From what Achilles reported, there was no way they can match up pack against pack. Beeks had millions, and if Achilles’ report was accurate, they did not.
But what if his loyal soldier was wrong? What if Achilles had only seen a tiny fraction of Haas’s and Giles’s combined forces?
Beeks couldn’t rule it out. He immediately clenched his fists in a vain attempt to keep his anxiety in check.
Two other Alphas. They would likely overpower any of his ordinary soldiers. Maybe he could neutralize them by putting dozens or hundreds of his minions against them, but he wasn’t sure it would work. Especially if these other Alphas had thousands or even hundreds of thousands of soldiers at their command. He couldn’t risk losing everything he had built. Not now, when he was so close to gaining complete, unquestioned control over the entire United States.
Beeks dug his claws into his hands, trying to stave off a looming panic attack. He had one other red-eyed soldier at his command. Not a true-born Alpha like him, but Malice was still a powerful soldier. Of course, Malice was a hothead and completely consumed with avenging his fallen brother. Could Beeks trust him to step in front of this new threat to protect his master?
Beeks wasn't sure.
It was quite possible Malice would be too distracted chasing after that bothersome human, Foster, to protect his master. He wasn’t completely convinced if Malice crossed paths with Foster again that he’d win, either. After their last encounter, Malice had been forced to tuck tail and retreat. The next encounter could end with Malice crippled or dead.
The more Beeks thought about it, the more convinced he became that he was extremely vulnerable. He needed more loyal soldiers that could act as his field generals and carry out his orders without question. He could really use some bad-ass personal bodyguards, too. Someone who would literally step in front of a bullet in order to protect him. He had to assume that Haas and Giles were going to attack at some point. If the roles were reversed, that’s what Beeks would be planning to do.
Beeks turned and studied the soldier kneeling in front of him. Achilles hadn't been a member of his family very long, but he had already demonstrated more than once that he had courage and loyalty. Maybe he hadn't considered Achilles in the right light.
Beeks moved closer to the still kneeling soldier.
“Bend your neck to the side and hold still,” he mentally commanded.
Achilles tilted his head to the side as ordered.
Beeks grabbed Achilles by the shoulders, leaned in, and bit him on the neck.
The soldier yelped in pain.
“Hold still, my son,” Beeks commanded. “You have earned this.” Beeks focused his attention on what he was doing. He began to add some of his life force to his loyal minion’s.
A moment later, Beeks opened his jaw, stepped back, and stared at Achilles.
The soldier lifted his head up, opened his eyes, and stared with his new red eyes for the first time.
Beeks smiled.
“Rise, my son. You have earned a new place in my pack.”
Achilles rose and looked expectantly at his master.
“You will join your brother Malice in helping me to protect our family.”
“I will not fail you, my Lord,” Achilles said.
“I know that,” Beeks mentally said. “Get a feel for your new abilities. I will call for you soon. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, master.”
Beeks watched Achilles leave the room. He sat slowly onto his throne. The transformation had forced him to use some of his own personal life essence, and he was feeling a little weak right now.
But now he had another red-eyed soldier besides Malice. Two made Alphas. With the looming potential threat developing to the south, he needed the newly-enhanced Achilles now more than ever.
Chapter Thirteen
It had taken them far longer than Foster ever imagined to reach Gregory Powell’s house. It was nearly dinnertime as Foster watched Charles slowly approach the front door. The former priest seemed unusually nervous for visiting his son, and Foster couldn’t help but wonder if there was some unexplained reason why.
Charles leaned forward and knocked twice on the front door.
“Remind me again why he didn’t call his son and say we were in the neighborhood?” Sams asked.
“He did,” Foster replied. “Call went straight to voice mail.” He watched Charles pause for a silent count of three and then knock twice more.
A curtain slid sideways, and a face quickly peeked out. The curtain dropped back in place, and the sound of a lock disengaging sounded. The front door began to slowly open. A young, slender dark-haired woman peeked around the door, glanced at Charles, and then the rest of the group.
“Lauren, what a nice surprise. Can you let us in, please?” Charles asked. “It's not safe for us to be out here for long.”
“Where's mom?” Lauren said. There was a noticeable hard edge to her voice.
“Your mother didn't make it. She asked me to make sure that we—”
“Then you're not welcome here,” Lauren said before she slammed the door shut.
Charles stood there in shock.
“Daughter-in-law?” Foster asked.
“Daughter,” Charles said. “I wasn’t expecting her at my son’s house. Lauren and her husband live in Virginia Beach.”
“Knock again,” Foster said. “Maybe we can reason with her.”
“I doubt it. Once Lauren sets her mind on something, nothing short of an act of God will change it. I guess we should go, then.”
“Bullshit,” Foster said. “We don’t have time for this nonsense.” He stepped up to the door and knocked twice firmly.
The door flung open, and he saw Charles’s daughter standing there.
“I thought I told you—”
“I'm a cop. I’ve got five other people’s safety, including your father, that I need to worry about. I don’t care what bad blood there might be. I need you to curb that shit and let us in right now.”
“You can’t talk that way to me.”
