Butcher’s gloves—
She grabbed the chain mail gauntlets and put them on. A scraping sound came from her left and she swung around, jerking her body back. A trope was perched on a steel work surface, looking directly at her. Thick drool hung from its mouth.
There you are—
A scuff on the concrete floor behind. Mercy’s shoulders stiffened.
Another one—
The hiss and bubble of dead air through clenched teeth on her right.
Christ, surrounded—
Mercy dropped the fire axe and grabbed a fragmentation grenade from her webbing.
You’ll not take me alive—
She gripped the grenade and pulled out the pin. She stared at the nearest trope, its dead eyes roved over her body. The trope’s teeth snapped at the air, its hunger palpable.
Why aren’t you attacking?
A putrefying stench wafted down from above. Mercy looked up. The alpha leader was crouching on a steel rail overhead, leering down at her. It blinked and spat, its straw coloured saliva splattered across Mercy’s face and hair. It hissed and jumped to the floor in front of her.
Now. One—
Mercy dropped the grenade and punched the alpha hard in the face with her chain mailed fist. The alpha’s rotten teeth snapped and its head jerked back.
Two—
Mercy rolled to the right, under the stainless steel table.
Three—
She reached up and pulled the table over, sheltering behind it.
Four—
The grenade exploded, sending flesh-shredding shrapnel in a wide arc. The alpha leader crumpled in a bloody heap to the floor. Two other tropes were flung backwards by the blast against the steel workstations, their spines snapping like twigs. Mercy’s table took the brunt of the explosion, its under surface puckering with shrapnel.
Mercy shook her head and blinked. Concrete dust filled the air. High pitched ringing filled her ears, and her stomach ached. A wave of nausea washed over her, bile welled up in the back of her throat, and she vomited onto the floor.
Get… away, before more of them come—
Mercy’s head spun and she forced herself to crawl the twenty feet to the sliver of daylight beckoning her. She reached the steel roller doors and pressed her face to the four inch gap. A welcome breeze caressed her sweat streaked face, and she breathed in a lungful of air.
God, it’s still smoky outside—
She pushed against the steel roller door with her gauntleted hand. The barrier rattled and buckled slightly but did not budge.
Shit, there’ll be an automated switch or a pulley system—
Something grabbed Mercy’s left ankle and yanked her back. She screamed and lashed out with her right leg. Her boot connected with something hard. The grip on her ankle weakened. She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball. She reached for her pistol but her gloved hands fumbled with the holster strap. A twisted trope face appeared out of the dark at her feet. It leered up at her, its facial bones visible through translucent veined skin.
Mercy kicked out with her free foot, hitting the trope in the jaw, stunning it. She jerked herself up and followed through by grabbing the thing by the neck.
Let. Me. Go. You. Bastard.
Mercy’s grip was like a vice, her anger cold. Strength surged down her arms into her gauntleted hands. She leant forwards and gripped the trope’s neck with both hands.
“Let me go, you bastard. Let me go—”
The trope’s struggling lessened slightly.
“Let me go,” Mercy repeated, this time her words a deflated hiss. “Please—”
Mercy leant into the trope, her fingers tightened around its neck. Her face hovered inches from its biting teeth, the stench of its corrupted flesh ripe in the air. The trope’s eyes bulged, it let out a choking sound. Mercy felt a snap under her fingers. The trope’s body went limp.
Die fucker. Stay dead—
The words permeated Mercy’s consciousness as she stared into the thing’s sightless eyes. She pressed her forehead against the concrete floor.
Thank you—
Mercy pushed the trope’s body away and stood up. Her legs shook and her muscles ached but she made it over to the wall beside the steel roller doors. Her vision blurred as she grabbed the chain pulley and hauled on it. The steel roller’s workings were stiff with rust and resisted her attempt. She swore loudly and tried again. A grating sound followed as the roller mechanism engaged. The door jerked up a foot. Mercy pulled again and the door jerked up another two feet.
