The Wretched Series | Book 4 | Wretched Aftermath

by Michaels, E. G.

Lizzy silently swore at herself. If Nick were here, he’d scold her for being too eager. She should have waited until the man presented himself more fully in her view. More bullets continued to fly, and she crouched down as low as she could. She could only hope that they could hold their position until Nick or Sams made it back to help them.

  Beeks had been taking a nap on his throne when he heard a noise in the hallway. He sat up in time to see the guard he’d tasked to fetch Angel had finally returned. This time, he had brought two warriors with him. The three of them were forcibly dragging Angel into the throne room.

  “Let me go,” she screeched.

  The guards dropped her unceremoniously in the middle of the room.

  Beeks looked at the soldiers quizzically. “I asked you to bring her here. Care to explain why it took you so long to complete such a simple task?”

  “Master, she wasn’t in her room,” the guard answered. “It took us a while to find out where she had run away to.”

  “I was walking around.” Angel growled. “And these thugs grabbed me—”

  “Shut up,” Beeks interrupted.

  “You have no right to talk to me that—”

  “I said shut up!” Beeks roared. “When you are in my presence, you will show me the proper respect. Including knowing when you should speak. Now, kneel.”

  “No,” Angel snarled back. “I kneel before no one.”

  “I said, kneel,” Beeks growled. He reached out and grabbed her mind mentally, beginning to apply pressure. Beeks watched as her face slowly squinted in pain.

  Angel reached out with one hand to her head, then the other, clutching her own skull. A low groan came out of her mouth, and she started to rock on her feet.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Beeks warned. “Kneel before your master.”

  Two of the guards stepped forward, grabbing Angel by the shoulders and forcing her down onto one knee. She resisted at first, and then Beeks applied a little more pressure until he felt her mind begin to submit. The third guard pushed her head forward so that she was staring at the floor.

  “Excellent,” Beeks said. “You will learn. I am your King. You will do as I say, just like everyone in your family obeys. Do you understand me?”

  Angel said nothing.

  “I said, do you understand me?” Beeks roared.

  “Yes,” Angel said grudgingly.

  “Good. I am sending you on a hunt.”

  “I don’t want to go hunting.”

  “Fine. You’ll go on a mission instead.”

  “A mission?” Angel’s head popped up as she made eye contact with Beeks. Her head tilted instinctively to the side out of curiosity.

  “Interesting,” Beeks thought to himself. “Her old memories recognize the word. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.”

  “Yes, a mission,” Beeks continued. “There is a group of hostiles who have taken up arms against our family.”

  “Go on,” Angel said.

  “They are nearby in a fortified structure,” Beeks said. “I’m sending you with some of your pack mates to investigate.”

  “And do what?”

  “Well, to talk with them, of course,” Beeks said, with the most convincing smile he could muster. “If they won’t listen to reason, then follow your pack mates’ lead on how to best handle it. Do you understand what I ask of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you obey me?”

  Angel said nothing and looked away.

  Beeks reached out telepathically, grasped her mind, and squeezed it once forcibly. “I said, will you obey me?”

  “All right,” she yelped.

  Beeks watched as Angel rubbed the sides of her skull. He paused a moment for dramatic effect before saying, “Excellent. Go with them, and make your family proud.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Foster had moved away from the attic floor entrance, but it hadn't seemed to make much of a difference on the Reaper activity below them. The monsters had spent the entire night moving beneath them. At some point, the men had taken two-hour shifts of sleeping and keeping watch.

  Even now, the Reapers were still making noise. But it had somehow escalated in the last fifteen minutes. Now it sounded like something was slamming into a wall. Based on how crazed he’d seen the monsters could get, he wouldn’t put it past them that they were trying to knock down the fucking walls and bring the attic crashing down to the second floor.

