That alarm’s not such a bright idea, it’ll inflame the tropes, keep them agitated. Somebody’s bound to shut it down soon—
Mercy neared the exercise yard gates amid the throng. The stench of rancid, undead flesh filled her nose.
There they are—
Tawny and Rose were at the entrance to the exercise yard, their hoods pulled up. Tawny held a crowbar and was trying to break the gate lock. Flynn and Annalise were speaking to the prisoners behind the chain link fence. The tropes had smelled the prisoners in the yard and were clawing at the fence, snapping their teeth.
Don’t make it look too obvious Tawny. There’s bad guys looking down on us—
Mercy pushed in, between two leering tropes, she leaned in close to Rose, “How’s it going? We may need to use the slug rounds if the crowbar doesn’t work. What do you think?”
Rose nodded and spoke directly into Mercy’s ear, “Yeah, the prisoners know what we’re doing. The plane was shot down, so our exfil trope-diversion plan is gone. We need something else to draw them away to allow the prisoners out. Can you radio Brody to see if he can come up with something?”
“On it. Keep the prisoners in there until I get the tropes away,” Mercy said, stepping back from Rose. She pulled the radio from her belt and lifted it up to her chest. She hesitated.
I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention with the radio—
Mercy shuffled along the fence, past Flynn and Annalise, to the corner of the exercise yard. She lifted the radio to select the new frequency. She pressed the earpiece back into place and spoke into the microphone.
“Brody… this is Dawes, do you read? Over—”
Mercy held on to the chain link, trying to resist the buffeting on all sides. Static hissed in her ear.
Come on, come on guys—
A voice exploded in her ear, “This is Brody’s team, we read you, over—”
Relief washed over Mercy.
“Dawes here, put Brody on, over—”
“Roger that, hold on—”
A pause.
Come on, come on, come—
“Brody here, Dawes. What’s your status?” Brody’s voice erupted in Mercy’s ear.
“Brody, we’re at the exercise yard gates. We’re working on the lock. We need you to find a way to draw the horde away… anytime now would be good. We need the tropes distracted to get the prisoners out—” Mercy said, glancing up at the prison roof.
“Copy that Dawes, I’m on it, out—” Brodie’s voice broke up and the connection went dead.
A tall trope shoved past Mercy, reaching for the fence behind her. A shot rang out from above. A high velocity round hit the trope’s head, shredding bone and brain. Black blood and gore splashed across Mercy’s face and neck.
Sniper. That was meant for me—
Mercy ducked down and looked up to the right.
There’s movement on that roof. Move… move away from the others. He mustn’t see the others—
Mercy dropped to her knees and crawled through a forest of trope legs towards the sniper’s building. Three more rounds slammed into the horde, felling more tropes close by. The tropes pressed in around her, their legs and knees pushing and battering her. She gasped, winded by a knee to her side.
Keep… keep going, you’re nearly there, there’s a door ahead—
Another shot rang out from above and another trope collapsed to the ground, a foot away. Mercy looked up, an arm appeared over the roof and dropped an object into the jostling crowd. Adrenaline surged through Mercy.
Grenade—
Mercy threw herself forwards, through a gap in the trope legs. She reached the open door and rolled through. She counted.
One, two, thr—
An explosion shook the ground feet away, the blast was absorbed by the densely packed tropes. Gore splattered against the door and her jacket. She lay sprawled on the floor, stunned. Her senses returned after a few rapid breaths.
I’m… still here. I’m still alive—
Mercy looked up at a dimly lit, long room, lined with tables and chairs. A handful of shuffling tropes had entered the room from outside, they were milling around the entrance beside her.
Looks like a canteen. Sniper’s on the roof, the bastard. If he saw me he could see the others and once the prisoners bust out he’ll target them. Shit—
Mercy crawled further into the canteen, away from the door. She stood up and ran the length of the room looking up at the ceiling.
There has to be a way up to the roof; a hatch, a ladder, a fire escape out the back?