Enough to roll under—
Mercy released the chain and crouched down beside the gap.
I’m almost there—
A table clattered to the floor somewhere behind. Fast moving shapes darted in and around the steel workstations and conveyor belts. A collective whispering swelled in the air. Shrieks penetrated the darkness. A fresh tide of tropes surged through the cavernous space towards the light, towards Mercy.
Breathe—
Mercy dropped to the ground and squeezed through the gap. She stood up outside and grabbed the foot of the roller door with her gloved hands. She pushed down. The door descended a little. She cursed and threw herself against the steel door, adding her body weight. With a rusty screech it jerked down to the ground, shutting off the factory floor beyond. Mercy grunted and slumped against the door, her breathing laboured.
Yes, goddammit, yes—
Seconds later the dead slammed into the door on the other side. Trope fists pounded the metal barrier, their frenzied screams calling out for blood. Mercy tilted her head back and exhaled through clenched teeth.
Not today. This girl is not for dying, not today, not now—
Chapter 33
The Devil’s Playground
Mercy staggered across an open area. A fence was visible in the distance. The thick smoke made her squint.
Some kind of loading area. Can’t see any tropes, get to the fence—
She ran across the tarmac and made it to the fence. The chain link was too high to climb, so she followed it around until she came to a gate. The lock lay in pieces on the ground. She checked behind then opened the gate. Smoky wasteland stretched out before her. She glanced at her watch; 6:48 pm.
Hell, it’ll be getting dark soon. Find shelter, those alphas will escape from that place and come for me—
Mercy took off the chainmail gauntlets and hid them under a rock. She pulled up her improvised T-shirt mask to cover her mouth and nose. With her pistol in hand she staggered forwards, through ragged bushes. The ground was unforgiving and she had to slow down to avoid injury.
Hard for me, hard for them… although they don’t care—
She picked her way across the broken ground for another twenty minutes. Dark shapes loomed ahead. She squinted through the cloying gloom, her shoulders tense.
Nothing moving, looks quiet—
A warm breeze caressed her cheek. Eerie golden light filtered through the hazy air. Mercy glanced back across the valley. She glimpsed orange tongues of fire in the distance.
Jesus, I’m in the devil’s playground—
She shuddered and turned to the open ground ahead. Some of the smoke had cleared with the breeze. Her eyes widened.
Just my luck, this looks like some kind of funfair. It’s better than nothing. There should be some place to hide in there—
Mercy edged forwards then stepped down onto a level surface. Her eyes strayed to the nearest looming shape.
Some kind of ride—
The word BONESHAKER materialized out of the haze, above the ride entrance.
Looks like a starfish… no thank you—
She continued through the funfair. The breeze moaned across rusty wires and struts.
Jesus, how long has this place been here? It looks seriously retro—
The once colourful painted scenes on the rides looked garish and dated. The peeling paint and rust stained panels gave the place an otherworldly dimension.
A more substantial building lay at the centre of the fair. Mercy approached cautiously, her gun hand raised. The building was unlike the others. It was black, she could just make out the faded images of phantoms and skeletons along one side. A giant tombstone marked the entrance and a life sized coffin hung suspended above the door. The words THE DEVIL’S SALOON, ENTER IF YOU DARE were visible in a neon light box to one side.
Subtle. I bet it looked the business at night though—
A single high pitched scream pierced the air. Mercy looked over her shoulder.
Yeah, I knew it. That bitch means business, she just won’t let go. They never do. It’s me or her—
Mercy turned to the saloon doors and entered the building. Cobwebs brushed against her face as she stepped over the threshold. A musty smell greeted her, she pressed her back against the wall and pulled out her torch. She covered it with her fingers allowing a thin beam to illuminate her way. The floorboards creaked as she advanced. Something crunched under her right foot, she swept the light down and grimaced.
