The Reaper: No Mercy (4 page)

Three of the creatures turned in the direction of the sharp reports, the three with intact ears that is, and he could see them preparing to move fast as the fourth finally turned with them. The Reaper did not hesitate! Instead he used their distraction to his benefit and launched his attack silently, taking the first through the neck, his blade partially lodging in its shoulder on the far side; but the cut had been true, and the beast’s head rolled back, hanging by a strip of skin. With a yank, he jerked the blade free, then hamstrung the second that was starting to turn towards him, followed by a quick overhand angled slice through its skull, cleaving the brain within in half.

The other two spawn were upon him, and this time he did snarl in fury as their rushing forms pushed him backwards. His blade was in the wrong position to strike with its razor-sharp edge, but the tang with his fist wrapped around it was almost as good, so he lashed out in blind fury, striking the foremost in the center of its face. His left hand reached out to grasp, then jerk the other creature by the fabric of its coat, throwing it off balance to the ground as he desperately tried to finish off the last one before him. The punch had also thrown it off balance but, quickly recovering, it launched itself at the Reaper, mouth gaping wide. His blade was still angled wrong but he thrust anyways, its sharp edge piercing the neck, thrusting up into the brain only to lodge at the top of the skull.

A sharp pain exploded in his left arm; turning, the Reaper tried to wrench free of the last spawn of Satan whose teeth had fastened on him, while pulling his Colt at the same time. His arm would not come free but his Colt did, and lifting his arm with a grit of teeth, he shoved the barrel under the creature’s chin while pulling the trigger, the back of the head blowing outward in a spray of blood, brains, and bone immediately following the Colt’s muffled report. The jaws of the devil's spawn instantly loosened as it dropped bonelessly to the ground, and Jason straightened, then critically examined his jacket where the creature had bitten him.

Thank the Lord! The teeth had not penetrated the tough fabric of his brown Carhartt, which meant he would not have to dig into his limited supply of antibiotics. A bite from the undead might not transfer the virus, but they'd give you a hell of an infection if left untreated. The Reaper flexed his arm and shook it to dispel any lingering pain while peering around his position, looking for more of the Godless. There were none that he could detect as he surveyed his surroundings.

Multiple shots rang out to his west, and the Reaper frowned. Someone was in danger and in need of help. Perhaps it was a small group of survivors being attacked by the undead, or one group of survivors being set upon by another, which seemed to be happening all too frequently lately. Jason decided he would figure it out when he arrived at the location of the gunfire.

"
Don't worry, I'm coming,
" he muttered under his breath as he quickly sprinted back to his campsite and gathered up his already-packed belongings. Then he turned once again to the west and headed through the dense underbrush, his machete out and ready. Shots sounded yet again, this time, a veritable barrage of gunfire, and the Reaper picked up his pace. Whatever was happening had just taken on urgency. He could sense it.

Two hundred yards further to his west, he came upon a road. The shots were not far off, and it was sounding more and more like a pitched battle. The Reaper put more speed on, hoping he was in time to save lives, when suddenly he spotted something on the ground ahead and froze. The Reaper crept closer, then stopped and crouched. Before him on the ground were the stripped bodies of an older adult male and two older females, along with those of three small children. From the signs, they had only been dead a few days; gently, he turned one of the children over and grimaced. All five were the victims of gunshot wounds. The tiny ones each had a hole in the center of their chest. He frowned, then his face twisted into a savagely angry mask, remembering the bodies he'd found the previous evening scattered along the road heading into the city from the east. Suddenly it was not looking good at all for somebody, and he rose at the renewed sounds of gunfire ahead.

After taking a moment to close their eyes, he said a brief prayer over the bodies and continued onward. He had seen these signs before, and once again he realized the Lord was just reaffirming his mission. As he had told Jay, he was on the Lord’s mission and he would continue without hesitation, without reservation, until that mission was complete.

