The Reaper: No Mercy (36 page)

The Reaper, also known as Jason, and even Captain Scott, paused to rest for a moment as he neared the fenced boundary of Highway 36. During the previous two hours since leaving the religious cult compound he'd carefully made his way south, through the heavily wooded strip of land between Macon and Long Branch Lakes. The density of Hell's offspring was higher here, in and near Macon, which stood to reason for it was a much larger city, yet the Reaper stayed in thick wooded area's for he wanted to identify all the players before announcing himself. In the four mile trek from the compound he had encountered and been forced to dispatch over a dozen of the undead spawn, using only his machete, for he did not wish to reveal his presence to any other surviving groups until he had a firmer grasp on the conditions here in Macon. He checked his watch briefly, noting that he still had over thirty minutes before the satellite would be within range then looked around his position. Forward and to the west, he saw a large group of Satan's spawn approaching the city along the highway in herd-like fashion. They were not moving especially fast, but they also never stopped. These minions of Hell were in search of prey, and he ignored him for now. They were too far away to spot him and he needed to get a message out first.

*****

While he watched and listened, the Reaper’s mind drifted back to his very first encounter with these spawns of Satan. A family man, and retired from the United States Marine Corp as a Force Recon sniper with the 1st Marine Division, he had taken a job as a machinist to supplement their family income. Upon arriving home after working third shift on the day the undead rose, he found his entire family slaughtered. Going berserk, he had killed every zombie in sight using any means at hand. They had truly died under his wrath, and he, the Reaper, had survived. It was then that he realized the Lord had a new mission for him.

Jason had always been deeply religious, even as a child. He knew the Lord had a purpose for everything that happened in life, so the fact he had lived indicated God's plans for him were unfinished. He had prayed to the Almighty, and realizing his mission through divine guidance, he once again donned his old tools of the trade—the tools of a Marine Corps sniper—and set out to eradicate the spawn of Hell from the surrounding Newaygo, Michigan area. After weeks of combat and slaughter, along with more than a few signs from God, he realized his mission had changed in a subtle manner. No longer was his mission to hunt only the undead, but also the evil men living amongst them, who in many ways were much worse. These incarnations of evil preyed on other survivors, and the Lord had spoken loud and clear. The unspeakable acts of murder, rape, and immorality he’d witnessed had shown the Reaper where he could best use his talents.

*****

Macon was a much bigger city than Paris, Missouri. The Reaper had just left the smaller town after uniting the survivors and brought in additional military personnel to eradicate a menacing group of marauders. The population here in Macon was six times larger and the size of the city illustrated this increase. In Paris, the Reaper had called in reinforcements from Newaygo, Michigan, who had been sent two full twelve-man ODA's (Operational Deployment-Alpha) of Special Forces to assist in the suppression of hostile survivor forces. Through the grit of the full combination of all local survivor groups, they had prevailed and wiped the menace from the face of the planet. In that final battle though, the Special Forces had lost two men, another critically wounded, along with another nine members from the local groups. Now, they were on the fast track to recovery and the Reaper wished them the best.

It was almost two p.m. and several hours ago, he had been carefully scouting out the southern perimeter of what appeared to be the very large compound of a religious cult, located two miles northwest of the city at the tip of Macon Lake. Looking down within its interior from several vantage points along his path he'd estimated it at one mile square in size. Now he needed to get word back to Paris, Missouri about what he had seen, specifically the large upright cross, deep within its interior and decorated with the spiked bodies of a great many men, women and children. It was just two miles from the city limits and from the plumes of smoke, the Reaper already knew there were a multitude of survivors in or near this large town.

Initially, when he'd peered into the compound, his first inclination had been to slip between the strands of barbed wire, which were strung between the twelve foot tall stakes, spaced six feet apart. The fence had stretched for almost a half mile in every direction with roughly fifty yards of cleared area on both sides of its wooden and steel construction. Within, the cleared area ended in a dense wooded front and Jason knew it would only take a few minutes to run the distance to cover. It was while he was mulling over the decision to penetrate, or not, while carefully scanning the forest front, when he spotted the guard posts.

Placed just within the tree line were small enclosed platforms positioned every one hundred feet along its length and built on stilts, leaving them approximately twenty feet off the ground. Another careful examination of several of the platforms, revealed a large window in the front of each, and mounted within were what appeared to be machine gun emplacements. That those weapons were manned became obvious when he witnessed the barrels moving slowly back and forth. Interior penetration of this heavily armed fortress would need to be done at night and the recon a slow one.

The Reaper glanced over too his right, noting a large warehouse like structure that appeared to be abandoned, and immediately headed towards it. He needed a stable surface to set up his radio gear to communicate. It would suit his purposes and the vantage point the two-story structure afforded would allow him to get a better picture of the county and city limits he was approaching.

Fifteen minutes later, saw him approaching the metal structure while noting its rust-streaked sides and broken windows. He held his machete in his hand and had already loosened the Navy Colt .45 in its side holster in case it was needed. The Colt had belonged to his father and upon the elders death had gone to Jason. The Reaper preferred to believe that by carrying the old, yet serviceable weapon, his pa was accompanying him on the Lord's mission.

This was an older facility, maybe 60's era and obviously abandoned for a great many years. He crouched in the snow-covered undergrowth as he came upon the cracked asphalt parking lot surrounding the building and slowly scanned for Satan's spawn. Yes, they were here! Over a dozen of the undead were standing motionless between the main structure, and what appeared to be a large maintenance shed.