Wow, that’s one massive cockroach. Not a good sign—
She pressed deeper into the replica saloon, passing wax dummies of card playing vampires and skeletons. A hangman’s noose occupied a corner and sepia WANTED posters covered one wall. A long, dust covered bar ran along the back of the room. A grimy old style saloon mirror ran the entire length of the wall behind the bar. Mercy took a closer look at one of the dummies; a wicked looking, Wild West styled vampire.
Not wax after all. Looks like some kind of animatronic puppet. They’ve done this kind of stuff with dinosaur parks too. This place must’ve drawn the crowds, with the correct lighting this would’ve been pretty cool—
She came to a staircase at the rear of the saloon and paused.
Better inside than outside. Better upstairs than downstairs—
A glint on the floor caught her eye.
Broken bulbs. Hang on, that could be useful—
Mercy tore down one of the wanted posters and used it to scoop up the glass fragments. She climbed the stairs scattering the glass behind her.
At least I’ll hear them coming if they make it to the staircase—
She reached the first floor. A balcony looked down over the saloon below. Mercy continued along the landing. She peered into some of the rooms as she went. The lace and chintz décor was covered in cobwebs.
Hmmm… a kind of bordello feel—
Downstairs a window shattered. Mercy froze, her grip tightened on the pistol. She held her breath.
Easy, easy does it. If that’s an alpha, it’s hunting, trying to flush me out—
Mercy waited a few seconds. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead and onto her nose. A floorboard creaked somewhere in the saloon below.
They’re here—
Mercy turned to the nearest door and switched off her torch. She placed her hand on the handle and opened the door. A crunch came from the staircase.
Jesus—
Mercy stepped into the room and closed the door. Her fingers searched blindly around the handle.
I can’t see a thing. No lock, no key. Shit—
She backed into the room and knocked into a wall. She frowned.
Strange—
She moved away from the wall and two steps later met more resistance.
What the hell—?
Her fingers reached out and traced a cool, smooth surface. Her mind raced.
Glass? An exhibition maybe? Glass cabinets, like a museum—
She backed further into the room following the smooth surface with her fingers. It took her around a corner and, a few steps later, another corner.
Something’s not right. These aren’t glass cabinets. Shit, I need to see what I’m getting myself into—
Mercy reached for her torch. Her heart pounded. A scuff came from over by the door.
Goddammit, it’s in the room with me—
Mercy waited, holding her breath.
Keep still, maybe if I—
A floorboard creaked nearby. Mercy switched on her torch. The alpha leader was standing three feet away, staring straight at her. Mercy squeezed her trigger. Her round destroyed the full length mirror in front of her. Understanding flooded through Mercy.
Jesus, it’s a mirror maze—
Something slammed against the mirror on her right.
It’s on the other side. It must see my reflection somewhere. Move, find a way out—
Mercy backed away and came to a junction. She turned and ran down a narrow mirrored section to another fork. She continued left, her torch beam reflecting a hundred fold. A crash and a scream came from behind as the alpha collided with a mirrored partition. It screamed in frustration and started hammering at the panel with its fists.
Mercy ran along two more narrow sections, then stopped. Heart pounding, she listened.
It’s gone quiet. That’s not good—
A cool draught brushed against Mercy’s skin. She peered around the next corner, her torch beam caught a different reflective surface.
Oh my god, a window. If I could reach it—
Something wet dripped on Mercy’s neck.
Oh—
Adrenaline surged through her body. She threw herself to one side and pointed her pistol at the ceiling, firing blindly. The gun kicked in her hand, chunks of plaster rained down from above. The alpha landed on the floor three feet away, unharmed. It snapped its head up and stared at Mercy through long matted hair. It bared its teeth, a thin string of straw coloured saliva hung from the corner of its mouth.