The Reaper sprinted along the roadside towards the sounds of battle, and along the way he was forced to leap over the naked bodies of other small groups of men, women, and children, each appearing to have been gunned down, most recently. Anger burned bright within him as he closed to within a few hundred yards of the conflict. Ahead, he could see a beefy, camouflage-attired male, running while firing behind him. The rifle he held in his hands pointed at the stand of trees, where barely half-seen figures were appearing.
Blind shots and the act of a desperate man
, thought Jason. The Reaper needed no further understanding, and he quickly scaled the pine tree beside him while placing his modified M40A1 to his shoulder after flipping the scope’s magnetic lens covers up and out of the way. His rifle’s ten-round magazine was full with 7.62 and he jacked the first into the chamber. He was ready, but he still had to figure out who were the good guys and who were the bad guys.

Quickly dialing down his 8.5x25 X 50mm Leupold Mark 4 ER/T M1 scope, he checked the runner first. The man's face came into sharp focus and the Reaper could see desperation written plainly there, along with resignation. Then he shifted his aim to those following this unknown figure and grinned mirthlessly. In his field of vision were well over a dozen figures, all staggering around and firing equally blindly towards the runner. Many were holding bottles, obviously alcohol of some sort, and equally obvious was that fact that they were drunk, for they stumbled over each other as they wildly discharged their firearms.

This made his choice easy. The Reaper calmed his breathing, squeezed off the first shot in between heartbeats, and watched as the top of the foremost villain’s head disappeared in an explosion of blood. Without hesitation, Jason rotated another round into the barrel and fired again, taking the next in the lower forehead. Settling into a rhythm, he continued firing. Taking one with each shot, for the Reaper never missed.

These drunken assailants quickly became aware of him as rounds started whistling through the branches of the pine he was resting in, but he ignored them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the runner had fallen to the ground and was firing at those attacking him from a prone position. Jason had identified friend from foe and continued firing, along with this other man who realized he had a friend coming to his rescue. Ten down and instantly the Reaper was switching magazines before firing again. Eleven down!

Then the attackers were disappearing into the woods, and the figure of the runner was up and running towards him. As this man approached, the Reaper kept scanning the woodline but saw no others. He then heard engines starting up, and several trucks shot out of the woods further down the street towards what looked like a high brick fence surrounding a group of ornate buildings. Briefly, Jason thought about shooting into the trucks, but held back. He would figure it out shortly, as his gaze shifted to the man still lumbering to his position. He safe'd his Remington 700 sniper rifle and slid down the tree, only to draw his Colt .45 as the man approached at a run, breathing heavily.

"Bruce! Oh my God, thank you man. I didn't realize you could shoot that good. You saved my ass."

The Reaper said nothing and just stared at the man as he slid to a halt, the Colt ready in case he had misjudged the situation.

"Wait, you're not Bruce!" The runner was now before him, and while Jason kept his .45 low, he could see not only the confusion in the man's eyes, but instant wariness when he recognized a ready weapon that was 'almost' aimed at him. Jason did not know nor care in these first few minutes who this Bruce was. He only cared about finding out what was going on, right here, and right now.

"No."

"Well stranger, thank you. I would be dead by now otherwise. Thank you!"

"You're welcome. What was that all about?"

"Where do I start?" the beefy tattooed figure before Jason sighed while rubbing his face tiredly.

"The beginning is usually a good place," replied the Reaper sardonically.

"That would be a tall order and a long story, friend. Let me first ask. ARE you a friend, and if so, why did you help me?" The stranger was apprehensive, and the Reaper could see that his hand, holding what looked like an AR-15 yet bulkier, was twitching as if he wasn't sure if the danger was over yet. Jason smiled mirthlessly and holstered his Colt as he replied.

"I am the Reaper. My mission was given to me by the Lord after the devil’s spawn took my family. I mean you and yours no harm if you have good intentions. Those with bad intentions will feel the Lord’s wrath through myself, his servant." The Reaper did not hesitate to state his mission. He had no fear, for he firmly believed that when his mission was done, the Lord would reunite him with his family. The man was nodding as he listened, and suddenly thrust out a hand.