She reached a kitchen area at the rear of the canteen and spotted a collection of fire extinguishers beside a row of full length lockers and an emergency exit.
Try out back, there might be a way up—
Mercy pressed the panic bar and pushed the doors open, stumbling out into a narrow alley behind the canteen. A score of tropes occupied the space outside. Mercy looked right, more tropes were spilling around the corner. She poked her head around the door and looked left. An NSA militia man was emerging from the next building, wearing a silver fire suit and protective headgear. Two red cylinders were clearly visible on his back, in his hand he carried a long, gun-like device. His eyes locked onto Mercy and he raised the dripping nozzle.
Flame thrower—
Mercy flung herself back, through the doorway into the canteen.
Shit—
The walkway erupted in flames behind her. She scrabbled along the floor beside the lockers. Flames licked in through the open emergency doors at head height, blistering the ceiling paintwork. The tropes inside the canteen staggered towards the emergency doors.
Shit, shit, shit—
Mercy reached up, her hand landing on a wall mounted fire extinguisher. A flat, waist-high box caught her eye.
Fire blanket—
The words registered in her brain. She pulled the blanket from its housing and wrapped herself in it. A jet of flame burst through the emergency doors into the canteen igniting the lurching tropes.
My god, think—
Mercy crawled along the row of lockers, tugging at the handles.
Please, please, plea—
The fifth locker opened and she piled inside, slamming the door shut. She crouched low and pulled the fire blanket over her head and body.
The silver suited man stepped through the smoking emergency doors and unleashed another jet of fire into the handful of flaming tropes inside. The long blast of white hot flame burned flesh from bone, incinerating the undead in their tracks.
The jet of flame stopped and the flamethrower man surveyed the scene of devastation before him. Acrid smoke filled the air. The man started humming to himself. Sweat poured down Mercy’s face as she hid, crouched inside the locker.
He’s… he’s humming. Humming… the sick bastard—
Smoke seeped through the locker’s vents. Mercy felt her throat constrict.
Don’t cough—
Chapter 31
Overkill
What’s he doing—?
Mercy brought a hand to her mouth and stifled her cough. She was hot, her clothes were damp with sweat, more smoke entered through the locker’s vents. She held her breath and stood up, her legs shaking. She looked through the vents and saw the flamethrower man, his back to her. She brought up her Glock 17, its suppressor scraped against the locker door.
Shit—
The man swung around, the nozzle of his flamethrower dripping liquid.
Oh—
Mercy squeezed the Glock’s trigger twice and the pistol kicked in her hand. Her 9mm rounds punched through the locker door and found their mark as the flamethrower man squeezed his trigger. Mercy dropped down, turning away from the locker door. She pulled the fire blanket over her head and body. A wall of flame burst from the flamethrower’s nozzle bathing the lockers in liquid fire.
Mercy tried to scream but the breath was sucked from her lungs, her consciousness wavered. She fell back against the glowing loc
ker door. It swung open depositing her on the floor, she gasped and blinked, clinging to the fire blanket. The smell of burning flesh filled her senses, she rolled onto her side and saw the silver suited man on the floor, the flamethrower gun at his side.
Mercy stood up, dropped the fire blanket and went to the downed militia man. She stared, disbelieving, at the bullet holes in his visor and chest.
Solid hits. Thank Christ his fuel tanks didn’t explode—
She looked at the charred remains of the tropes on the floor.
There’s still the sniper on the roof. Flynn and the others outside… shit, if he sees them. I need to nail the bastard—
Mercy’s eyes went to another door, on the far side of the canteen.
Hello. Didn’t clock that one before. Maybe there’s roof access out there—?
She stepped around the dead militia man, crossing the room to the side door. She opened it a crack and peered out onto a narrow lane running between the canteen and the next building.
OK, let’s just have a look—
A diesel engine roared in the lane and Mercy ducked back inside. She craned her neck to see through the narrow gap in the door. An armoured vehicle passed the door and stopped a few yards away, its engine idling. She drew near to the gap and peered through.
