The Reaper: No Mercy by Sean Liebling Page B

hand through his short hair in obvious frustration.
    "What part of 'our numbers aren't enough' are you having trouble with, Reaper!" Tom's voice had risen and he stood to face the Reaper while waving his arms to the side. "What you see is what you get. There are only the four of us men, protecting over a dozen women and twice that number of children. The loss of any one of us would be a major blow to our group!" Tom's face was red as he expressed his frustration and helplessness at the situation, causing the Reaper to ponder that slowly before he spoke. It was obvious this leader of theirs, Tom, was out of his depth, and as far as Jason could tell was flying by the seat of his pants through most situations they had encountered.
    "When you were attacked a few days ago, the four of you held off fifty marauders?"
    "Well no, actually the women were firing from the upper windows. Some are excellent shots."
    "Then the women will have to fight also. This is a fight between good and evil, Tom." As he said this, Tom looked down and laughed shallowly.
    "What does that mean, and if so, why did God allow this to happen?"
    "God didn't allow this to happen. Man did this all by himself, but I can tell you this. I have, over the last month, witnessed the Lord's hand in combating the evil spreading outward as fast as the zombies. He is taking a direct hand once again. Of that you can be assured." The Reaper’s words were emphasized, and slowly the others nodded.
    "Reaper, I get it that you're religious. I haven't been in a long time. As you probably guessed, I am ex-Army, but out of my depth. I have a few skills and now I'm using those skills to try to keep all of us alive until spring. We are simply not enough to do what needs doing. If I had my old infantry platoon, we would wipe them up in short order, but I don't, and I'm the only ex-military here."
    "Why don't you let me talk to the other groups and then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," answered Jason.
    "Fair enough, but I don't see it happening. Good luck, Reaper, and in the meantime I'm going to hold a meeting to see if anyone has any ideas on how to stop bulldozers and snowplows."
    "You won't, Tom. They're almost unstoppable. Military-grade explosives work, but I'm assuming you have none." Tom shook his head, and the Reaper nodded. "Then I'll check on the next group and see where they stand, but I'll be back."
    "Well I won't exactly say you're welcome here, but we'll at least listen to you," muttered Tom.
    The Reaper nodded and, after stuffing his belongings back in his ruck, gathered up the tools of his trade and departed. He had three more groups to visit, and little time to do it in.
     
    *****
     
    Tom watched through the narrow window beside the front door as the Reaper left, and didn't take his eyes off the tall figure until it disappeared from sight. Only then did he turn to Pat. Patrick was a tall, raw-boned man with greyish-blond hair and a very pale complexion. They had known each other since before the zombie outbreak, both having worked at the same auto parts store. Tom had been Pat's supervisor, though that didn't matter now. What mattered was that they trusted each other.
    The pressure of keeping all of their refugees safe was tremendous, and when the marauders had attacked two days ago it was only by perseverance and quite a bit of luck that they’d held them off. Since that time, they had been slowly moving cars up, not as a blockage against snowplows or bulldozers, but as an additional barrier that would give them the time needed to wound or kill any marauders that attacked again.
    "Pat, bring up more vehicles for the barricade. What the Reaper said makes sense. Try to get the biggest ones you can find."
    "Do you really think it's the same Reaper we heard about?"
    "Might be. He fits the description."
    "He had some balls walking up to the front door like he did."
    "That fits the description also."
    "Will the extra cars and trucks really help though, Tom?