  The good news was the attic was mostly finished with wood flooring and drywall. The space seemed to be fairly well ventilated so they wouldn’t need to worry about heat stroke while being trapped here. There was some natural lighting provided by a skylight that Gregory informed him had come with the house. The bad news was there didn’t appear to be working electricity in the room. Foster wasn’t sure if it was something as simple as a tripped circuit breaker. But he wasn’t about to try going through an unknown number of Reapers below them to reach the basement and find out.

  Despite the weak lighting, he had managed to reload both of his weapons and take some loose ammo he had in his vest to top off his magazines. He glanced over toward the opposite side of the attic. Gregory was there, frantically talking into the walkie-talkie. From the gestures he was making, Foster wasn’t sure it was going well. He watched the man lower the walkie-talkie and come back slowly toward them.

  “Problem?” Foster asked.

  “You could say that,” Gregory answered. “Gun shop’s under attack.”

  “What?”

  “Amanda and Lizzy are holding out. Nick and Sams are on their way back to assist.”

  “Reapers?” Charles asked.

  “Guardians,” Gregory said. “They must’ve found their location somehow.”

  “So we’re on our own,” Charles said softly. “There’s nobody who can help us right now.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ve been in worse situations,” Foster answered. “Can I get my light back?”

  “Sure,” Gregory said. He handed the Eotech M914 vision monocular back.

  Foster took the night-vision optic and began to slowly pan around the attic, taking a closer look than he had before. He was hoping he’d see something with the monocular that he’d overlooked before. As he scanned the room, Foster noticed most of the space had been renovated with wood flooring and drywall installed.

  “You redo the attic yourself?” Foster asked.

  “Previous owner,” Gregory replied. “He was turning this space into a home office when he lost his job. It didn’t take long for him to get behind on the mortgage. Eventually, he sold this place to my wife and me.”

  “I think you did him a kindness,” Charles said. “You paid his asking price. He was able to avoid foreclosure. Perhaps even financial ruin.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Gregory said. “I always meant to finish this space, but never got around to it. There’s always been more months than money to do things.”

  “That’s true for most people,” Foster admitted. His eyes stopped on the cedar chest once more. “What’s in the chest?” he asked.

  “Some old blankets. My wife stuck them up here when the kids grew tired of them. I probably should get rid of them. But it’s one of those things. You get busy with other stuff and just getting through the daily grind. And those little minor things just get pushed off to the next day and then the next. And before you know it, you completely forget about doing that little chore.”

  “I think it’s safe to say you’ve had bigger fish to fry until now,” Foster quipped. As he slowly worked his way in a circle around the space, he passed one corner of the house with the light playing tricks with the shadows, then brought the light back. There was something in that corner, but he wasn’t sure what. He took two careful steps toward it, trying to place his feet to make sure he didn’t miss a step, then shined the light back in a corner.

  “What’s the black cord?” Foster asked as he pointed to a black cable in the corner.

  “Oh, that’s for the satellite dis
h. We got Direct TV in the house.”

  “Uh-huh,” Foster said. “So where’s the dish?”

  “Well, on the roof, of course. Where else would you put it?”

  Foster followed the black cord up the wall until his eyes stopped on where the cord exited the roof next to the large skylight in the middle of the ceiling. A plan began to quickly form in his mind. “Maybe we’re not stuck here after all,” he said slowly. “I think I’ve got a way to get us out of here.”

  Thirty minutes later, Foster had a clear plan formed. He’d already gone over it twice with Gregory and Charles. Even so, he was a little nervous that both men would remember and execute their parts correctly.

  “Okay, I think we’re ready,” Foster said. “Are you both clear on what you need to do?”

  “Of course,” Gregory answered. “When we hear things go boom and the Reapers run out to check it, we head right for the truck and don’t stop for anything.”

  “Good,” Foster answered. “Who’s driving?”

  “My dad,” Gregory said. “I’ll cover him.”

  “Good, protect each other. A few minutes from now, we should all be in the Tahoe.”

  “I guess,” Gregory answered. “I still think we could all go out the skylight.”