Shit, an MRAP with a turret gun. They’re going to blast the horde. They could hit my guys outside—
The turret hatch opened and a militia man appeared. He started speed loading the .50 caliber M2 Browning machine gun.
No, not if I can help it—
Mercy stepped through the door, crept down the lane and squeezed herself between the building and the MRAP. She pulled a fragmentation grenade from her webbing and jumped up on the vehicle’s rear wheel. The gunner swung around and shouted in surprise.
Mercy pulled the pin and threw the grenade into the turret hatch then rolled off to the side. The gunner howled in fear and tried to pull himself free. The grenade went off inside the vehicle and he screamed, falling back into the smoking interior. Mercy looked down the lane into the square. Tropes were shuffling towards the vehicle, attracted by the explosion.
Shit, grenades are trope magnets. Get the hell out of here—
Mercy stood and turned to retrace her steps to the side door. A heavy weight landed across her shoulders, pressing her down.
What the—?
She focused on her arms and hands, trying to figure out what was slowing her down.
It’s a cargo net. It came from the roof. The sniper, he’s still up there—
Mercy pulled away from the net, trying to free herself.
Goddammit, it’s caught in my webbing—
Liquid splashed onto her from above, saturating her hair and tunic. She blinked and inhaled.
Christ, gasoline. Oh my god. Move, move—
Mercy dropped to her knees and crawled under the net which had snagged on the MRAP. She managed to free herself and roll towards the side door. A lit Zippo lighter flew down from above, landing on the cargo net. The gasoline ignited, turning the vehicle into an inferno. Flames raced towards Mercy along the gasoline-soaked ground.
Oh—
Mercy’s eyes widened.
This is it—
A hand gripped her shoulder and wrenched her back through the side door into the canteen. She sprawled onto the floor.
Movement, a blast of heat and flame. A figure kicked the door shut.
Adrenaline surged through Mercy, she rolled over and vomited onto the floor.
The figure crouched down beside her. Mercy’s head spun, her vision blurred then settled. She spat on the floor, trying to rid her mouth of the foul taste. A man’s hand holding a water bottle appeared in front of her face. She reached up.
“Thanks, I owe you my—” Mercy croaked.
Her rescuer’s bare arms were fully tattooed.
That’s—
Mercy looked up at the hooded figure leaning over her.
“Seth? Is that Seth? You were at Brody’s briefing. You’ve got family in here?” Mercy dragged the details from her memory.
The figure pulled back his hood, “You’ve got a good memory Dawes, you need a little work on your situational awareness though. I could’ve been militia. I could’ve nailed your ass. But I guess you were due a break… I saw what you did to that flamethrower guy. He was stopping me from getting into the main block. So, my way’s clear now. If you help me bust some prisoners free we’ll call it quits. What do you say?”
He’s obviously disobeyed Brody’s orders. This was not part of the agreed plan. He’s on his own rescue mission—
Mercy glanced towards the main canteen entrance, “My friends are out there, at the exercise yard gates. They’re still there, we’re waiting for Brody to come up with something to draw the tropes away. I can’t leave them—”
Seth stood up and extended his hand, “Sure you can. Like you said, they’re still there, Brody’s not delivered his diversion yet… so there’s nothing you can do anyway. You’re free, you might as well help me, like you just said, you owe me—”
He’s got a point—
Mercy grabbed his hand and hauled herself up. She caught a glimpse of the antique mace and Spanish rapier attached to his belt. “You know how to use those… things, right?”
“Silence is golden, these weapons whisper death… they don’t attract attention. Come on, let’s go—” Seth said, gesturing for his water bottle.
Mercy rinsed her mouth out and took a long drink before handing the bottle back to her new ally.
OK, let’s get this done—
They used the rear emergency doors to enter the alley behind the canteen. Incinerated tropes littered the ground. Mercy stepped over the blackened corpses, following Seth.
