Mercy unslung her M16 and approached Erickson. Weeds and long grass ran right up to the house. There was some shelter behind the dunes. Mercy’s eyes strayed to the long grass behind Erickson. A twisted shape was crawling through the grass towards Erickson.
Jesus—
Mercy raced forwards, raising her M16. She brought the stock down hard on the trope child’s skull, smashing it in one blow. The trope twitched then went still. Erickson turned, his eyes wide, he stared at the dead trope behind him. He nodded at Mercy and moved further along the wall of the building. The rest of the team made it to the crest of the dune and crouched down.
Jesus, it’s hard enough to stand, let alone walk in this wind—
Cronin shouted at his men, “We need to find shelter, we can’t portage in this storm. We’ll stop at the first safe place.”
Erickson and McShane went first. Everyone carried their kayak as best as they could. Progress was slow, Mercy had to stop repeatedly as Cronin was having difficulty keeping hold of their kayak. They made it to the front of the beach house and managed to cross the street. Wind borne debris threatened injury plus damage to the kayaks.
Mercy risked a glance ahead. Erickson and McShane had stopped outside a large building and were poking around a series of garage units.
Looks like a hotel, it’s seen better days—
McShane produced a small jemmy from his webbing and attacked the lock on the nearest garage. The lock fell to the ground seconds later. Erickson covered him while he lifted the garage door open. Mercy stared into the dark space beyond, her shoulders tense.
Risky move guys, then again we’re up against it out here—
A section of corrugated iron flew feet away from Mercy, scraped the road surface sending sparks into the air.
Shit, we gotta get out of this—
McShane disappeared into the garage his head torch on, Erickson followed him. Ten seconds later they returned, McShane gave the all clear and waved them in. Mercy and Cronin stepped into the garage and put their kayak down. Mercy switched on her own head torch and looked around.
This place is huge. It’s some kind of storage area for the hotel; barbeques, diving gear, surfboards, sailing kit, hell, even a speedboat under a tarp back there. Must’ve been a busy place… back in the day—
The rest of the team piled in and dropped their kayaks. The garage door was shut and secured, head torches went on and the area was checked again.
Pace returned from the back, “Looks good sir, no sign of recent activity, just one door at the back. It connects with the hotel, it’s part security glass, no visible hostiles on the other side.”
Cronin nodded, “I want eyes on the front and back, now.” He checked his watch, “It looks as if we’ve found our shelter. Rest up, eat, check your gear, we don’t know how long we’ll be here—”
Mercy and Flynn retreated to the rear of the garage.
“Hit the jackpot here,” Flynn grinned and pulled a couple of sun beds out from the corner. He dusted them off and extended them fully.
Mercy pulled off her pack and sat down, her torchlight casting shadows among the objects stored in the garage. “All this stuff, this useless junk that no one’s ever gonna use again—”
Flynn offered Mercy some beef jerky. “I don’t know about that, we’re using these sunbeds ain’t we?”
Mercy took the jerky and stared at the floor. “You know what I was thinking the other day? The day they processed us, when we were rescued from Guantanamo Bay? I was watching Sandra and Josh, they knew everything; their age, date of birth… parents’ names.” Mercy looked up at Flynn, “I’ve just got my name Flynn, that’s all I’ve got left. I can’t even remember my age or my date of birth. I never knew my parents. I can’t remember what my dead friends looked like, back in the orphanage. I can’t remember the important stuff, we got stuff that needs remembering; memories, good times, bad times. But this kind of living, this constant running and killing is robbing me of my identity. I’ve seen it in Rose’s eyes too, this war is erasing us, making us… ghosts.”
Silence.
Mercy turned around, Flynn was asleep on the sunbed. She smiled and scratched her matted hair.
But at least I’ve got you Flynn, you never complain, you just suck it up, you’re always there. You’re my reason why—
Mercy finished her jerky and lay back on the sunbed. She checked her watch; 8:10 am. She could hear Rose and Tawny nearby, their voices muted. The storm raged outside, wind and rain battered the derelict hotel and its outbuildings. Mercy sighed and switched off her head torch. Seconds later she was asleep.
A loud scream woke Mercy. She sat up and switched her head torch on, her hand went to her SIG P226. Flynn stirred beside her.
What the fuck—?
More screams came from the front of the garage. Mercy leapt forwards, her torchlight illuminating a narrow area ahead. Rose dashed off to the left, a knife in her hand. Mercy pressed her back against the wall, Flynn beside her. The sound of scuffling came from across the room. Mercy sidled around the speedboat on its trailer and stopped in her tracks. The garage was full of tropes.
What—? How did they get in—?
Flynn tapped her shoulder and pointed to the sailing gear stored along the wall. The sails had been pulled back revealing a stack of body bags. Most were ripped open, some were moving, their occupants stirring within.
The screaming started again followed by a pistol shot and breaking glass. A burst of automatic weapons fire came from the rear of the garage. A trope lurched out from the front of the boat, crossing Mercy’s path. She lashed out and brought the SIG’s butt down onto the trope’s skull, it dropped to the floor, knees buckling. Flynn stepped in and finished it off with his knife.
“Place is crawling with the fuckers, try not to shoot, you might hit one of our guys—” Mercy pressed forwards, searching for another target.