  “I thought of that,” Foster said. “The problem is getting all of us off the roof without drawing attention. Don’t worry. My plan will work.”

  “I think it will,” Charles said. He nervously clenched and unclenched his hands.

  “I’m ready,” Foster answered. “Just take your time.”

  “Don’t worry,” Gregory answered. “I’ll help my dad to the exit and then come back to help you.”

  Foster watched the two men move into position by the attic’s folding steps. The Reaper activity had calmed down somewhat below them, but it was obvious the monsters were still in the vicinity.

  Foster glanced back at the desk they had positioned directly under the skylight. They had stacked two chairs and the cedar chest on top of it, forming an impromptu pyramid that Foster had already climbed up. There was still a little bit of glass from breaking out the skylight. Gregory had initially objected to the idea of busting up a perfectly good skylight in his own home. But once Foster pointed out that they hadn’t been able to raise anyone to help them on the radio all night and why he needed to get up onto the roof, the man had reluctantly agreed.

  Hopefully he didn’t get cut when he climbed through onto the roof. He patted his pocket to make sure the Gerber Gear was still there. It had been a great find in his recent scavenging efforts. He’d need it for the next step of his plan.

  Gregory handed him a folded blanket. Foster accepted it and draped it across the frame of the broken skylight. He carefully pulled himself up and onto the roof, feeling his body armor brush against the blanket. Foster climbed onto the roof and did a quick check of his body. There was a new tear in his sleeve, but that was it. He said a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn’t gotten cut by any glass shards.

  “You all right?” Gregory called from below.

  “Yeah. Toss the rope, please.”

  Foster saw the handmade rope sail up through the opening and grabbed it before it could fall back down.

  “Got it,” he answered.

  Foster glanced at the rope. It was composed of several blankets they had found in the cedar chest. Hopefully, it would be strong enough for what he had planned.

  Foster took a quick look around him. The Reapers were still gathered by the back door and a few by the car. He worked his way over to the satellite dish. It was time for stage two of his plan.

  “Are you guys in position?” Foster asked over the comms. He carefully pushed the screwdriver back into his Gerber Gear and put it back in his pocket. Once again, the multi-tool had been a difference maker. The satellite dish was now lying by his feet with its base still attached to the roof. He had tied one end of the homemade rope to the dish’s base. The metal structure appeared to be bolted securely to the roof.

  “Yes,” Gregory answered. “Just waiting for your signal.”

  “Got it,” Foster said. “Starting now.” He picked up the detached satellite dish. The pure metal dish was large, but still lightweight. He picked it up and turned in the opposite direction from where Charles and Gregory were going to need to exit. Foster reared back and threw the dish like a frisbee off the house. He watched as the metal disc spun through the air. The metal object sailed downward until it impacted a nearby parked car with a loud bang. Almost immediately, the car’s alarm began sounding off. Foster watched as the Reapers began to move toward the noise. One Reaper rushed toward it. Then two more appeared. Then five. And suddenly there were two dozen monsters surrounding the vehicle, trying to get into it. Foster grabbed the homemade rope and gave it a final tug. It still felt secure. He hustled toward the edge of the roof. He was counting on the other men getting to the truck safely. It would do him no good to get off the roof and not have the vehicle to get into. Foster dropped the rope over the side of the house and began descending. Something groaned above him, and he moved down a bit quicker. It was a gamble that the blankets would hold his weight without tearing. But from the sound of things, the satellite’s base might come out of the roof first. As he worked his way downward, the rope didn’t reach completely to the ground. He slowly climbed down to the end of the blanket rope and let his body hang as far as he could, and then released his grip. As his feet hit the ground, Foster bent his knees and immediately tucked and rolled to help break his fall.

  He came up looking around him. There was a sound of gunfire nearby, and he drew his rifle and rushed toward it. There were a handful of Reapers still around the truck, and he saw his friends were in the midst of battle with them.

