Wretched Retribution

by E. G. Michaels

  As Haas stepped through the doorway, he studied his surroundings. It had the look and feel of a huge medieval throne room, complete with decorative draping. His eyes moved from one side of the large room to the other and then shifted back to the middle, where a huge stone throne was situated. Haas didn’t have the foggiest idea where they could have found such a large and gaudy seat, but it didn’t matter. It was right there in front of him.

  He glanced over his shoulder and was pleased to see that Giles was still following him closely. He wouldn’t need to worry about his friend lagging behind or getting separated from him.

  Haas turned his attention back to the area in front of him. As his eyes adjusted to the lighting, he saw it was Beeks sitting on the throne.

  The pack leader flashed a big ear-to-ear grin. “Welcome to my humble adobe,” he said.

  “If this is humble, I’d like to see what braggadocio would look like,” Giles muttered softly.

  Haas glanced over his shoulder and flashed his friend a knowing look. There was no need to start their attempted treaty talks by antagonizing Horatio Beeks.

  “It’s a bit much for my tastes,” Haas admitted.

  “Maybe,” Beeks replied. “But it serves our needs quite well. I'm surprised that you have lived this long.”

  “I could say the same for you,” Haas answered. “I suspect none of us have many friends remaining anymore.”

  Beeks chuckled. “Quite true, indeed. You’re here to discuss a treaty.”

  “Yes.”

  Beeks made a sweeping motion with his hand. “As you can see, I’m doing well on my own.”

  Haas looked to his left and right. There were dozens of yellow-eyes in the room. “Do all of them need to be here?”

  “I don’t have a problem with it,” Beeks said. “This is a historical meeting between your family and mine.”

  “I guess,” Haas muttered. “Just tell them to stay out of our way.”

  “Of course,” Beeks said smoothly. “So tell me what you have to offer that might interest me?”

  Haas looked over to Giles. His friend stepped up and began to speak.

  “Greetings, Horatio,” Giles began.

  “Please, call me Beeks.”

  “My apologies. I had forgotten you are not fond of your given name,” Giles said.

  Beeks let out a low growl.

  “But that’s not important,” Giles said quickly. “What is important is that we have contained the man and the group you have been seeking.”

  Beeks immediately stiffened in his seat. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” Giles challenged. “I was under the impression you’ve been trying to capture this Fos-ter character for a while now.”

  A series of growls sounded out from the room. Several of them began to pace in the room.

  “Control yourselves.” Beeks snarled. The room immediately went still. “That's very interesting. You are right. I have been looking for this pesky human. He’s managed to elude us more than once. And yet you and your small group of followers have managed to capture him. How do I know you're telling me the truth?”

  “It’s simple,” Giles said. “I have used my allies and my pack to accomplish what you have failed to do.”

  A low growl came out of Beeks’ throat. “Speak carefully,” he snarled. “You are dangerously close to feeling the full extent of my ire. If there have been failings, it has been members of my pack and not my own.”

  “Point taken,” Giles said. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “What do you seek in return for Foster and his group of pitiful humans?”

  “We would like to have a place for our family to live unopposed and on our own.”

  “And the rest of the country?”

  “It would be yours to do with as you wish,” Giles said simply. “This is our peace offering and what we hope will be the beginning of a positive alliance.”

  “An alliance. How interesting,” Beeks said as he slowly rose from his throne. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot in the past. May I call you Giles?”

  Haas saw his friend nod once and watched as Beeks approaches them.

  “I think what you're offering is fair,” Beeks said. He put his arm loosely around Giles’ shoulder and began to walk the two of them across the room. The yellow-eyed minions in the room shifted their positions, creating an easy pathway for the two of them to walk through. “I could see me agreeing to those terms quite nicely.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Giles stammered.

  Beeks came to a complete stop. “There's just one problem with your offer.”

  “What's that?” Giles asked.

  “I don't need you to capture Foster,” Beeks said. His hand raised up, and his claws suddenly appeared fully extended a moment before he slammed them into the back of Giles’ neck.

  “No!” Haas roared. No. As he stepped forward to intervene, dozens of yellow-eyes slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Haas fought like a demon possessed, pushing and slashing each limb he could access. Even more of Beeks’ soldiers poured into the space between Haas and his wounded friend.

  Haas surged against the mass of attackers and managed to get back onto one knee before the new sea of transformed humans slammed him back onto the floor. Haas felt the side of his head smash against the hard throne room floor, and several sets of hands immediately pinned it there. A wave of desperation came over him. Giles was in trouble, and he had to help his friend. Haas let out a roar and fought to break free from his captors. But as he struggled to break free, he saw Giles was now lying motionless on the floor. He saw Beeks’ foot rise up in the air and smash down on his helpless friend’s head.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Foster watched in amazement as the Reapers seemed to halt as one and form up a semicircle around the humans in the middle.

  “Just when you think you’ve seen it all,” Sams muttered under his breath, “these things pull a new trick out of thin air.”

