

  “I don’t care,” Haas answered. He reached out mentally to his soldiers and projected an image into their heads. He watched several of his soldiers stiffen at his response. “This is what this Foster looks like. Find him. But do not attack. Tell me as soon as you see him or his people.”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldiers answered together.

  Haas flashed two more images in their minds. “These are the way they move about. They are called trucks.”

  “Rucks?”

  “Close enough. You see them or Foster, tell me immediately.”

  The chorus of yips and growls sounded out.

  “Dismissed,” Haas said. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Beeks tapped impatiently on the arm of his throne. The guard still hadn’t returned with Angel. He glanced at the nearby wall and realized there wasn’t anything on there to signal how long he’d been waiting. He looked around his throne room. There wasn’t a clock to be found on any of the walls. But then a clock was something that humans needed to worry about. And he was no longer one of them. He’d become something else. Something better.

  Beeks let out a loud growl and heard a whimper from elsewhere in the room. He was tired of waiting. “Enough,” he snarled. Beeks stood up and stormed out of his throne room.

  He slowed his pace a little and walked carefully through his domain, watching quietly as his soldiers dropped to one knee and bowed in his presence. A few skittered away out of fear of facing their unquestioned leader. Beeks decided to let the lack of immediate respect being shown go for now. It was more important to him to check on the new addition to his family than discipline every minor infraction that may have happened along the way. With a growing family, he could spend every waking hour dealing with the petty crap and get absolutely nothing else done.

  Beeks stopped outside a private dwelling. There wasn’t any door there. None of the rooms in his domain had one for that matter. Something as simple as doorknobs had presented a puzzle that most of his minions had not been able to solve on their own. He’d discovered in talking with Haas that his soldiers had struggled with the same issue, too.

  Haas. That was another one of his recent problems. He’d have to figure out how to get him to be more cooperative in a consistent manner. Beeks silently groaned. He was a mass murderer, not a manager. It wasn’t that long ago people called him the Leola Butcher. He’d killed seven people before the police had finally caught him. Once in jail, he murdered four other inmates and hospitalized another seven others. Those men had been foolish enough to challenge his authority or had tried to kill him. But in this new world that he’d help create, he couldn’t just kill everyone who didn’t cooperate with him completely.

  Beeks turned his attention back to the task at hand. He stepped into the room and saw Angel was sitting in the corner of the room. He immediately felt a wave of anger rush over him. He couldn’t believe it. She was here in her room. So where the hell was the guard he sent to fetch her? The sheer incompetence was mind-boggling. When he caught up with the soldier he’d sent to retrieve Angel, that minion was going to wish he’d never been born.

  He turned his attention back to the former pilot. Angel’s back was toward the corner of the room and her legs were folded in front of her. Her arms were clasped around herself, as she rocked slowly to and fro.

  A way of annoyance swept over him, and he fought to get it under control. “Angel, what’s wrong?” Beeks said with what he hoped sounded like a caring voice.

  “My head,” she answered. “It won’t stop hurting.”

  “You’re hungry,” Beeks said. “Have you tried any of the food that was offered?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can. It’s meat.”

  “It doesn’t taste right.”

  “If you don’t want to eat what we are offering, then you need to hunt for your own prey.”

  “I-I’m not sure how.”

  “You need to feed,” Beeks said gently. “Maybe you could go out with some others to go hunting.”

  “No,” Vasquez growled. “Leave me alone.”

  Beeks did a double-take. How could this previously quiet creature show such a strong reaction?

  “I could punish you, but I won’t,” Beeks said, choosing his words carefully, “because we’re a family. I’m gonna give you some time to think about what you’ve said. And how you’ve been so disrespectful to your family and me. When I come back, I expect you to be ready to go.”

  He turned and left the room without waiting for her answer.

  Angel waited for Beeks to leave the room. It had been a close call getting back before he arrived. Too damn close. It was pure luck that she’d overheard one of the guards asking another if they’d seen her, because they’d been ordered to retrieve her. That’s all it took for her to realize that she couldn’t risk being caught sneaking around right now. So she had carefully retraced her steps to her room. She’d made it with just a few minutes to spare before the leader of her so-called family showed up unannounced.

  Angel silently scolded herself. She had to be more careful. Because her gut feeling was things might go badly for her if she was caught wandering around without this Beeks character’s blessing.

  “General, do you have a report?” Vickers asked.

  “Yes. Several Tier-1 operator reports have suggested that the armored Reapers—”

  “You mean the more developed ones?”

  “I suppose that’s as good a way as any to describe them.”

  “Sorry I interrupted,” Vickers said. “Please continue.”

  “Of course. The more developed Reapers will turn their bodies or curl up into a ball to absorb incoming damage.”

  “Using this armor like a shield?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “Indeed. Our men are reporting they are having a harder time killing these armored hostiles,” Weindahl said. “There have been some reports of these Reapers rolling like a ball toward our troops before launching themselves airborne like a tiger pouncing on its waiting prey.”

  “Jesus. That thing would scare the shit out of me if I saw it coming my way.”

  “I’m sure most people would feel that way, Madam President,” Weindahl said. “This development has definitely affected troop morale. But even so, it has created an opportunity for an effective counterattack.”

  “Really? Finally something that might pass as good news.”

  “If you say so, ma’am. They are still difficult to kill. But while the Reapers are rolling, they appear to be limited in their mobility. Several Tier-1 operators have been able to sidestep the potential attack and execute a close-quarters counterstrike when the Reapers come to a stop and begin to return to a normal posture.”

  “Like a knife or sword strike?”

  Weindahl chuckled lightly. “Perhaps on a TV show. Our operators are resorting to a simple shot to the head to eliminate the threat.”

  “What about their healing abilities for these things?”

  “The normal Reapers? Or the more advanced ones? All types of Reapers do indeed have a highly-accelerated healing rate.”

  “Any difference between the two different types?”


  “We’re not sure,” Weindahl admitted. “According to our preliminary research, the Reapers have an enhanced healing system. One that allows them to heal up to fifty times faster. A cut that takes two days to heal appears to heal in a matter of minutes. The same accelerated healing is also true for other types of wounds.”

  “Right,” Vickers thought aloud. “If they heal that quickly, then it makes it even harder to kill them.”

  “Indeed. Which is why we’ve been forced to rely on head shots to kill them.”

  “What about the cop with the secret to killing these things?”

  “Officer Foster?”

  “Yeah, him. Anything new about him? Has he made it to Hope Island yet?”

  Weindahl went ramrod stiff. “I believe it’s still in the works.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “I’m not lying, Madam President.”

  “But you’re not being completely honest, either,” Vickers answered. “Rasheed, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Apparently, there was an issue with the boat they were going to use. They never got out of Rehoboth Beach.”

  “What the hell happened? And why am I just finding out?”

  “Details have been admittedly slow in coming in.”

  “Well, that’s the understatement of the day,” Vickers said sarcastically. “Care to tell me how we found out there was a problem?”

  “Apparently, SWAT Sergeant Black has a satellite phone.”

  “I’m surprised it wasn’t confiscated by the Rangers when he landed on Hope Island.”

  “Indeed,” Weindahl answered. “I suppose it’s good that they didn’t, because Officer Foster managed to call him on it and give him an update on their situation.”

  “And that update was?”

  “It’s challenging to say the least. They’re dealing with a Reaper presence along with a group of humans who appear to be sympathetic to the monsters.”

  “You have got to be shitting me.”