“Yes, Madam President.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The battle had been going heavy for minutes now, and Foster fought to hold back a growing feeling of despair. The Reapers continued to charge toward his small group from three sides. The only direction they weren’t attacked from was the one which led to the still anchored but burning out of control boat. He glanced at his remaining ammunition and saw he was down to three magazines left.
“Changing,” Foster shouted a moment before he executed a combat magazine swap. He brought his rifle back into a shooting position, sighted on a closing Reaper, and fired once. The monster’s head snapped back, and it crumbled awkwardly onto the ground, dead. “How much of the special ammo do we have?” he yelled over the comms.
“Not enough,” Walker answered. “I didn’t have a chance to make anymore.”
“You think using it now would scare the rest of them away?” Foster asked.
“Do they look like they’re scared at all?” Walker hollered. “We’ve killed dozens of them, and they’re still coming.”
“At least the whack jobs are retreating,” Sams yelled over the comms. “I’m down to my last two magazines. If anybody has any brilliant ideas, let’s hear them.”
“Any of these things look like it’s in charge?” Walker shouted. “Shout out its location and maybe Foster can take it out.”
“Yeah, like Foster did at the farm. Good idea,” Sams answered. “What about the shithead at two o’clock?”
Foster looked in the direction Sams had called out. A single Reaper standing on the back of a pickup truck, keeping its distance from the attacking packs. It didn’t seem to be doing anything but watching the battle in front of it. But right now, it was the most likely candidate to be in charge.
Kill the head, and the body will die, Foster thought. “I’m going to take a shot on the possible Reaper leader,” he said with a forced calmness. “Cover me.”
A series of shouts erupted around him, and there was an increase in gunfire. Foster saw several Reapers in his vicinity drop as his allies scored head shots. Foster turned his attention back to the lone Reaper. He switched to the Remington 700, which was loaded with the silver-laced bullets. He sighted on his target and took a slow, calming breath. His scope was visibly moving, and he forced himself to take another breath.
Pull your shit together, Malcolm. You’ve made harder shots than this, Foster mentally scolded. If Sams is right, then you can end this battle with this one shot.
Foster took a third breath and held it. He sighted center mass on the still oblivious Reaper and pulled the trigger like he was drawing a straight line. The rifle fired, and he watched the Reaper collapse through his scope. “Splash one,” he called out. He lowered the rifle and saw the battlefield in front of him, and his heart dropped like a rock.
The Reapers were still attacking.
“Are you sure you killed it?” Sams yelled.
“Positive. I used a Reaper bullet,” Foster answered. “Maybe these bastards didn’t get the message.”
“Switching weapons,” Sams shouted. Foster saw him drop his assault rifle, letting the sling catch its weight, draw his holstered handgun, and continue firing. He quickly emptied one magazine and immediately reloaded.
Foster quickly switched back to his M4 and turned his attention back to the battle in front of him. He spotted three Reapers bearing down on Walker’s blindside and unleashed a short burst of bullets. The gunfire struck the Reapers in the legs, cutting them down and halting their charge. Foster shifted his aim onto the closest Reaper and fired once, scoring a direct head shot. He immediately shifted his aim to the next Reaper and fired again. He saw the creature’s nose sink inward and turned his attention to the remaining hobbled Reaper. As he did, he noticed it was already lying on the ground, a fresh head wound bleeding freely. Foster turned his attention to the surrounding area, searching for the next hostile closing in on their position.
Suddenly, a wave of screams broke out. Dozens of Reapers dropped to their knees, clutching their heads in apparent agony. The monsters fell over as one as if someone had cut a giant invisible string and began spasming uncontrollably. A moment later, all of the downed Reapers stopped moving completely. The chatter of guns firing quickly faded. Foster checked his surroundings and couldn’t see any Reapers still standing.
“I’m cutting the zip ties,” Walker said as he pulled his combat knife. “Cover me.”
Foster watched as his friend sliced through the bindings and opened the marina gates. Walker stepped slowly forward and stopped near an unmoving creature. He kicked it once, and the creature didn’t move. Walker bent down and checked for a carotid pulse. “Dead,” he said calmly. “All of them are dead.”
Sams let out a small whoop of victory. “It’s because Foster took their leader’s sorry ass out. Nice shot, Malcolm.”
“Thanks,” Foster said. “Cover me.”
“Yeah, sure,” Sams said.
Foster slowly moved toward where he had seen the Reaper leader collapse.
“What’s wrong?” Sams asked.
“Maybe nothing,” Foster replied. “I want to check something.”
“Come on, man; don’t bullshit me,” Sams said. “What are you thinking?”
“Remember when I killed that red-eyed Reaper at Uncle Ray’s?”
“Of course.”
“So how come these ones didn’t drop immediately, too?”
“No clue. To be honest, I really don’t care, because all of them still wound up dead.”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Foster said. “But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something.”
“Foster and his damn gut again.” Sams chuckled. “The monsters are fucking dead. That’s all that matters.”