"My name is Andy Kiwacz."

"Reaper, or Jason, as you will," the Reaper replied as he shook the man's hand. Slowly Andy released his hand, then turned and gazed out over the field littered with bodies while shaking his head. The reply came slowly.

"I think I'll call you, Reaper. You're certainly effective."

The Reaper said nothing for a moment, then finally spoke as both men looked at each other. "Who is Bruce?"

"One of my group that I'd told to stay behind and help guard the women and children. When you started firing, I assumed he'd followed me instead. I really didn't know who else it could be. But, come Reaper. Let's get back to my family and crew. We can talk there, as we’re not safe here. They'll be back shortly in much larger numbers." Making sure Jason was following him, Andy headed through the woods parallel to the road and into town. As they passed each group of stripped bodies, both young and old, the Reaper took a few seconds to close the eyes and rearrange the bodies of those that needed it to provide a semblance of family.
Their mortal forms should rest with dignity
, he thought as he straightened their stiff forms. The Reaper knew he was taking an additional risk of being spotted with these small delays, but did what needed to be done for the newly departed. At first Andy observed his actions, then started helping the Reaper. In the end, Jason counted over forty dead, before they finally headed down a side street within the city. A church loomed ahead, this one heavy in concrete and brick, its door opening as they approached.

Just inside, a woman was waiting for them, a .380 handgun held tightly in her hands. The Reaper instantly saw an intense yet strong, caring face, filled with concern for this man before him, and he took an instant liking to her. He watched as she hugged Andy tightly, then fingered the rip in his jacket while gazing up into his eyes. Then her gaze turned to watch the Reaper without speaking, piercing green eyes never leaving his face. Others were coming up behind her, and Jason saw seven small children, along with two more adult males, and five females. Andy was the first to speak.

"Reaper, I'd like you to meet my family and friends."

Introductions were quickly made as they bolted the door and headed into the interior. One of the men stayed behind to watch through a portion of a stained window, and the Reaper nodded in approval at the lookout as he followed them.

*****

"What the fuck just happened!" Ringo screamed. Five minutes ago he had been raping the shit out of a sweet fourteen-year-old redhead, whose screams of agony and terror were a real turn-on, and now he was standing in a frozen field just south of the cemetery gazing down in fury at the sprawled-out bodies lying there. An even dozen of his men were dead, with nothing to show for it. He could care less if they all died; what he did care about were bitches, farmhands, and supplies, and increasing his power. He waved his .44 Smith & Wesson Magnum around like a madman, brandishing it in the face of some of those present who were rapidly backing away from him, and punching it into the chests of others who were not quick enough to move out of the way of his furious rampage. "What the fuck do I pay you for?"

"Well, technically you don't pay us anything," quipped one young, greasy-haired man who had just taken a healthy swallow from the bottle of peppermint schnapps he held tightly gripped in his hand. Ringo rounded on him in fury and fired his .44 without hesitation, the jacketed round ripping through the bony chest, eventually coming to rest somewhere a great distance away. As his lifeless body fell to the ground, Ringo rounded on the others again.

"Nobody fucks with me, period! I'm the top guy, and I'll kill anyone who mouths off, so does anyone else wanna be a smart ass? Please talk shit, because that's thirteen dead now and thirteen's an unlucky number. I need to kill one more!"

No one took him up on his offer as all fell backward, hands raised, partially-filled bottles of alcohol falling to the ground as they stumbled away in their haste.

"No, man, no. We don't know who did it. One of our guys spotted some pervert spying on us from the barn and we went to take them out. Shots came out of nowhere, man. We were dropping like flies. Left and right, even. We had to take cover or we'd be dead too. Jesus dude, calm down, it's not our fault. Look at the bodies, man!" The new speaker was slightly older, yet still the epitome of a dirtbag by most standards. Disheveled and filthy, a .45 automatic stuck in his waist, he was beefier than the last man to hit the dirt, but not by much. His name was Duane, and he was one of Ringo's lieutenants.