The Reaper: No Mercy (13 page)

Then, Moberly, and the riots that were not really riots but actually zombies creating a spreading wave of panic. Their lieutenant had been one of the first to go down, and through two days of heavy fighting, while losing half their platoon, their remaining forces had managed to escape the city's boundaries with as many refugees as they could gather. Their destination was Paris, Missouri, and Schuster hoped to soon be able to take a short leave to check on his family back in St. Louis. Sergeant Rodriguez had assured him and those others with family in St. Louis that as soon as they had enough able defenders, those who wished could lead a small scouting mission into that city. Brian knew his family's chances of survival were slim, but still he had to know, if for no better reason than to have closure, and he had the skills to get in and out unseen.

Schuster did not know what to make of this man, this officer beside him. The commission and orders had looked official, but being told to call Captain Scott by the nickname Reaper was a bit unusual. Still, the son-of-a-bitch had some major recon skills and carried that sniper rifle as if it were an extension of his body. He could only hope the Reaper was as good with it as the signs indicated. After a brief, whispered conversation with Rodriguez, they'd decided to take the captain at his word, even though none of them had heard of the officers who'd signed the commission and orders. Still, nothing unusual, as Schuster had rarely recognized the names on many of his own orders over the years, especially those from a headquarters regiment. In the end, Rodriguez had decided to provisionally accept the captain's orders. Schuster hoped they could finally start taking an active hand now. This hiding and non-action was really getting to him, and totally against everything he had trained for.

There, a movement up ahead, the figure of an obvious zombie lurching towards them, and instantly Schuster's mind was back in the present. Beside him, the Reaper suddenly straightened and took a step forward. A grunt sounded from the captain and then a shadowy form was thrown to the ground beside Schuster. This move had been practiced before this very evening, and already knowing what to expect, Schuster had already drawn his issue bayonet, then brought his arm downward, forcibly driving its seven-and-a-quarter-inch blade through the skull into whatever was left of the brain. A quick forward and back jerk, then wrench, and the blade pulled free. It took only a moment to wipe the gore off on rotten rags this thing had called clothing before they were moving forward again. Neither man spoke, but simply nodded at each other as they did the job they knew they had to do, and once again the four ghosted forward all senses alert.

It had taken them over an hour to get to this point, and they were quickly approaching the northeast corner of the cemetery. Somewhere ahead in the distance they could hear hard rock music playing, and Schuster could only assume the marauders were having their usual drunken party again. He had scouted them many times, and most often they were drunk or close to it.

Captain Scott—the Reaper—had been clear. This was to be a silent recon to gauge their strengths, defenses, and confirm the location of the captives. Secondary objectives were to identify weaknesses in those defenses and avenues of ingress. Attack remained to be seen as Schuster knew the sergeant would not completely trust this man until and unless he came through with the supplies and men. That mission was set up for tomorrow night, and Schuster knew he would be included in that one also.

They finally reached the edge near the road, and the Reaper's arm and hand rose, fist clenched, to signal a halt; immediately Schuster and the two behind him paused, breathing shallowly. Then another quick signal and they were moving again, this time towards the front gate near the center of the cemetery while remaining hidden within the tree line.

He saw, then felt the Reaper’s hand reach out and touch his arm, stilling his progress. He waited, then saw the captain crouch, his hand extended, and beckon. At their feet were five bodies of older adults and young children. The Reaper pointed and Brian could make out what looked like gunshot wounds and Brian nodded, seeing that none had the desiccated look of the typical zombie. This was also not the first cluster of dead they had come across, and probably would not be the last. What these marauders were doing to the remaining survivors, especially the younger children, was sickening, and resolve hardened within Schuster to see these evil bastards wiped out. He sighed quietly and continued following the Reaper, who was skirting the bodies after closing their eyes.

The Reaper was moving slower now, carefully removing small branches out of his path, and brushing aside leaves that might crunch under his booted feet. He suddenly paused, then reached out, fanned the air before him. Schuster watched as the Reaper's hands moved from side to side, then the man was reaching out, pulling him close.

"Booby trap, wire, and something on this tree." The whisper was but a breath, faintly heard even from inches away. Schuster leaned forward as the Reaper pointed out a thin wire which lay before him, stretched tight, about a foot off the ground. On one side, the wire was tied around a small tree bole, and on the other, after carefully removing leaves from a small pile, he saw the Reaper uncover a surprise: an M67 fragmentation grenade, duct taped to the tree, the wire attached to its pin with the safely clip removed. Schuster knew from experience this explosive device had a four-second delay and a fifteen-meter blast radius, and just where in hell had the marauders gotten grenades? He watched as the Reaper removed a small tool from his belt, then cut both ends of the wire. Working quickly, he fashioned a new safety clip out of a piece of wire, inserted it, then handed the grenade to Schuster. The Reaper then turned and signed them to retreat.

Silently they backed off thirty feet from the road before the Reaper stopped, then pulled them close to issue instructions. They were to wait here and the Reaper would scout ahead. Using hand signals, he instructed them not to move or make any other sound. They nodded and watched as he drifted away through the barely seen undergrowth.

Twenty minutes later, the Reaper was back, and this time addressing them in whispers.

"I found four more of the same up ahead. I kept them, so here you go, Shue," and suddenly four more grenades were handed over which Schuster placed with the others he had pocketed, after first verifying a newly fashioned clip had been inserted.

"Good idea, Reaper. I hate leaving surprises on my back door."

"Let's head along the north edge and verify the location of the captives." Schuster and the others nodded, then followed; they were making good progress, when suddenly they heard tiny cries for help.