  Foster sighted on a Reaper. The monster hadn’t seen him yet, and Foster seized the opportunity. He fired once, striking the monster in the back of the head. There was an immediate exit of brain matter from the front of its head, and the Reaper immediately dropped face-first onto the ground. He adjusted his aim, sighting on another monster that still didn’t realize its peer was dead. Foster fired once more, scoring another kill shot.

  A third Reaper, hearing the new gunfire, turned toward, him. The creature let out a growl and Foster fired a double-tap, striking the monster in the neck and in the cheek. The Reaper did a pirouette of death before collapsing onto the ground, lifeless.

  “Get in the truck!” Foster shouted. He continued to fire, working his way there. He saw Gregory climb into the back of the Tahoe and worked his way to the passenger door. Two Reapers were left in the immediate vicinity, and Foster fired quickly, killing one and wounding the other. A loud roar sounded out nearby, and a dozen Reapers came rushing back around the corner. Foster opened the door to the Tahoe, jumped in, and slammed the door behind him, immediately engaging the door locks. “Drive, drive, drive!” he shouted. He felt the Tahoe surge forward. A moment later, two Reapers slammed into the back of the SUV, and the vehicle shook on its frame momentarily before gaining speed and beginning to distance itself from the oncoming horde of monsters.

  “Damn, that was close,” Gregory said.

  “Too close,” Charles said. “Back to the gun shop?”

  “Absolutely,” Foster said. “Now, let’s go make sure the girls and kids are okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  For nearly two decades, Haas had lifted heavy weights. Especially in prison, where being bigger and stronger than most men granted you additional respect. At his previous best, he had been stronger than an ox, but couldn’t run more than a few blocks before needing to stop for a breather. Like many hardcore weightlifters, he had always despised doing any form of cardio, too.

  But all of that changed with his transformation. It was amazing the things he could ask of his body now. He had just run from one end of town to the other, a long distance that his mind or his mindset called miles, and he hardly felt winded. He pulled up to a stop in front of a trio of Reapers. And as he did
, each one chose to look down or away instead of making eye contact with him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to report the human Foster and his friends managed to elude us.”

  “What? Was my order not clear?” Haas growled. “I told you not to let them leave.”

  “They were, sir. It’s just the humans—”

  “Yes?” Haas interrupted.

  “They were armed. We lost many of our pack mates trying to stop them.”

  “This is unacceptable,” Haas said as his voice gradually rose in volume. “You had several dozen pack mates, and you failed to stop two humans.”

  “I-it was actually three of them.”

  “I don’t care.” Haas snarled.

  A series of low whimpers sounded from the soldiers.

  “You disappoint me,” Haas said. He reached out and mentally touched all of their minds. He gave a small squeeze to each one of them. The minions grabbed their heads as one and dropped to the ground in pain. He immediately released the hold. He wanted them motivated, not dead. Dead soldiers were of no use to him right now. Not when he still needed to find this damn human and his friends.

  “Get up,” he hissed. “Find the humans, or next time I will not be so forgiving.”

  “Yes, sir.” The soldiers scrambled to their feet and scattered in different directions.

  Haas sighed. He didn’t know which way Foster and his group went. He doubted his soldiers did, either. They were damn near back at square one. Hopefully, he’d find a new lead before Beeks contacted him again. Because the last thing he wanted to do was give that overbearing asshole any more bad news.

  Silas was furious. These women were quickly becoming a serious pain in his ass. Two of his men had been gunned down trying to charge up the stairs. A third one lay at the base of the stairs, bleeding from a light scalp wound where a bullet likely grazed him. The bullet wound in the man’s leg was much more serious. The poor schmuck caught a bullet ricocheting in the firefight. Of course, it didn’t really matter to Silas how the man got shot. Based on the growing pool of blood underneath the man, Silas doubted the guy was going to live. He watched unemotionally as his lone uninjured shooter was trying to stanch the blood flow of his injured squad mate.