Foster had reached the downed Reaper in the pickup truck. The creature had fallen onto its back and was lying in a large pool of blood. Foster checked for a pulse, found none, and carefully lifted one of its eyelids. As he did, a lifeless yellow eye slowly appeared. Foster felt a chill run up and back his spine. He checked the other eye. It was also yellow.
“Ah, hell,” Foster swore out loud.
“What’s wrong?” Walker asked.
“This one has yellow eyes,” Foster said.
“So this wasn’t their leader?” Sams asked.
“Apparently not,” Foster replied. “Which raises another question.”
“If we didn’t kill their leader,” Walker answered, “then how did all of these Reapers suddenly die at once?”
“Fuck a duck,” Sams said. “You know what? Let somebody else figure this shit out. We need to get the hell out of here while we can.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“No!” Haas screamed as Beeks continued to assault the helpless Giles.
There was a sickening crunch as Beeks’ foot slammed down again and again. Haas continued to fight, trying to get free. There might still be a chance that his friend wasn’t dead. If he could break free, then maybe he could still save Giles. But with each blow he saw his friend’s still body absorb, the more he began to feel a crushing feeling that his friend was gone.
A moment later, Beeks stepped back. The Reaper leader’s chest was heaving from the exertion. He spun toward Haas and roared, “Pull him up.”
Haas felt dozens of arms grab him and yank him to his feet. “You'll pay for that,” he roared.
“Really? Take a look around you,” Beeks said. “Your friend was weak. And now he’s dead. Don't make the same mistake.”
Several yellow-eyes moved, and for the first time in far too long, Haas could see his downed friend’s body clearly. Giles was lying facedown on the floor. There was a growing pool of blood under his head. He looked at the body once more. Giles’ head and neck were off-kilter, like someone had torn the critical connections apart. It was obvious that the injuries that his friend had sustained were insurmountable. There was no way that his body would ever regenerate from the damage it had suffered.
&n
bsp; There was more noise around him, and Haas quickly glanced around. Hundreds more yellow-eyes had entered the throne room. He turned his attention back to Beeks, who had returned to his throne.
“You killed him,” Haas roared. “Why? We came in peace.”
“I'm only gonna ask this once,” Beeks continued. “You and I have history. It’s a good history, and that's the only reason we’re still talking. You have two choices. Join or die. Kneel and become part of my family. You'll become one of my loyal generals. Your pack will join mine, and you will have an even larger group of soldiers to command. Join me, and you can enjoy the spoils of war as we take over the world.”
“You son of a bitch.”
Beeks ignored the insult. “You have ten seconds to decide,” he said coolly. “Join or die.”
Haas looked around him. He was hopelessly outnumbered. Giles was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. But as loyal as he felt toward him, he wasn’t ready to join him in whatever afterlife waited for them.
“Three seconds,” Beeks said. “Two. One-”
Haas felt his knees buckle. He slowly lowered himself onto one knee and bowed his head. “I submit,” he said with clenched teeth.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
“I said,” Haas said between clenched teeth, “I will join you.”
“Excellent,” Beeks said. He clapped his hands in an exaggerated applause. “You won’t regret this.”
Haas felt the hands holding him back release his limbs. A series of growls and yips sounded out, as the group celebrated their newest addition.
But Haas didn’t share their joy. He’d been powerless to stop Beeks from murdering his best friend, and that was unacceptable. But it wasn’t the right time to avenge Giles. Not against such overwhelming odds. One day he'd be able to exact his revenge. But today was not going to be that day.
Chapter Sixty
Ezekiel made one final adjustment to his robes before deciding he was ready to talk to his waiting flock once more. His study’s door burst open, and he heard a staffer shouting. He paused, turned to look toward the disruption, and frowned. He wasn’t sure where Joseph was, but he would be sure to tell him how unacceptable it was for an ordinary staff member to come barging into his inner sanctum.
“What is it?” he said firmly.
“A big problem,” the guy said, out of breath. “The people we were supposed to stop.”
“What about them?”
“We did what we're supposed to and cut off their exit. But then there was one man. He had a vest on that said POLICE.”
Ezekiel immediately recognized Foster’s description. “I need you to get to the point already,” he said impatiently. “I have to address the congregation.”
“He shot one of the Chosen, and the rest fell over and died.”
Ezekiel felt the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. “That's impossible,” he stammered. “No man has that power.”
“B-but sir, I know what I saw. Several chosen were also found dead in one of our stores.”
“That’s unfortunate. Even the chosen can die if they are shot in the head.”
“Not all of them were.”
“What?”
“A few had been stabbed or shot in their bodies.”
Ezekiel felt the bile rush up the back of his throat. He forced it back down. Now more than ever, it was important for him to seem calm in front of his flock. He’d have no choice but to wait for Giles to contact him and explain what the hell had happened in their attempted capture of Foster. Was it possible the man had some type of weapons that Giles had neglected to mention?
“Walk with me,” Ezekiel said. “Where’s Joseph or Walter?”
“Joseph is trying to calm down several members of our congregation. They aren’t taking the news very well.”
