“I think so,” Foster said. “At least, the grandparents had the right idea.”
“What was the deal on them?” Sams asked. “I was a bit preoccupied when you were dealing with them.”
Foster chuckled. “You mean you were getting treatment for your sore butt and legs,” he corrected. “For a so-called badass Ranger, you sure spent a lot of time moaning about some bumps and bruises.”
“I wasn’t moaning.”
“Uh-huh. Nut-up, Army.”
“Whatever,” Sams muttered. “Next time you can be the one to have a bunch of bricks and rocks fall on you.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Foster said. “I just think it’s kind of funny.”
“You think it’s funny that I got hurt?”
“Sort of. You know, for all your jokes about cops being flatfoots, you were the one that got caught by that trap.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sams said. “Laugh it up while you can.”
“All kidding aside. I'm glad you weren't seriously hurt.”
“Wait a minute. Now you’re being nice to me. What’s your endgame here?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re not going to try and kiss me, are you?”
Foster laughed. “No chance in hell.”
“Come on, man. You know I’m the best-looking guy in the group.”
“That’s one man’s extremely biased opinion,” Foster replied. “Last time I checked, that doesn’t do a damn thing for me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
“No argument here,” Sam said. “Hey, you gonna fill me in on the kid and her grandparents, or what?”
“Right. So after I helped you get your sorry, bruised butt back to the house, Nick called on the walkie-talkie. He said that Olivia’s grandparents had shown up. Turns out they were from the Pottstown area.”
“How’d they know to come down?”
“You know, it was the damnedest thing. One of Olivia’s little brothers got worried about their mom. He managed to get a call through on their mom’s cell phone.”
“Somebody must have been looking out for them.”
“I’ll say. Cell reception has been spotty at best for days,” Foster said. “Not only did the call get through, but Grandma and Grandpa actually answered it. Turns out both of them were still alive and well. They managed to hop in their gas-guzzling SUV and make the trip from Pottstown to Olivia’s house.”
“That must have taken them a while.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it took them three times longer than normal.”
“Well, it is a hassle having to navigate around all of the car wrecks and wandering Reapers,” Sams pointed out. “Especially if you’re trying to avoid wrecking your ride.”
“No argument here. I didn’t actually meet Olivia’s grandparents. Nick and Lizzy did.”
“Gotcha. So should I ask them the story instead?”
“Only if you want the full version,” Foster said. “If you like, I can give you the quick and dirty version.”
“Might as well tell me what you know,” Sams replied. “It beats listening to all of the radio stations that aren’t broadcasting anything but canned messages.”
“Yeah, I miss listening to music on the radio, too,” Foster said. “Okay, the quick version it is. Turns out Olivia’s grandparents have a place up in the Poconos.”
“Poconos?”
“It’s a group of mountains. Pretty rural. A few hours from here.”
“Good to know.”
“Yeah, so her grandparents have a place near Jack Frost Mountain. They scooped up their daughter, the three grandkids, and packed them up in their SUV. They hung around long enough to thank Nick and Lizzy, and then they were on their way.”
“You think they made it there okay?”
“Hope so,” Foster said. “I hate to think otherwise. Lizzy did make it a point to slip Olivia her cell phone number.”
“Nice thought, but I’m not sure how much that'll help,” Sams said. “Especially since we're heading in the opposite direction.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Foster said. “Speaking of calls, I should probably put one in to the rest of the group.” He checked his rearview mirror and saw a Hyundai Tucson and Toyota Land Cruiser following him closely behind.
After much discussion, they’d settled on Charles, their elderly sage and former priest, driving the Tucson with their resident physician, Amanda, riding along. The two of them were definitely the least experienced fighters in the group. They’d compensated by putting the former Army Ranger Nick Walker and his wife, Lizzy, in the Land Cruiser. The married couple was happy to act as rear guard for their makeshift convoy. Knowing Nick as well as he did, their marital vows had likely included regularly practicing at the shooting range, as both of them were quite skilled with guns.
Foster was currently driving a Chevy Suburban. He’d worried a bit about the Reapers recognizing the vehicle again after some of the previous encounters where he had run over or away from their attacking packs in the early days.
Fortunately, they’d caught two lucky breaks. The first break came on one of their scavenging runs when they found several cans of spray paint. One hour and a hack repainting job later, the vehicle was now a dark green. Of course, that was before it had started to rain. Now Foster could only hope the new paint would turn out to be waterproof, too. If not, there was a good chance their vehicle could be quickly recognized by the Reapers again.
The second break had been earlier today. They had passed an Arby’s Restaurant on Route 202 South and spotted a small gun shop. The sign out front proudly announced they bought and sold guns. The group had decided to investigate after seeing the front door had been smashed in. There were bullet casings scattered through the floor and a long, dried blood smear near the cash register. It was where someone had likely tried to make a last stand and failed. Most of the store had been cleaned out, but when they investigated further, they had found nearly one hundred loose rounds of 5.56 ammunition sitting in a bucket in the back room. It was enough ammo to fill a few extra magazines for their AR-15s, which was greatly appreciated. The one hundred rounds was a drop in the proverbial bucket of what Foster would want them to have. The world they lived in now meant in order to feel fully protected against any future Reaper attacks, you’d want a full arsenal of weapons and ammo to repel the hostiles. Even so, the extra ammo was still an improvement in the right direction.