  One of the humans stepped forward, and Foster recognized him immediately. Walter brought a bullhorn up to his face, and a moment later a loud squeak sounded from the device.

  The noise ended, and the man began to talk. “Hello, Malcolm,” he said smoothly.

  “I need Nick and you to come up with an escape plan while I stall them,” Foster said softly over the group comms. A pair of double clicks sounded in reply, signaling that both former Rangers understood. He stepped forward one big step and then spoke up. “Howdy, Walter. What’s with bringing all of these things?”

  “For starters,” Walter said, “you are trespassing.”

  “We were actually planning on leaving,” Foster said. He glanced to his left and then to his right. No one in his group seemed to have shifted their position, and the comms were uncomfortably silent. “At least, until our boat blew up. You know anything about that?”

  “Don’t you mean our boat?” Walter answered.

  “No, it wasn’t. The boat belonged to my cousin. I’ll ask you again,” Foster said. “Did you sabotage it?”

  “Everything you see around you belongs to Disciples,” Walter said. “Everything. We will take any measure we see fit to protect what is ours.”

  “I think that answers the question if any of the other boats are booby trapped,” Walker muttered over the comms.

  “We got to try something,” Sams said softly. “Staying here is a fucking death trap.”

  “Three options,” Walker said. “Option one, Foster sweet-talks us out of this mess. Option two, we funnel them through the marina opening and kill as many of them as we can until they’re all dead or we are. Or option three, we make an escape path through these things and get to our vehicles.”

  “All of those options suck,” Sams countered.

  “Take a look around. We’re already trapped,” Foster whispered over the comms. “Feel free to offer a better plan, Army.”

  “Ah, hell.” Sams groaned. “Foster,
better turn the charm up to eleven, or things are going to get really ugly fast.”

  “Please accept our apologies,” Foster said. “We are a group of survivors who are just passing through. If you grant us safe passage, we will leave in peace and never return.”

  “I gave you that option before, and you didn’t take it,” Walter said. “I need your decision, Malcolm.”

  “I’m not sure we can,” Foster stalled. “Some of our group are still trying to reunite with lost family members in North Carolina and Florida.”

  “Then all the more reason to join us,” Walter shouted back. “We will help you bring in your lost sheep.”

  “Did he just call us sheep?” Lizzy asked.

  “Not now, hon,” Walker said in a low voice. “Let Foster handle this.”

  “Let’s talk trade,” Foster said. “We have things to barter. Food. Medicine. If you are willing to trade one of your boats and let us leave in peace, then we’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Walter said. His voice suddenly became more hostile sounding. “Enough talking. Join us, or else.” All of the Reapers immediately moved one step forward.

  “Now, hold on,” Foster protested. “This doesn’t-”

  “You have ten seconds to repent,” Walter said. His voice began to get louder. “After that, I will give the order for our guardians to purge your existence from our lands.”

  “Come on, Walter,” Foster said. “Be reasonable.”

  “Nine, eight,” Walter yelled. The other cult followers began chanting the countdown along with him. “Four, three, two-”

  A single shot sounded out. A lone bullet hole suddenly appeared in the middle of the man’s forehead, and he crumpled to the ground.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Foster demanded.

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Sams answered. “The guy wouldn’t shut up.”

  “The bullhorn was really annoying,” Walker pointed out. “If he hadn’t shot him, I was going to when he reached one.”

  “Oh hell, here they come,” Foster said. He brought his rifle up into a shooting position, sighted on a charging Reaper, and fired. He heard his friends begin firing, and the fight was on.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  A series of alarms started going off in the command center.

  “What's wrong?” Vickers asked.

  “We've got multiple incoming Reaper attacks on six different bases,” Weindahl said. “Including Burlington Air National Guard Base, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, and Scott Air Force Base.”

  “Wait, isn't that where we launched our planes from?” Vickers asked.

  “Yes, it was,” Weindahl said. “Wright-Patterson Air Force Base and Scott Air Force Base are where we landed our personnel afterwards.”

  “Those things are hitting back,” Flores said. “We need to get those people out there.”

  “We're trying, but we're seeing an overwhelming amount of hostiles incoming.”

  “Do you have camera feeds there?”

  “Yes,” a technician answered. “Got one for Scott Air Force Base. I’ll put it on screen.”

  Vickers watched the screen and felt her spirits crash to the floor. There were tens of thousands of Reapers swarming from multiple directions at once. She watched as several soldiers tried to stand their ground firing at the incoming monsters, but it was a hopeless cause. The men were quickly overrun and taken to the ground. Vickers heard the screams of pain and anguish as soldiers were being torn apart.

  The sound of machine gun fire sounded out, and a Humvee rolled into view. The vehicle’s .50 caliber machine gun began to fire, and Vickers watched as the soldier opened fire on a pack of Reapers, walking the tracer rounds up their bodies, striking the creatures with dozens of bullets at once. Nearly a dozen Reapers collapsed under the machine gunner’s fury. Vickers felt her spirits start to shift upward before crashing back to reality as a pack of Reapers struck the gunner from behind. Vickers saw the man get violently yanked backward off the top of the vehicle and dragged onto the ground. Three Reapers tore in him immediately. The president saw his legs kick twice, and then he was gone.

