The Reaper: No Mercy (16 page)

"But we'll be heading to Newaygo when this is over. There is no need to involve them."

"Now there you are wrong. The whole point of this is not just to gain the captives their freedom, but to create a viable community here after stamping out the current rot. After our immediate mission is complete, more help will be forthcoming. You will use the foundation given to you and build on it. Your group of survivors will grow from their current few hundred to thousands, perhaps tens of thousands as more groups seek out your beacon of hope. In a few weeks this will seem as nothing, and you'll be busier than you can possibly imagine. I hope your civic skills are sharp. They'll be needed."

Rodriguez sat down in his chair, hard. The enormity of what the captain was saying was beyond his capabilities. Possibly tens of thousands in a few weeks? Survivors all looking to him for help? His mind started to shut down, when Nancy's firm warm hands gripped his shoulders from behind, and he looked upward into her eyes. Slowly she leaned down and kissed him softly, completely disregarding the stares of the others.

"Babe, he's right. We know there are many more survivors out there. Hiding. Afraid. Desperately scared. They need to see a stable community before they will come in. We talked about this."

"Yeah, Hun, but that was in Mexico City, maybe next year after we cleared all the zombies out."

"Next year will be too late. Many will die over the winter. You need to bring them in now, in order to save them," intoned the Reaper, watching Rodriguez.

"But it's too much responsibility," he muttered.

"No, I think it's exactly the responsibility you need. You will have help."

"OK, fine. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, but getting back to the attack, if ...” and suddenly the entire plan made sense to Rodriguez, yet he was still skeptical. "Isn't this a little basic?" he inquired, and once again he was treated to a rare grin from the captain.

"Many times simpler is better. No plan survives contact with the enemy, and this one will be no exception, but if we give them exactly what they expect, our chances of success are that much greater." The Reaper’s words had Rodriguez nodding, and he smiled before responding.

"I like it, and now see what you meant by 'doable'. Assuming your friends in Michigan come through tonight, I can commit, sir."

"We'll have a Q&A before final mission approval when the men from Newaygo arrive. Don't worry. We'll beat it to death, I'm sure."

Just then, a solder came crashing into the conference room, breathless, with an angry look on his face. The Reaper looked up at the interruption.

"Sir, the damn marauders are attacking the survivors in that manor on the corner of Main and Trump ... again! From what Smith and I could see, it's going bad for them. The bad guys have two huge snowplows and are trying to smash through the cars they piled along their parameter. Rough guess is thirty minutes or less until they’re breached." The private was breathless, and stopped to draw in a deep breath. In that moment the Reaper stood and addressed the others.

"We have to go to their aid," he growled.

"Sir, if we do, we have to be carefully about it."

"You're going to be attacked anyways. It's time to help and not stand idly by, Sergeant," and the Reaper could see Rodriguez's resolve hardening as the man responded firmly.

"Sir, you're right." Rodriguez turned to Schuster, his visage hardening even further. "Shue, take three men and change into civies. Leave your dog tags and I.D.s here. We want this action sterile so if it goes bad, nothing can come back to us. You can't have the M-ATVs, they're too low on ammunition and would give us away."

"Got it, and about damn time!" Schuster was grinning with delight and already stripping items from his person as he called out to three of the other soldiers present to start doing the same. For the first time, Rodriguez turned to the Reaper and addressed him by his moniker.

"Reaper, take care of my men, and Newaygo had better come through or we are truly fucked," he growled.

"I get it."

In moments, the others were back, dressed in civilian clothing; even their three-point slings had been detached from their issued M4s. Each carried a satchel which, from the bulges, indicated they were full of spare magazines.

"Let's go," the Reaper growled, his voice deeper and more menacing than Rodriguez's.

Jason needed his rifle, and he needed to get to that cell tower that he had earlier noted overlooked the city, specifically Main Street. Then he needed to set his men up in a flanking maneuver to provide support for his position while remaining in a position that would require the marauders to disembark their vehicles. Waving for Schuster and the others to follow, he nodded curtly at the others and left.

*****

Tom was more than worried, he was frantic. Everything the Reaper had told them was happening, and much sooner than he had anticipated. His group was taking no chances, and firing from cover, but already two of his men were down along with three of the women, all seriously wounded. They were mainly being attacked along their front entrance but enough shots along with those damn Molotov cocktails were hitting the sides and back to keep them overwhelmed. Thank God the manor was built with heavy fieldstone and brick or they would have already perished. In the background, he could hear the screams of the children they were keeping safe.

Quickly turning around and resting his rifle in the narrow window, he fired again, watching as a man standing in one of the trucks arrayed against them collapsed. Then rounds were ricocheting off the stone of the opening and instantly he ducked back. Taking each shot was a major risk, but you did what you had to do for the people you were trying to protect. A crash sounded and, risking safety, he peered around to take a quick glance. Damn them, the marauders were slowly but thoroughly using large snowplows to smash a hole through the cars they had lined against the sides of the walls surrounding the manor. As Tom's heart sank with dread, he knew they only had a short time before they were inside the house. There was nothing stopping them this time. He swiveled into position, taking another shot which missed, before he ducked again and vainly prayed for any form of rescue.

*****

They heard the racing engines first, and then the staccato sounds of gunfire resounded within the confines of the office building they were in. Janet looked up from the AR-15 she was cleaning with Scott's help, and exclaimed. "They're at it again, they're attacking someone."