Mercy scrabbled back, around the corner, firing twice more. Her ears rang with the gunshots, she rose and lurched towards the window. The alpha grabbed at her from behind, its hand latching onto the rifle slung around her shoulder. Mercy shrugged the gun off and threw herself at the window. The impact took her breath away. Glass disintegrated around her as she tumbled out of the window onto a sloping corrugated iron roof. She rolled off the roof onto a dumpster six feet below.
Oh—
Pain wracked Mercy’s body. Her vision blurred, she blinked then frowned.
Is it snowing? It’s snowing—
Mercy reached out and touched the feather like flakes floating around her. She smiled then brought her fingers to her mouth. She tasted the snow then pulled a face.
That’s not snow—
She blinked again, a rush of warmth surged through her stomach. Her head cleared and the pain subsided.
It’s ash. From the forest fires.
She looked up at the building looming above her. Her skin crawled.
Did I hit it?
She sat up, her whole body stiff.
Shit, it got my rifle. Where’s my pistol?
Mercy dropped down from the dumpster and found her Sig Sauer lying nearby.
Get away, get away, before—
A high pitched shriek erupted somewhere above. Mercy turned and ran. She passed dull shapes on both sides. She lost all sense of direction but kept running. A fierce strength surged through her, her arms and legs sang with renewed energy.
Get away, get away, no second chances. They’ll tear you apart if they catch up with you—
The ground changed. She left the asphalt behind and started climbing. Her feet took her over rocky scrub, never faltering. Her co-ordination and balance was faultless. Behind her the mountains burned and whole forests raged, incandescent with fire, sending tonnes of ash into the sky. The wind fanned the burning trees creating a firestorm, the air itself seemed to boil.
Mercy stopped twenty minutes later and looked back at the valley. The flames had reached the fairground and were already consuming the outermost rides and buildings. She stared at the conflagration, her eyes wide.
It’s like looking into hell. I’ve never seen anything like it. It just goes on and on—
She watched mesmerised
for a few seconds. A small voice niggled in her mind. A whisper at first then more insistent.
Run, run, run—
Mercy turned and continued up the slope, her feet raising clouds of ash as she went.
The ground is tinder dry, the trees are set to explode—
As if in answer to her thoughts a tree ignited in a huge ball of flame fifty yards away.
Got to try and outrun this fire—
Mercy continued up the slope, passing smouldering trees on both sides. Her lungs heaved against the roasting air, her throat felt oven hot, her eyes stung.
Keep going—
She reached the crest of the hill and stopped. Several routes opened up from the summit. She took a moment to consider her options as the sun’s dying light vanished below the western horizon.
West, that’s west. Follow the ridge west. It’s all you can do—
Mercy started running again, her movements sure and steady, her thoughts clear. The warmth in her stomach continued, the biotech sustaining her body. Mercy’s mind reached out, analysing her performance, and her surroundings.
I’m covering ground. My biotech is helping, but what’s it going to cost? It’s like being on some kind of performance enhancing drug. I’ll have to repay the loan with interest. There’ll be a crash sooner or later. Don’t think about it, just run while you can, towards the west. Towards the ocean. Towards Lake Mathews—
Mercy ran through the night, the quarter moon lighting her way. The miles passed, the air cleared. A cool breeze blew against her sweat soaked skin. She kept running, her feet sure and strong, her energy boundless. She checked the time; 2:47 am.
Jesus, how long have I been going for? It feels like forever. How long can I keep this up? How long is a marathon? Twenty six miles? Can I run a marathon? Is the biotech capable of that?
The ground began to slope down. Mercy descended a long spur which brought her to a road, then a built up area. A road sign declared: ALESSANDRO BOULEVARD. She followed the boulevard, past houses and open land, to a downtown area. Her eyes spotted another sign: MORENO VALLEY PUBLIC LIBRARY.
Moreno Valley. I’m on the right track—
Mercy cast her mind back to the conversations she had had with Travis and Barnes. She watched the asphalt passing under her feet and remembered the maps she had poured over with the others, back in North Palm Springs.
The Survival Chronicles | Book 8 | Final Mercy Page 22