Carefully he backed until he was fully hidden from their view, while circling around to the south. He was looking for a ladder mounted to the side of this large building. Federal fire codes always demanded an easy egress to the roof surface of all commercial buildings, and it was for that ladder, he was searching. He found it within minutes, right where he expected it on the backside of the warehouse, with its vertical length surrounded by a metal cage-like framework. Thirty-five feet separated him from his destination and peering closely he saw that the safety barrier had already been removed, which would allow him to scale the roof without hindrance.

A careful look in both directions showed no signs of the undead from this side and he sprinted to the ladder. Removing his pack, he unclipped the support strap, lengthened it and fastened it to his leather belt. He would ascend while supporting the heavy bundle under his body for there was not enough room with it strapped to his back. His Rifle he slung muzzle down across the front of his body and grasping the metal rungs through his leather gloves, he quickly rose to the rooftop. Another few seconds saw him creeping to the southeast corner of the warehouse and dropping his ruck he quickly pulled his binoculars and started scanning the city that lay before him.

There were smoke plumes in evidence, a sure giveaway for survivor groups. He counted five in total and observed the movement of vehicles along some of the streets.
Busy little town
, he thought as he continued panning, noting what looked to be a school just ahead to his east and what looked like a decent sized motel just to his south, occupying approximately four square acres of space. As he slowly took in the details of what was a spread out, single story America's Best Value Inn; for he had read the sign in front, he noticed with interest that the zombies he had seen earlier were entering its crowded parking lot.
No time for that now, he needed to get a message out
.

Strapped to the side of his rucksack was a plasticized canvas bag measuring almost twenty inches in length. Inside this protective covering was an RF-3080-AT001,

A high gain UHF SATCOM Antenna assembly. State of the art military issue, paired with the AN-PRC-152 it was the most commonly carried device in the field for secure extended communications. The Falcon III® AN/PRC-152 single-channel multiband, multi-mission handheld radio had been in use for many years by all branches of the U.S. Department of Defense. It was capable of providing real-time information and communication for units in the field. Its range was effectively limitless as combined with the SATCOM antenna, bounced signals through satellites overhead for world-wide coverage. This particular model also had a built in GPS (Global Positioning System) identifier.

During the Extraction at Paris, the Reaper had been pleased that Newaygo had provided several paired units of these communication devices and quickly secured one of them. He was the forward scout for Newaygo's advance towards the shadow government and needed the immediate ability to communicate resource and manpower needs with higher authority.

It took him less than a minute to unzip the pouch, extract and assemble the rapid deploy, high gain, crossed Yagi antenna for SATCOM communications. Opening the top of his ruck to remove the lightweight radio transceiver itself, and connect it to the leads from the antenna array, only took a few more moments and he was powering it up while punching in the agreed upon frequency for Paris, Missouri. Checking his compass, Jason rotated the wire frame dish into optimal position while adjusting the angle of its primary antenna. He then then pressed the button to record his current GPS coordinates. He would need those shortly and while continuing to scan his surroundings, he raised the small hand held device to his mouth.

"Reaper to Paris Six, over."

"
Paris to Reaper, stand by for Six
." almost a minute had gone by before he heard a return response. The reception was amazingly clear, but he didn't recognize the voice that spoke.

"Roger that, Paris." The Reaper continued to wait, and then heard Rodriguez's voice over the speaker. SFC, or Platoon Sergeant, Dennis Rodriguez had been the leader of the largest survivor group in Paris, Missouri and the only surviving military elements in that area. Though Rodriguez had been skeptical at first, he had joined forces with the Reaper while supporting the combination of all local groups to take on the much larger group of marauders that occupied the northern half of the city. Now, he was the interim leader of a growing and soon to be thriving community until elections could be held in the spring. Jason was proud to consider him a friend.

"
Reaper, Paris Six! What's the situation over there, and do you need our support
?"

"Paris Six, not at this time. Initial assessment is incomplete. Am transmitting GPS coordinates now," and the Reaper was thumbing the buttons that would burst the coordinates along the data link to the receiver in Paris, Missouri. "Copy that you received them, over."

"
Transmission recieved. Don't leave us in suspense, Captain. I've read the copy we made of that notebook and the situation doesn't look good
."

"It is what it is. I'll know more within a day. The cult appears to be bad news. I was able to scan some of the interior and deep within their compound is a large cross that they've nailed men, women and even children. I was unable to do a forward recon during daylight, as they have manned machine gun emplacements every hundred feet along the exterior. At this time, their beliefs are unknown, but the fact they've killed children doesn't speak well for them."

"
Reaper, we can and will provide support. Things are going well here. Already, in the last two days, over two thousand refugees have come out of hiding and joined us. It's busy
."

"I knew it would be, Rodriguez, but not at this time. Let me feel the players out and I'll get back to you. As previously discussed, if I don't report back by tomorrow then I'm compromised and this information needs to get to Newaygo."

"
I will make sure it does, but I do not see you being compromised, Reaper. Yes, I'm familiar with your dogma. When the Lord decides it's time for you to go home, he'll collect you!
"

"That's right," this time the Reaper growled, and at that moment, he heard gunfire to the south. The rapid staccato of weapons going off simultaneously made it sound like a pitched battle and quickly the Reaper held the binoculars to his eyes as he zoomed in on the motel across the highway, less than five-hundred yards distant. Instantly he was speaking into the hand-held unit again.

"Paris Six, something needs my attention. Reaper out."

"
Copy that Reaper, keep us informed. We'll be here
." Then the Reaper turned the handset off as he lifted his M40A1 sniper rifle, then crept to the south edge of the roof.