"Yes, sounds like the manor from the direction of the gunfire." Scott sighed as he quickly reassembled the weapon. "Nothing we can do. Cut all interior lights and stay hidden."

"No! We might be able to help!" Janet was standing now and facing Scott.

"Absolutely not."

"We might make the difference between another group surviving or not!" Janet balled her fists up in frustration as she glared at the leader of their survivor group, a pleading look on her face.

Scott looked up at her while drumming the tips of his fingers lightly on the upper receiver of the weapon he had just re-assembled, and slowly nodded. "You're right, and you can come under one condition. I'll take three men and three of the women including you to do a very careful scout from the side. We'll stay between the houses and enter the last through the back door. Then we'll watch. If there are too many for us to make a difference, we're getting the hell out of there. If it looks like something we can handle, then we'll help. Janet, you have to promise you will not fire until I do. Promise, or you're not going."

"I promise."

Thirty minutes later they were peering through the blinds in the front windows of a newer, ranch-style home. Four large windows dotted the front, affording them all a clear view of the proceedings a block and a half away. They had circled southeast, then north to arrive at the home, and could clearly see the front and side of the manor that resided across the intersection from their position.

"It's too many, they're going to be overrun any minute," murmured Scott as he held the binoculars to his eyes, scanning the area.

"Damnit!" hissed Janet in frustration as she watched the scene before them. She saw that the survivors in the manor had made a barricade of empty vehicles around the building, but the barricade was being pushed aside by two large trucks bearing snowplow blades. Suddenly, just as one of those trucks was about to push another car away, it lurched to a stop, the driver spilling out the side door and falling to the ground. "Wait, what's happening?"

*****

"Any questions on the plan?" the Reaper inquired as he prepared to climb the cell tower right at the edge of the city, east of town.

"No. It's simple enough, Reaper. You start shooting, they'll spot you sooner versus later, we'll be set up in that heavy stand of trees off Caldwell to the south to take them as they come for your position. If too many arrive, we'll relocate another block south, take up position. Remove more, then circle around to the tower again from the northeast. We'll have line of sight on the tower most of the time, so if they start climbing, we'll drop them like flies."

"What I'm counting on, Shue!"

"Then let's do this. Payback’s gonna be a bitch," responded Schuster, obviously quoting some movie dialog from his tone.

"We need to put a major hurt on them so they give us enough time for resupply, Shue."

"A major hurt it will be, Reaper," and Schuster was grinning as he ran, his men following closely behind.

The Reaper crested the top of the cellular tower and brushed the snow off its domed surface. A wool blanket was quickly thrown down, then he removed a small sandbag from his satchel, placing it near the edge. Many snipers used the standard issue bipod for sniping, but the Reaper did not. More than once early in his career the bipod had slipped or wobbled at exactly the wrong moment, causing a miss. A sand bag did not! Resting his Remington 700 modified M40A1 against its soft surface, he quickly arrayed the fourteen ten-round magazines of 7.62 x 51mm on the blanket beside him, the fifteenth magazine he carried already seated in the magazine well of his rifle.

This time Jason was not wearing his combat vest, as it would only have gotten in the way. He needed to relax and concentrate on the targets without outside distractions. Sprawling flat with his legs spread wide for stability, he flipped the magnetic scope covers up, then peered at the scene before him.
Interesting
, he thought as his hand slid upward to grasp the receiver bolt and rotate the first round into position.

Nine-hundred yards ahead were his targets, and from his side vantage point, using the high-powered scope, it appeared as if he was looking over the shoulder of the marauders. Slowly he panned his view back and forth while adjusting for distance and wind, noting the number of men and equipment they had brought to the assault. He smiled grimly and concentrated on the snowplows. The trucks were quickly clearing a path through the barricade the survivors’ group had hastily created.

While heavily armored with a huge blade mounted in front, these trucks were defenseless from the sides and back, allowing the Reaper to use that to his advantage as he sighted in, released his breath, and then fired his first round.

An explosion of red mist and the truck was lurching to a stop, rewarding him with a confirmed kill, but he was already tracking on the next vehicle as he’d known the shot would be true.

*****

Oh Christ, they were in the inner courtyard, pushing the makeshift barricade aside. The stone fence surrounding the manor had been only a minor inconvenience once the cars were pushed out of the way, and in moments, Tom knew they would breach the front of their safe house. Somewhere inside he could hear the screams of frightened children, and hardening his resolve, he rotated back into position, ready to kill as many as possible before one of them got him. Tom knew he needed to stop those barricade wreckers but it was proving impossible to do so. The heavy plow blades were impervious to his rounds, and only when the trucks turned did he get a clear shot at the drivers. Even then, the bastards had placed plate steel over the windows on the sides to obstruct return fire.

He was hyperventilating and knew they were all about to die, but just maybe he could remove a last few before they were overrun. His rifle was in position, his finger caressing the trigger as he aimed at the tiny aperture, when the closest vehicle turned sideways. Bewildered, he vaguely saw a slumped-over figure inside the cab, yet put a round through the opening anyways before the truck next to it also rolled to a stop. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a tiny flash atop the local cell tower and immediately he knew who it was. Then he was ducking back as rounds peppered the cowling surrounding the narrow window.

It's the Reaper
, he breathed to himself. It had to be. Hope blossomed within him as he scuttled to the next window in line. He had not used it in over a minute and it should be safe to fire from once or twice. As he prepared to rotate into position and fire, his main thought was that he hoped the Reaper was as good as he appeared to be. Then Tom was rounding the corner, his rifle lifting to fire again.