Mercy reached out and grabbed Seth’s shoulder, “Stop, there’s a camera up there. I don’t know if it’s live or not but I’m not taking any chances. ”
Seth froze and crouched down. Mercy unslung her rifle and aimed at the camera. She fired twice, hitting it with her second round. They reached the adjoining building, a steel plate door blocked their way.
Seth tried the handle, “It’s locked, goddammit. This is the way into one of the main prisoner blocks. We have to find a way in—”
Flamethrower man—
“Wait, I’ll be back in a minute—” Mercy retreated down the alley and ducked back into the canteen. She stooped over the flamethrower man’s body and tore open the long flap on his fire suit, finding the main zip. She opened the suit and searched his body. A few seconds later she let out a small cry of triumph.
There they are—
She wrenched a set of keys and key cards from the lanyard around his neck then stood up. She made for the door then turned back to the body and pulled out her knife.
Don’t want this fucker turning—
“I don’t ever want to meet you again mister, in this life or the next,” Mercy said, she pierced the man’s temple with her knife and twisted.
She was back with Seth a minute later and they tried the keys on the steel plate door. It opened on the third try and they stepped into a darkened corridor. Seth crept forwards and stopped at the first door. A stained sign proclaimed: BLOCK D OFFICE.
Seth reached for the handle. Mercy put her hand on his arm and brought a finger to her lips. A low murmur of voices came from inside the room. Seth pulled the mace from his belt and looked at Mercy.
Sounds like three, maybe four militia in there, door could be locked. Then again… Either way, we need to neutralise them to get anywhere—
Mercy leaned in close to Seth’s ear and whispered, “You try the handle, go easy, be quiet, see if the door’s open. If it is, open it a crack and I’ll throw a frag in, then you close it—”
The door opened, an armed militia man stared out at them, surprise etched on his face.
Shit—
Mercy reached for a grenade on her webbing. Three other figures in the room turned towards the door.
Th
e militia man raised his assault rifle and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
Safety’s on—
Mercy pulled the pin. Seth brought his mace down hard on the man’s right arm, crushing flesh and bone. The man crumpled under the blow, letting out an agonised scream. Mercy threw the grenade into the room and shoved the man back in. She grabbed the handle and pulled the door shut.
“Down,” Mercy screamed at the top of her voice.
Two, three—
Rounds burst through the door peppering the wall opposite.
Four—
An explosion ripped through the room. For a second after all was quiet then a single scream tore through the air. Mercy unslung her rifle and nodded at Seth, he kicked the door open and she entered the room. The air was thick with dust and the smell of death. Three of the militia men were dead, a fourth was holding his thigh and trying to drag himself into a corner. Sparks were flying from a damaged control desk near the wall. A row of destroyed screens hung above the desk. A single monitor flickered at the end of the room.
Seth crossed over to the wounded man, looking at him with cold contempt.
The man cringed, he released his leg and held his hands up in surrender. “Please, no—”
“That’s what the people in here say to you fuckers every single day and you bastards just laugh at them—” Seth growled, he brought the mace down on the man’s skull, killing him instantly.
Mercy pulled a face.
Jesus, I’d prefer a bullet any day. But each to their own—
She went to the one remaining intact monitor and leant forwards to examine it.
“It’s a video feed from outside the prison. It’s cycling around different cameras. The horde is… massive, look, they’re still coming through the gates. There’s another view, wait, look… that’s Brody and his horsemen. They’re—” Mercy’s words were cut off by a huge explosion outside the prison.
Mercy ducked instinctively then looked back at the screen.
“The screen’s died. What the fuck was that?” Seth said.
Mercy ran her fingers through her hair, “I saw a fuel truck and an armoured vehicle. I’m guessing Brody’s just taken out the fuel truck. That should draw the horde away from the gates. I’ve got to get back to the others.” She turned to go.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 7): Hard Mercy Page 18