“Watch me,” Foster said. He lowered his shoulder and bulled past the petite woman into the house.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Lauren said. “Randy, help me.”
A tall string bean of a man rushed into the room, holding a shotgun in his hands.
“Don’t shoot, I’m a cop,” Foster said as he dropped his hand onto his holstered Glock. “I’m here with Charles Powell and several other survivors.”
“What?”
“Hi, Randy,” Charles said. “It’s okay. Please lower the weapon.”
“Lauren, are you okay?” Randy yelled. “What happened?”
“They just barged in here. They don’t belong here,” Lauren said. She pointed toward her father. “Especially him.”
“Let me guess,” Foster said. “You're the son-in-law. Where’s Gregory?”
“Who the hell is this guy?” Randy demanded. “Is somebody gonna answer me?”
“My name is Malcolm Foster. I'm a cop from Philly. I brought your father-in-law along with a bunch of other people here. We just need a place to stay for the night. We don't mean any trouble.”
“Don’t want any trouble?” Lauren shouted. “He damn near knocked me to the floor. Baby, do something.”
“Lauren, can you please stop yelling?” Charles asked in a soothing voice.
“I can yell if I want to,” Lauren shouted back.
“Randy, point that thing someplace else,” Foster warned. “Or we’re gonna have a problem.”
“Evening, Charles,” an older male voice said. There was a casual southern drawl to it, and Foster’s eyes followed the voice to an elderly man walking into the room, leaning heavily on a quad cane. “Seems like it’s a bit nasty out there tonight.”
“Hello, Randall,” Charles said. “Yes, it is. Especially with those monsters wandering around. I brought some friends.”
“I see that,” Randall said. He glanced at Randy and said, “Bo
y, put that damn thing away. Your momma would roll in her grave if she saw you being so rude to your kin.”
“He’s not my kin,” Randy grumbled.
“He’s your wife’s father,” Randall lectured. “That makes him kin. Seeing that we’re enjoying the hospitality of his son’s home, the least you can do is act like you were raised with some manners.”
“Yes, Pa,” Randy mumbled. He lowered the shotgun and then added, “Sorry, mister.”
“Randy, don’t just stand there.” Lauren pouted. “He swore at me.”
“Now, honey, there’s no need to get so upset,” Randy said. “Especially since they made sure your dad got here safely.”
“Fine,” Lauren said. She started to the staircase, stopped, and then spun toward her husband. “You know what? Maybe you should sleep on the couch tonight.” She pivoted back toward the stairs and stomped upstairs.
“Lauren, wait—” Randy called after her. He paused for a moment and then looked around him to gauge everyone else’s reactions. “You'll have to forgive my wife,” he said softly. “She's got a bit of a temper sometimes.”
“She’s been known to hold a bit of a grudge, too.” Charles chuckled.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Randy admitted. “I’m sure she’ll be over it by morning.”
“I took the liberty of locking the front door,” Sams said. “Everything all right in here?”
“Yes. Randy, meet Derrick Sams,” Charles said smoothly. “Randy is my son-in-law.”
“Hey, nice to meet you,” Sams said as he offered his hand, which Randy accepted. “Got any food, man? I hate to ask, but it’s been a long trip to get here.”
Foster saw someone new quietly enter the room. The sweatshirt-wearing man looked like a younger version of Charles and Foster immediately guessed it was his son.
“Seeing this isn’t my house, it’s probably best to ask my brother-in-law,” Randy said. He turned towards the newest arrival and said, “Gregory, meet Derrick.”
“Call me Sams,” he said. “Great to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Gregory said. He nervously pushed his sleeves up towards his elbows, turned his attention to Charles, and added, “Hey, Dad.”
Charles stepped forward and embraced his son in a full body hug.
“Umm, I hate to break up this bonding moment,” Sams said, “but I’m ready to eat the staircase railing.”
Gregory broke the hug and took a step back. “I’m afraid we ate dinner about an hour ago. There’s nothing left to share. We do have some apples in the kitchen.”
“Wait, did you say apples?” Sams asked. “Awesome. Lead the way, Sir Gregory.”
Foster watched Gregory and Sams leave the room. He heard Charles making some introductions, but he was having trouble focusing on the names being dropped. There was far more going on between the former priest and his daughter than anyone else was willing to talk about. He could only hope the bad blood didn’t run so deep that it could jeopardize the group’s safety.
Chapter Fourteen
Foster waited a few minutes before following Gregory and Sams into the kitchen. As he entered the room, he saw some movement behind him and noticed Randy had joined them. Sams was happily eating an apple at a small kitchen table as Gregory looked up expectedly.
“Thanks for getting my dad here,” Gregory said.
“You’re welcome,” Foster answered. “If you don’t mind, I have a few questions.”
“No trouble at all.”
Foster took a slow calming breath and let out before beginning to speak. “I noticed the center of town seems to be almost normal,” he said. “But your area is more like every place else we’ve traveled in the last couple of days. Can you think of any reason why that is?”
“Yes, there’s a very good reason. Let me explain,” Gregory said. “When news about the Reaper outbreaks started coming in, many of the locals chose to shelter down. This is where we live year around.”
“What about leaving town?” Foster asked. “Maybe heading toward your folks’ place?”