“It's getting pretty dark,” Sam said. “Any thoughts on pulling over and letting everyone grab some rest?”
“Sure,” Foster said. “We’ll look for a rest stop. Some place off the main highway that probably has been overlooked by the Reapers.”
“Let’s hope so. I don’t know of too many places they haven’t found yet.”
The walkie-talkie chirped aloud. “Foster, you there?”
“Yeah,” Foster answered. “What's up, Nick?”
“We should start thinking about finding a place to stop before it gets too dark.”
“Sams and I were just talking about the same thing.”
“Charles said there's a rest stop coming up soon. Some place called Smyrna.”
“Yeah, that might work,” Foster said. “We might be able to find some supplies there and hole up for the night.”
“Affirmative on the supplies,” Walker said. “But I doubt we’ll want to sleep outside the vehicles. If it’s like any other public rest stop, then it’s going to be difficult to find a secure location. Too many entrances and exits out of each of the buildings.”
“Good point,” Foster said. “All of us could really use a solid night of sleep.”
“Since I know where the rest stop is, did you want me to take the lead?” Charles asked. “It might be easier that way.”
Foster glanced at Sams, who nodded once. “Sure,” Foster said. “Just stay close to the rest of us so you don’t lose us.”
“I will,” Charles replied.
Sams chuckled. “
What you meant to say is, ‘stay close so we have a snowball’s chance of rescuing you if you get into trouble.’”
“No need. Charles already knows that,” Foster said. “Besides when have you ever known the man to be a risk-taker?”
“Good point.”
Foster watched as the Tucson sped up, passed him on the left, and moved back in front of him. The vehicle slowed down enough to maintain a twenty-foot cushion between them. The Tucson’s right turn signal went on, and Foster did the same. He glanced at the road sign approaching and saw they were nearing exit 119A. Foster checked his rearview mirror and saw Walker had followed his lead and was preparing to exit the roadway, too.
As their caravan of vehicles exited, the road eventually straightened out and Foster saw a new sign signaling they were now on Route 13. There was a road sign, which mentioned a Wawa convenience store and a McDonald’s were further ahead.
“Any chance he’s stopping for a Big Mac?” Sams asked.
“Not likely,” Foster said. “I can’t imagine anyone is still working in a restaurant these days.”
“That’s too bad.” Sams chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind having one again. Chalk that up as another thing the Reapers managed to ruin for everyone.”
Foster saw Charles pass a Shell gas station and then signal he was moving into the left lane. The Tucson slowed down enough to make a left turn. Foster followed suit, and as they pulled into the parking lot, he saw a sign that announced they had reached the Chauncey O. Simpson Memorial Rest Area. Foster parked and turned off the engine.
He began to look through the Suburban’s windows to check out their surroundings. There was some type of camping area to his left and an enclosed area to his right. In the distance, there appeared to be at least one tennis court that he could see. There didn’t appear to be anything moving in the growing darkness. Foster strained to hear any telltale growls or moans and heard nothing but silence.
Foster cued the walkie-talkie. “It’s really quiet,” he said. “I don’t see any signs of activity.”
“A Reaper-free rest stop,” Sams said from the passenger seat. “I can’t believe it.”
The walkie chirped, and then he heard Walker say, “Yeah, maybe. But we need to stay on our toes.”
Foster pressed the transmit button. “Looks like that building has glass windows. But without getting out and checking it, I can’t be certain if that’s the only vulnerability.” He released the button and waited for Walker’s reply.
“If it’s like a lot of rest stops, there's probably a bunch of glass windows and doors,” Sams added. “They would make it easy for Reapers to spot us and decide to charge through.”
“I’m not thrilled about trying to explore in the dark,” Walker answered. “I think it might be best for us to wait until morning in the vehicles.”
“I agree,” Foster transmitted. “Everybody stays in the vehicles. We maintain some type of security. Maybe two people staying on lookout and switching it up every two hours. If they spot any Reapers coming our way, they wake the rest of us. Then we deal with the hostiles or just drive out of here.” He released the transmit button and waited.
The walkie chirped in response, and Foster heard Walker say, “Sounds like a plan. I’m going to switch vehicles before one of my eardrums falls out.” There was a loud thud in the background, and then Walker said, “Why’d you punch me?”
“Because you were being a jerk,” Lizzy said. “Not everybody likes riding in a truck in dead silence for hours.”
“Like I said, Lizzy is looking forward to talking with her best friend,” Walker said calmly. “I’m going to make that happen. This is Walker, signing off.”
Chapter Two
Horatio Beeks had once heard the line “It’s good to be the king” in a movie. The movie’s name escaped him at the moment, but it was quite fitting for describing his current life. It seemed like almost yesterday that he was just another death row inmate who had nothing to look forward to except when the powers that be decided it was time to execute him.