*****

Tony was a psychopath, and he was having the time of his life. Born Tony Maurice Levinstein, he had spent his entire childhood and adult years rotating from one mental institution to another, while remaining somewhat in the care of his parents. The doctors had diagnosed him with several disorders which he no longer remembered the names of, nor did he care what they were called anymore. All he knew was that from a very early age, he had loved to hurt things and he was good at it. He had started with baby birds, just dropping them from their nests, then kicking their broken forms after he’d climbed down. From there, he had gone on to play with puppies and kittens, and especially loved watching them drown. Soon after, he had graduated to hurting children younger than he was, those too young to fight back, and he had enjoyed it tremendously.

Then everything was turned upside down. People were rioting and weird-looking motherfuckers were attacking people while trying to eat them. It made him realize there were others more insane than he was. He was happy. His father, the brutal cocksucker, had quickly locked their house down, barricading it against those attacking everyone in sight. Tony hated that, for he hated everything his father did. He hated his mother also, for she was a stern bitch. Fuck them; he was glad he’d killed both of them the first chance he could, escaping the house once the outside was clear. He had taken what few weapons his father owned, and some supplies, then left. He wanted to hurt, and after all, he was good at it. Two weeks later, he had hooked up with Ringo and his gang outside the Sam's warehouse in Moberly. Ringo's crew did not care what he did as long as he obeyed them. Tony had witnessed them killing others who were attempting access to the food inside the warehouse, and felt an affinity for them. He had called out as he moved into view and said he wanted to be part of their group. Distrust followed, but after a simple test involving Tony killing one of the captives, Ringo had granted him acceptance. The rest was history.

Now he had all he could drink, and all he could fuck. He especially liked fucking the younger ones because they screamed in pain while crying out for help. Or they screamed for their mommies. The best thing was ... there were plenty of young captives.

Tony quickly stilled the crazy grin on his face as he approached where the captives were kept. He had to maintain. Keep his cool. Last week he had accidently killed one of the young ones, and Ringo had not been happy about it. In fact, the deed had earned Tony an ass kicking of epic proportions that he would not forget for a very long time; he could still feel the bruises after all.

The prisoners were being kept underground. Someone had called it the catacombs in Tony's presence, and he sort of knew what that meant, but there were no dead bodies down there, unless one of the prisoners had died recently. Just a lot of empty space and side rooms carved out of the rock.

"Hey bro! Got something for ya," he called out as he approached, and eagerly presented the full bottle of tequila he had grabbed from their supplies. There were four men guarding the front entrance, all standing around a steel barrel of burning refuse, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do what he desperately needed to do without them allowing him to remove one of the prisoners ... one of the younger prisoners!

"Tony! Fucktard. Gimme that," and the bottle was snatched from his hand, the cap ripped off, and a tenth of the contents swallowed in a single gulp by one of the four. Then came the recriminations that Tony expected. "You can take one, but Ringo's orders are clear. If you kill another, we will shoot you down like a diseased dog. Can you keep it together this time?"

"Of course!" Tony replied, his crazy grin poking out for a split second before he stilled his face.
Keep calm, stay calm
, he told himself. He needed this desperately, and was too close to blow it now. He did not know these men. Not even their names; most of the gang didn't care about much of anything like that, yet they were deadly. His memory did not keep details like names anyway. His mind only kept memories of the pain he’d inflicted, and already he could feel his groin hardening, the anticipation building.

"OK, put all your weapons on the table. Nothing's going inside but you. If you don't come out, shit happens," another replied, flipping him off.

"All of them?" and when both nodded, Tony reluctantly placed his guns and knives on the table set just outside the entrance. The others eyed him, then nodded. The first he had spoken with unlocked the door, and eagerly Tony went inside.

The interior was gloomy, with a set of stairs directly before him, a lantern of some sort illuminated the bottom landing. Eagerly he traversed the steps and entered the main holding area. Huddled forms crouched along the walls and the corridor ahead. Most were covered in blankets, but the stench of urine and feces filled the air as he skirted the waste buckets looking for his prey. There she was!

*****

Heidi shrunk back against the wall as the wild-looking man approached. Her prepubescent body curled in on itself in a semi-fetal position as she vainly tried to become invisible. She had been dreading this moment. She had seen these bad men looking at her in what her mother would have called an unhealthy way. She was only eleven but she was not stupid, and dreaded the worst. She was also hungrier than she had ever been in her life. The bad men had been feeding them, but it was never enough.

When the end came, and her parents had died protecting her from the weird others, she had hidden. Terrified and alone, she had no idea what to do, so stayed with the familiar. She had hidden in her home as long as she could. But then the food ran out, and she'd been forced to scavenge for her next meal by entering the dwellings nearby. Upon entering one of those, she'd surprised an elderly couple who quickly accepted her into their arms. That had been a heaven of sorts, until they left the city, and the bad men had found them. Royce and Margaret had been killed in front of her eyes, and she had been captured. Now she waited for the end. She had little hope left for rescue, having been down in these dirt and rock tunnels for over a week. She only hoped that when the end did finally come she would see her parents again, and to this end, she prayed constantly. She begged the Lord for salvation and courage, with a forlorn hope born of innocence that one day she would be freed, with life returning to normal. However, right now the crazy-looking man's hand was stretching towards her, and to her frightened eyes the clutching fingers looked like claws.

"Come child. They need help in the kitchen. I was sent to fetch you." He was talking to her in a low crooning voice, which scared her more than anything, and in fact, was freaking her out.

"Leave her alone. Take me. I'll help. You don't need the child." Another woman, dirty, disheveled, and emaciated from the low rations they were given, had stepped forward. Boldly she let the blanket she'd wrapped around her small frame fall to the ground, and Heidi hid her eyes, for under the thin blanket the lady was wearing no clothing. The woman stepped closer and tried to reach out to the man before her, but he slapped her across the face hard, knocking her to the ground.