The Reaper: No Mercy (38 page)

That was scary, as they had learned early on, that a bite from an undead left untreated, quickly festered into a massive infection. Thank God, they had also raided one of the many pharmacies within the city. Gareth hoped the wound would not become infected, for while the Samaritan Hospital was still open for business, abet with a greatly reduced staff, they literally charged an arm and a leg for their services. You had to bring your own medical supplies along with something of value; food, ammunition, they were even accepting livestock. As yet, supplies were plentiful with a majority of the population dying off suddenly, but Gareth knew that by next year, those supplies would dwindle as everyone hoarded. He was not looking forward to the headache. His group had livestock of their own out behind the Inn. Forty laying hens because everyone liked eggs and a half dozen dairy cows they milked twice a day, then boiled it before setting it out in the snow too cool. The little kids needed the milk and even Gareth had to admit that the rich creamy taste of the fresh stuff was more delicious than any he had purchased from the store. In the spring they were planning on taking over one of the larger farms and he was suddenly wondering if locating one now might not be prudent.

"Hey! Who's that?" One of the women was calling out and Gareth recognized the voice of Karen as he looked in her direction. An outstretched arm and pointing finger had him turning again north in the direction of the highway. Coming towards them was a lone figure of a man with a large rifle slung over his shoulder, a large pack of some military design on his back and a large machete swinging from his hand. As Gareth watched, he saw two of the undead move from where they had been hiding amongst the vehicles stranded, or simply left on the road, advancing on the walking stranger.

"Dean!" he shouted. "The guy needs help. Let's go!" His brother ran too him while looking out across the road and as he neared Gareth grabbed his shoulder and together they ran. His Ar-15, taken from the gun shop was in his hands as was Dean's and he flipped the safety off in preparation to firing, but it was already too late as this man moved to intercept the two undead.

With quick, sure movements, this man walking towards their sanctuary took out the two zombies approaching. Gareth grinned as he witnessed the lightening quick strokes with the heavy looking blade which saw the undead immobile on the ground within seconds.
Man knew what he was doing
, was his only thought as he watched the stranger wipe his blade off on the ragged clothing of the dead.

It was an older man who was approaching them; mid 50's or perhaps sixty, with a short, neatly trimmed beard and muscular build. The large rifle slung over his shoulder was large, obviously custom and had a powerful scope mounted on it. As he drew closer, Gareth recognized a brown Carhartt jacket with brown pants and the pack he carried on his back was obviously of older military issue.

"I see you had a bit of trouble," the man remarked as he came to a stop and sheathed his machete.

"Yes, this would have been worse if not for you. Mind telling me why you took a hand, stranger?"

"Names, Reaper and it seemed like the thing to do." Responded the Reaper as he surveyed the bodies lying all around them. "Looks like you suffered casualties," he continued.

Gareth sighed as he rubbed a hand across his face, and then noticed it still had fresh blood on it from checking the bodies of their group members who had perished. "Crap," he muttered as he pulled a rag from his pocket and rubbed his face again, hoping he removed most of the blood, then wiped his hands thoroughly before holding his right out. "My name is Gareth Wood, this is my brother Dean and it's a pleasure to meet you, Reaper. The two big men shook hands strongly, before the Reaper turned to Dean, hand outstretched, who clasped it in return. All three men nodded at each other. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the others. Normally we would not be so friendly, but most of us saw what you did. You're good with that thing, military?" he finished while nodding at the modified Remington 700.

"The Lord guides my hand, Gareth. Let me give you a hand with those who have fallen. “Former yes, and you?"

"2nd CE Batt (Battalion) with the 2nd, USMC."

"1st Recon Batt, 1st, out of Pendleton, though we were rarely there." responded Jason in return.

"Recon?"

"Force!" the statement was said with pride and Gareth nodded in return. There was a difference between USMC Recon and Force Recon.

"I met a few Force Recon guys at Legeune, in between blowing things up in various exotic places. Quiet bunch they were. Team sniper?"

"Correct."

"Well, let's go, we can talk more later," and with that, Gareth and his brother continued walking towards the others.

Three trucks had been backed up and gently the bodies of nine people were laid within their beds. Dozens of people had gathered, surrounding the vehicles and silently looking on while the process took place. Some were silently crying while others just looked mad as hell and not a few stern looks were directed at the new arrival in their midst ... The Reaper.

"Who's this?" The voice was husky yet melodious, an odd combination and the Jason turned to view the speaker. Before him was woman, early thirty's perhaps, and of incredible beauty.

"Jen, this is Reaper. He's the one that helped earlier when the zombies attacked." Gareth was now speaking to his wife, who looked suspicious while fingering the Beretta 92 shoved in her waistband.

"What do we know about him Gar? You guys are looking all comfortable over here, yet I'm suspicious. Is he from one of the other nearby groups?" she inquired as her stare bore into the Reaper.

"Ma'am. I mean you and yours no harm. I've just arrived and figuring out what's going on."

"It's Mrs. and what do you mean figuring out what's going on?"

"Hun, he took down maybe thirty of the bastards himself. He kept more from losing their lives. Calm down please. Reaper, this is Jenny, my wife." Then Gareth was caressing her tense shoulder as he indicated the woman. Distrust was still plainly written in her stiff stance and narrowed eyes, but finally she nodded minutely to Jason.

"Thank you, Reaper, but why do you call yourself by that name?"