Unlike some of his prison peers, Beeks had given up a long time ago the idea of ever being able to atone for all of his sins. There were far too many criminal things he’d done in his past. He had serious doubts that any divine being would be willing to forgive everything he’d ever done wrong. He couldn’t blame them, either.
The humans had began to call his children Reapers. He actually liked the name. It made them sound as dangerous as they actually were.
The transformation had left him bigger, faster, and stronger than ever before. He had even gained the ability to heal from nearly any injury. And he’d gone from being a death row convict to the leader of millions of personal minions.
Of course, a crown never rests easily on any king’s head. Beeks was constantly worrying about potential threats to his Alpha position at the head of his giant pack.
But right now, that was the farthest thing from his mind, because he was staring at an underling groveling in front of him. The soldier was doing everything it knew how to demonstrate its loyalty and appease its master. Especially since both of them knew he’d failed to complete his mission.
“What do you mean, you lost them?” Beeks asked in a low growl. “You were supposed to follow them and see where they were going.”
“I-It was more than a few humans, my Lord,” the soldier stammered. “They used those machines to move away quicker than we could follow.”
“They’re called trucks, you idiot,” Beeks taunted. “Maybe you can remember that the next time your fur-covered head sees a pack of humans.”
“Y-yes, my Lord.”
“Did you think to call ahead? Tell anyone else in the family that you needed help?” Beeks snarled. “We had Foster and his group cornered. And you let them escape.”
The soldier said nothing and slunk even lower on the floor.
“He was afraid of them,” a new voice said. A moment later, it added, “My Lord.”
Beeks turned toward the voice to see who dared to interrupt. It was one of his soldiers. Beeks studied the minion. It held the appropriate revered position, and yet it still emanated a strong, confident vibe. Beeks couldn’t help but wonder why this soldier wasn’t cowering in fear like most of its peers.
Beeks turned his attention back to the minion kneeling in front of him. “Is this true?” Beeks growled.
A whimper came out of the throat of the cowering soldier. A small yellow puddle began to form under its legs.
“You disgust me,” Beeks said. “Get out of my sight.”
“Yes, master.” The soldier yelped and began backpedaling away while still staying bent over. As soon as it reached the open doorway, it turned and fled the room.
Beeks turned his attention back to the soldier who had spoken out of turn. The minion was still holding the proper position without any reluctance or fear.
“What is your name?” Beeks said softly.
The soldier began to answer in a series of growls and grunts.
“Not your former name,” Beeks said. “Your new name.”
The soldier said nothing.
“You have not been given one yet. Have you?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Very well,” Beeks said. “I shall call you… Achilles.”
“It is a nice name,” the soldier said politely. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“Rise, Achilles,” Beeks said. “Let us speak frankly.”
The soldier stood upright and looked Beeks directly in the eyes.
Beeks felt a brief moment of uneasiness as he saw those yellow eyes staring back at him so intently. He was far more used to his minions doing everything they could to avoid making direct eye contact with him.
“Achilles,” Beeks said slowly, “this is an opportunity for you to gain status in the pack. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Go with some of your other brothers and sisters. Find these humans. Find this one who answers to the name Foster.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Achilles said. “I will not let you down.”
“And once you find them?”
“Yes, master?”
“You are to report in,” Beeks continued. “Do not engage. Is that clear?”
“As you command, it shall be.”
“Good. This Foster, he is a very important human,” Beeks said. “I do not want him killed by any hand except my own.”
“You promised,” a voice roared out loud. “And now you break your word?”
Beeks and Achilles turned toward the new arrival. Several other soldiers dropped their heads at the arrival of the new red-eyed elite soldiers. Beeks growled in frustration. Malice had arrived with a flourish, his red cape flowing freely behind him. The last thing he wanted was to be upstaged, and his elite soldier had managed to do exactly that.
“Fos-ter is mine,” Malice said loudly. “Do you understand that, mutt?”
“His name is Achilles,” Beeks interrupted. “And he is to follow my orders, not yours. Do you dare challenge my command?”
“Not at all, my Lord,” Malice said, flashing what might pass as a pasted-on smile. “I stand corrected.” He turned his attention to Achilles and flashed his fangs. “Do you understand our master’s orders?”
“Yes, I do,” Achilles said. “I have no quarrel with you, Malice. I only seek to serve our master.”
“Then I suggest you go do what he asked,” Malice countered. “Go on, mutt. Before our esteemed leader grows tired of your mongrel presence and decides to end your filthy existence.”
Achilles turned toward their master, nodded once, and then quietly stood and left the room.
Malice waited until Achilles left before he dropped onto one knee.
Beeks turned his attention toward his elite soldier and stared fiercely into its eyes. He glared until he felt Malice look downward uncomfortably. Beeks felt a small burst of pleasure. Malice might feel comfortable bullying others lower in the pack order, but he was not ready to challenge Beeks as Alpha.
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