Gregory grimaced. “The outbreaks started around Philadelphia. Reading is about sixty miles away from Philly. I figured it was only a matter of time until the Reapers reached there, too.”
“So you decided to hunker down here,” Foster said. “I saw some abandoned Army vehicles on our way into town.”
“Of course. The Army tried to repel them and failed. But they were hopelessly outnumbered,” Gregory said. “Law enforcement didn’t last long against the Reapers, either. I was sure the town was doomed to fall. But then something strange happened. The Reapers started acting differently.”
“How so?” Foster asked.
“They started leaving humans alone. Well, at least certain people they did. The rest of us, they would attack on sight.”
“Really? Any idea why?”
“Actually, I know why. A new group emerged. They call themselves Disciples of the Divine.”
“Yeah, we ran across some of them earlier in town.”
Gregory nodded. “They're headed by this guy, Ezekiel Morgan,” he said. “He claims that he can control the Reapers.”
Sams looked up from his nearly finished apple. “Do you know if he really can?” he asked.
“Honestly, nobody's sure,” Gregory admitted. “There are people I’ve known for years that swear this guy has complete control over these things. It seems that way because he has managed to take command of them. He’s ordered the Reapers to protect his followers and certain parts of town. The people who are part of his group are kept safe. Everyone else is not.”
Randy shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “It doesn’t sound like much of a choice for the people who live here,” he said. “When did you join his group?”
“I didn’t. At least, not yet, I haven’t.”
“Well, why not?” Randy asked. “Seems like an easy way to keep your family and you safe.”
“Believe me, I thought about that,” Gregory said. “I’ve spent a lot of nights tossing and turning about what to do. But I just can’t do it.”
“Sorry, I don’t understand,” Foster said. “Like Randy said, it’s an easy escape plan from Reaper attack.”
“They’re a cult,” Gregory blurted out. “And before you ask, it’s because of the things they say and do. Every single one of them swears that Ezekiel is God’s direct messenger. They actively look for people to join their group.”
“I noticed a store owner wearing an armband,” Foster said. “He kept raving about the Disciples.”
“Sounds about right,” Gregory said. “I’m surprised they didn’t try to get you to stay at one of their places or to attend one of their get-togethers.”
“Oh, they did. But I stalled them for now,” Foster said. “Just curious. Do all of their members wear an armband?”
“Yes,” Gregory said. “I wear one too when I go out scavenging or shopping.”
“Maybe I’m a bit slow, but if you ain’t a member,” Randy said slowly, “then how did you get yours?”
“Pure dumb luck,” Gregory said. “I came across one of their members who no longer needed it. I had gone into this little thrift store on the main drag. The owner, Mr. Jones, was one of the Disciples. When I walked into the store, I found him dead on the floor. Looked like he’d had a heart attack and I was the first person to find him. There wasn’t anybody else in the store, and there wasn’t anything I could do to help him. So, I took his armband and got out of there as quick as I could. I didn’t want anybody questioning me on how the poor man had died.”
“Smart move,” Foster said. “Odds are, they would’ve assumed the worst and probably locked you up at the police station.”
“Probably,” Gregory admitted. “I try to avoid going into the Disciple-controlled areas. Mostly out of fear that they may spot me and realize I’m not really one of their group. But especially if I see any of their guardians.”
“Guardians?” Sams said. He carefully set down the remai
ning apple core and picked up another apple. “What are they?”
“The Disciples’ version of enforcers,” Gregory said. “They do any of the nasty work that the cult needs to be done.”
“Any way to tell who they are?” Foster asked.
“Sure. They’re armed,” Gregory answered. “Mostly bats and metal pipes. The more trusted enforcers will have guns.”
Sams took a bite of the apple and swallowed it quickly. “I’m surprised nobody has shot these enforcers as soon as they show up,” he said. “I’ll take our guns over their bats any day of the week.”
“Sounds good in theory,” Gregory said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Except the few people I know who had guns to defend themselves wound up having Reapers attack their house instead.”
“It does sound like the Disciples and Reapers are somehow working together,” Foster said. “I’d love to know how the hell they manage to control the Reapers.”
“Screw that,” Sams said. “I’d rather have a bunch of those armbands instead. We could sneak right through their territory and get out of town before they realize what happened.”
“The armbands are tough to come by,” Gregory admitted. “I got lucky getting one myself. I’m not going to lie. There's been a few times where that armband has allowed me to travel safely during the day. But short of killing a bunch of Disciples, we won’t be able to get enough bands for everyone.”
“Gregory, can you use the bands at night?” Foster asked. “It would be a lot harder to be spotted moving about.”
“No way.” Gregory shook his head vigorously. “We don’t go out.”
“Ever?”
“Never. If you’re not a Disciple, it’s not safe. We hide in the basement here and stay quiet.”
“Isn’t it a bit crowded for six people to sleep in your basement?”
“I guess,” Gregory said. “Beats sleeping where anyone outside can see you.”
“So why not cover the windows?”
“Tried to, but it took all of the lumber I could scavenge just to cover the ground floor windows. I haven’t had a chance to collect any more nearby.”
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