“What about Walter? He’s supposed to handle Foster’s capture.”
“He didn’t make it.”
“What?”
“He was trying to get them to peacefully surrender when he was shot.”
“Who shot him?”
“I’m not sure. It was either the man in the vest or one of his group.”
Ezekiel felt a wave of sadness. He couldn’t believe Walter was gone. He pushed down his grief. There would be time later to mourn the loss of his trusted guardian. A time when the guilty party could be forced to pay for taking Walter’s life.
“You know in the lifetime of humanity, there's been an endless struggle between good and evil,” Ezekiel said. “Heaven and hell. It seems we know what evil this man in the special vest stands for. I’m sorry, but I can't keep the congregation waiting any longer.” He stepped into the room, and an immediate roar of applause and clapping began.
Ezekiel mentally counted to five and then raised his hands. The applause immediately stopped as if somebody flipped a switch.
“My children, what is the oldest struggle known to mankind?” Ezekiel asked as he leaned slightly toward the microphone in front of him.
“Man and woman?” A congregation member shouted out.
Ezekiel let out a low chuckle. “That's a good one,” he said. “But I'm thinking of one that's even older.”
“Adam and Eve,” another voice called out.
“Cain and Abel,” a different person yelled.
Ezekiel raised both hands, and his flock immediately silenced. “All good guesses. But I was talking about the struggle between good and evil.” He paused a moment for dramatic effect before continuing. “God has sent us his messengers. The chosen to help purge this world of the evil that has taken root in so many places. I have received some very disturbing news. I'm afraid there is a group of people out there who have defiled God's messengers. Lost souls who have taken upon themselves to kill members of the Chosen and our congregation.”
A loud rumble through the audience.
Ezekiel raised his hands again, and his flock quieted on command.
“They are led by a man named Foster. This man uses instruments of great evil. Weapons that kill the souls of the Chosen. This is something that poses a grave danger to our way of life. God has spoken to me. He has asked us to help the Chosen. We must find this man and his followers. We must force them to repent their ways. If they will not, then they must be sacrificed for the greater good of mankind.”
A low rumble of voices began to form among the congregation.
“Who's with me?” Ezekiel shouted. “Who will join me in confronting these sinners? Who will give them a simple choice: Repent or die for your sins?”
A chorus of shouts and yells broke out. The volume grew louder and louder, until the entire congregation had joined in shouting, “Repent or die.”
Ezekiel couldn’t help but smile. He didn't know what had happened in their last attempt to capture Foster and his group. He wasn’t sure if something had happened to Giles or if his transformed friend would soon make an appearance. But he had to assume that Giles was okay. And that meant when Foster was finally captured or killed, the two former partners in crime would be on top and in charge of everything in this area.
The flock continued to chant, and Ezekiel decided to add his voice to theirs. He couldn’t wait to bring Foster to his knees and give him a simple choice: Join Ezekiel’s flock, or die broken and alone.
Chapter Sixty-One
Amanda strapped herself into the passenger seat as Foster stepped on the gas. The Suburban lurched forward and then began to gradually pick up speed as they exited the flaming ruins of the marina.
“Where are we going?” Sams said from the back seat.
“I don't know,” Foster said. “Gregory's house is not secure. The marina's not an option anymore, either.”
“We need a place,” Sam said. “We can't just keep driving in circles.”
“I know that, dammit,” Foster snapped. “Let me think, okay?”
“What about any places we’ve already been?” Amanda suggested. “We already know what is there.”
“Above the gun shop,” Foster said quickly. “There’s a few staircases up to a second floor. It'd probably be the last place they'd look for us. We can secure it for tonight. Then, in the morning, we worry about finding a better location.”
“Yeah, that should work,” Sam said. “You know those bastards are going to be looking for us.”
“Which ones? The Disciples or the Reapers?”
“Both, actually.”
“I’m expecting them, too,” Foster said. “We’ll lay low tonight and regroup.”
“Yeah,” Sams said. He turned and began looking out the side window.
The Suburban got silent, and Amanda felt herself drift back into her own head. This had been a close call. They could have all easily died tonight. It was pure luck that all of them weren't on the boat when it exploded. It was probably equal amounts of luck that all of the Reapers had suddenly fallen over dead and the remaining Disciples had chosen to flee.
She glanced over at Foster and saw the man had both hands on the steering wheel. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. He was positively filthy from head to toe from the debris of the marina and everything that happened. As tired as he looked, she couldn’t help but feel amazed that he was still able to go full force like he continued to do. The man just refused to quit fighting to protect the group. To protect her.
Amanda reached over with her left hand, touched Foster's forearm, and slid her hand forward until it touched his hand. He let go of the steering wheel and took her hand in his. He glanced at her quickly, smiled, and Amanda felt a rush of joy filling her chest till it felt like she was going to burst.
It was crazy. They were in the fight of their lives, and who knew how long they might have together. But with everything that had happened and everything that might still be yet to come, Amanda had reached a decision.
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