  The camera view switched, and she saw Reapers slamming repeatedly into a building’s walls.

  “What are they doing?” Vickers asked.

  “I'm not sure,” Weindahl said. “That’s a fuel storage building. I highly doubt anyone is hiding in there. Give us some more camera angles of this base.”

  “On it,” the tech said.

  Several more images appeared on the master screen. In each one, the Reapers were slamming their bodies into stationary walls.

  “Very strange,” Weindahl said. “I’ve never seen them act like this before.”

  “It's payback,” Vickers thought out loud. “It's not enough to kill our soldiers for the bombing attacks. They're going to level our bases until there's nothing left to ever use again.”

  “You really think they’re that clever?” Weindahl asked.

  “Do you really think they're not?” Vickers countered.

  “General Weindahl,” a technician yelled, “The Pentagon is under attack.”

  “Give me satellite imagery,” Weindahl demanded. “All available camera angles right now.”

  An overhead image of the Pentagon appeared on the screen. A strange, dark formation surrounded the iconic building.

  “What is that?” Vickers said softly.

  “The enemy,” Weindahl answered. “That has to be hundreds of thousands of Reapers.”

  “My God, that’s a death trap,” Vickers said. “We gotta get our people out of there.”

  “We're trying,” the tech shouted, “but communications are down for the Pentagon.”

  “The entire Pentagon?” Vickers yelled. “It’s over six million square feet of space. You mean to tell me you can’t reach anybody?”

  “There’s normally over twenty thousand people there,” the technician added. “And I’m telling you I can’t get a call through to anyone there right now.”

  “Keep trying,” Vickers said. “We need to at least get those people to the fallout shelters.”

  “I’m not sure it will make much of a difference,” Weindahl said softly. “It didn’t for President Marshall, and he was in a state-of-the-art bunker. A fallout shelter isn’t nearly as secure.”

  “We can’t just sit on our hands,” Vickers said. “What about a bombing attack to thin the herds? Or mount up a rescue mission?”

  “For thousands of people?” Weindahl asked. “It could take days to move everyone.”

  “What about by air?”

  “Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport is the closest airport.”

  “How close?”

  “Less than two miles.”

  “Which means anyone on foot probably wouldn’t make it,” Vickers thought aloud. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t there other ways to get to Reagan National from the Pentagon?”

  “Sure. There are bus, train, and taxi options. But if people are on one of them, then why only stop two miles away? The Reapers would eventually notice and head there instead.”

  “Good point,” Vickers admitted. “There is a helipad at the Pentagon.”

  “Yes, there is,” Weindahl said. “But you can’t fit dozens or hundreds of people on a helicopter at once. It would take numerous trips to evacuate everybody. I would say the underground Metro or bus station would be a better option to move large groups of people quickly. Of course, that’s assuming whatever armed personnel on the premises could repel incoming Reapers long enough to get everybody else out.”

  “And what are the odds of that happening?” Vickers demanded.

  “Slim at best,” Weindahl admitted. “They’re facing an overwhelming number of hostiles. The majority of the people on the premises are not armed military.”

  The room grew quiet as everyone watched the screens in horror. The Reapers were pouring into the Pentagon through multiple entrances.

>   Several of the screens switched to cameras inside the Pentagon. As they did, they saw people hopelessly fighting and dying. Of course, not every person died, and a growing number of people were transformed into new Reapers. Monsters that would likely attack or kill their former colleagues and friends.

  “We've got to find a way to stop this,” Vickers said.

  “Firebombing them didn’t work, and bullets seem to have a limited affect,” Weindahl said carefully. “Are you ready to authorize nuclear weapons?”

  “No. Seeing how Operation Flashpoint failed, I’m not completely sold on the idea that a nuke would do the trick.”

  “There’s no way those things could survive a direct nuclear strike.”

  “Do you know that for sure?” Vickers argued. “Or are you guessing? Because everybody was absolutely certain they wouldn’t survive the firebombings, and they did.”

  Weindahl looked at the floor in silence.

  “Until we know for certain that nukes will kill these things, that option is not up for discussion.”

  “With all due respect, Madam President, the only way to know for sure is to try it,” Weindahl said softly. “At the rate we’re losing this war, I'm not sure how much is going to be left to defend against future attacks. We’re quickly reaching the point where we would be extremely vulnerable to attack from foreign countries, too.”

  Vickers swore under her breath. “Every being has a weakness,” she said. “We need to find theirs. General, I have a new mission for you.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Those scientists you are supposed to be hiding away in a secure location? I want them working on this Reaper problem around the clock. Whatever it takes. Do you understand me?”

  “By the time they find something, it might be too late.”

  “I don't care,” Vickers said. “Get our best people on it. Give them the best equipment and resources they need to solve this. We either find the Reaper’s weakness to kill them quickly or a way to keep people from being turned into new ones. We do this, or we die trying.”