"You're welcome. As for the name..." The Reaper paused then waved a hand around them before continuing. "My given name is Jason Scott. However, when all this occurred over a month ago, I came home from work to find my entire family slaughtered by these, Hell Spawn of Satan. I killed every one of the demons and then buried my family. It was then that I realized the Lord had a mission for me, as I had survived. To be the Lord's Reaper of the Devil's undead progeny, and those who would visit evil acts upon the survivors."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Reaper. Everyone here has lost people, most of them close family." Jenny remarked.

"I know. It's the way of things in this new trial of the Lord's."

"I hate to break up this gathering but we have nine of our own to bury and say a few words over. The holes are already dug and they're getting ready. We'll dump the zombies in one of the out pits the city dug when we're finished," commented Gareth who had been speaking with another of those near, but in low tones.

Several minutes later, on the backside of the motel, Jason stood near the back of all those assembled to say a final goodbye to friends and family. Gareth was in front, beside him Jenny and he was fumbling with the small bible in his hand. The Reapers eyebrow rose as he watched the confusion on their leaders face, and called out.

"You do not have a pastor in your group?"

Startled Gareth turned looking at the Reaper and shook his head. "I just usually pick a few verses at random and go with it." He backed up for this man called the Reaper was already striding forward, approaching and removing his equipment.

"Then allow me."

"You're a minister?"

"No, but I know the bible."

When Gareth started to hand Jason the bible he shook his head, clasped his hands before him, head bowed and started speaking.

"Romans 14. Verses 7-9.

For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. 

For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord.

So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.

For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.

These men and woman sacrifice themselves that others may live. Their souls are now resting at God's side, their bravery, and sacrifice, is a testament to what good, honorable, and caring people will do for each other. But know deep in your hearts, that God is with us and everything has a reason." The Reaper lifted his head and stepped back from the nine freshly dug graves before him. As he did so he heard a deep, murmured "Amen" from behind.

"Thank you Reaper. That was fitting." Gareth had stepped closer and was now speaking.

"You're welcome. We are all in this together."

"So, do you need a place to stay? We could use someone like you in our group. You're obviously religious and you took out quite a few of the bastards that attacked us. Every group in town has mostly cleared the undead out, but more and more of the undead keep arriving. In fact some have come from as far away as Kansas City, according to their driver's licenses." Gareth quit speaking for he saw the Reaper shaking his head.

"I'm sorry Gareth, I'm on a mission not only of the Lord's, but also the Governor of Michigan. You may not realize it, but there is organized evil afoot within the world."

"You mean this whole rogue government organization we've heard rumors of?" interjected Gareth.

"You know of them?" Surprise was clearly written on the Reaper face, and Gareth chuckled.

"Yeah, we get rumors. City Hall has some radio equipment and we understand a lot is happening out there. We've heard stories, even of Newaygo. So you're from there?"

"Yes!" Jason wanted to tell them more but knew operational security came first. "You have a functional city government?" he inquired.

"Well, somewhat. The hospital is all about, pay as you go, but the police and fire departments are still there along with what's left of the city managers. Not many of them left either, but they have their own group and are trying to keep some order in town."

"And they haven't asked you to relocate closer to them?"

"No why? Why should we."

"Because there is safety in numbers. Why didn't they respond to this incursion?"

"Because they don't. They don't want more numbers, and there are other reasons."

"What reasons?" the Reaper growled and for the first time, Gareth received a hint at how dangerous this man called the Reaper really was.

"There is a cult, north of town. Mostly, the police try to keep them out of Macon. Early on, this cult was taking people when everything went down. The City barely put a stop to it. Now they do their thing and the rest of us do ours."

"I need to talk to the city. Can you take me there, Gareth?"

"Sure, I suppose, but they don't take to strangers."

"I'm used to that. Why don't we get the undead cleared away and then you can introduce me," remarked the Reaper while Gareth nodded.

"Did your boys find out what that ruckus was all about, Ray?" Harley Dunnon was the fire chief of the city of Macon and had been for over the last dozen years. At six-foot and two-hundred pounds with a bald head framing blue eyes he had become a permanent fixture at the firehouse, for he had worked there for over thirty-five years. Since the apocalypse occurred, Chief Dunnon found himself understaffed and forced to cut back on most of the activities they used to do. Between his remaining firemen and their surviving dependents and those of the police department they were trying to keep a semblance of order within the primary business and housing district of Macon city.

"Yes, two of my boys, Graves and Wilson, witnessed a herd of the zombies attack Wood's bunch over at the motel. They got there too late to help, but said wood took care of it, along with someone shooting from on top of the old Sonnelly Sons warehouse. That might have been one of Gareth's, or someone from another group; we simply don't know." Ray Thomas was the chief of police for the city of Macon, Missouri. Five-foot ten inches and one hundred and seventy pounds portrayed a muscular man with crew cut brown hair and matching eyes. He was Harley's counterpart and co-leader of the city. Together with Douglas Atwood they were all that were left of the city management and were the drivers behind holding Macon together in almost one piece.

"Casualties?"

"Some, but I don't know how many. They held a funeral out back. Graves said it looked like quite a few."

"Damn, too bad. I know we talked about this, but isn't there any way we can extend coverage to more of the outlying groups?"

"No, I wish, Harley, but simply not possible. We have to keep most of our men on the north side to counter those damn Children of Mesoch. If we let our guard down, they'll wipe us out."

"Crap! I wish there was something we could do about them. If they were out of the picture we might be able to bring this town together. We can't keep living like this. We have to get it together and we have an obligation to the people in our community!" ground out Harley as he slammed the palm of his fist down on the desk in frustration.