Dancing torchlight lit the garage. The Navy SEALs were fighting tropes in semi-darkness. Knives glinted, silenced pistols spat in the darkness. A body bag on Mercy’s right burst open, a badly decomposed trope rolled out, unable to get up, it crawled across the floor towards the disturbance at the front of the garage. Mercy approached it from behind and stamped on its neck, feeling a crunch through her boot.
“Over here,” Tawny’s voice rang out from the rear of the garage.
Mercy turned and ran towards her friend. The rear door lay open. A large trope, part of its head shot away, lay on the ground beside a prone SEAL. A burst of gunfire came from the corridor beyond the door. Rose was kneeling beside the downed SEAL.
“Ramirez’s OK, he’s just been winded, help me get him away from the door,” Rose made way for Mercy and Flynn.
Looks like he’s taken a blow to the head, a small cut over his right eye—
They lifted Ramirez away from the door and laid him down. Tawny appeared with a first aid kit and began working on him. Mercy went to the door and shone her torch down the corridor. Trope bodies lay piled on the floor.
And the bullets will always run out. Shit, who’s pushed them back?
Mercy hesitated then stepped forwards only to be restrained by a hand on her shoulder.
Flynn’s voice cut through her thoughts, “Bad move to go down there, best wait for whoever’s in there to come back,” Flynn glanced at the number of brass cartridges on the floor. “They’ll be running out of ammo soon—”
“Yeah, let’s get ready to barricade the door with something,” Mercy looked around, her eyes fell on a large table and filing cabinet in the corner. The garage had fallen silent.
They pulled the table over and were turning to retrieve the filing cabinet when Hicks came bounding down the corridor, the light from his head torch dancing on the bodies on the floor. His face was smeared with blood, a wild look haunted his eyes.
“Got the motherfucker that downed Ramirez… and the others too, managed to lock the door at the end of the corridor, but there’s more on the other side. Not sure how l
ong it’ll hold them. We need to block this off—”
They closed the door and barricaded it with the table. Mercy and Flynn then dragged the filing cabinet to the door and lifted it onto the table completing the makeshift barricade.
Ramirez sat up and held his head. “I’m OK, I’m OK, that fucker got me off guard, they must’ve been working on the lock on the other side the whole time. I couldn’t hear nothing ‘cos of the storm. Then boom, they were though—”
“He’s not bit, the Kevlar sleeves protected him,” Tawny said, patching up Ramirez’s cut with skin glue from the first aid kit.
Mercy checked her watch; 12:37 pm.
Christ, I was asleep for four hours—
She turned and made her way to the front of the garage with Flynn. Trope bodies littered the floor. Three SEALs were standing and two were kneeling beside a prone figure on the floor. Mercy’s throat tightened.
Oh… no, NO—
Mears was dead, his throat a blur of blood and gore.
“Fuckers got to him first,” Pace said to Mercy. “We’ve got to make sure he doesn’t turn—”
One of the men kneeling beside Mears pulled out a Ka-Bar and cradled his dead comrade in his arms. Mercy drew nearer and saw it was Lieutenant Cronin. Cronin placed the Ka-Bar’s point against Mear’s temple and thrust the blade into his skull.
Mercy’s mind went blank.
Chapter 5
Crossroads
“Rest in peace, brother,” Cronin said.
“Where the hell did they come from?” Hicks stepped into the circle of light, confusion on his face.
Rose’s voice came from behind, “Body bags, eight of them, hidden under the boat sails along the wall.”
“Christ—” Pace said.
Cronin stood up, “We can’t stay here. I want everyone ready to move out in two minutes.”
Mercy checked her watch; 12:44 pm. Renton and McShane went first, carrying their kayak out into the storm-lashed street. Everything was wet and grey. Debris littered the street; branches, fallen trees, dead powerlines. Many buildings stood roofless, abandoned cars and trucks lay scattered along the road. The wind had dropped slightly, making it just possible to carry the kayaks. They moved down the road avoiding alleys and driveways along the sidewalk.
Crap, every part of me is soaked, I should be used to this. Our time on the carrier made me soft… stop complaining, suck it up. This is the real world now, the carrier is the old world, no matter what happens. Cold and damp are normal—
Mercy grimaced, her arms ached with the strain of carrying the kayak. Her shoulders were burning from the weight of the pack, yet the SEALs seemed unaffected, they were in their element.
Cronin stopped abruptly and exchanged words with the men in front. Mercy peered over the kayak. Her eyes widened. Three bodies were hanging from a set of overhead traffic lights at a junction ahead. One was strung up by the neck the other two were suspended by their feet.
Oh god—
Two of the bodies had been beheaded.
“Bastards,” Cronin said. He put the kayak down and stepped forwards.
Mercy dropped her end of the kayak and joined him. Cronin’s face was slack, his hands at his sides. He stared at the bodies.
McShane turned to Cronin, “Orders, sir?”
Cronin stared up in silence. Mercy moved forwards then stopped, understanding hit her. The dead men were Navy SEALs, they wore the same insignia as Cronin and his men.
Shit—
Two heads lay in the middle of the road. The eyes were still open and blinking. The disembodied faces grimaced at the sky.
They’ve turned. The NSA militia did this, strung them up as a warning—
Mercy turned to Cronin, his face was blank.
Break the spell, break it—
Mercy went to the two heads and ended their misery with her blade. She looked up at the hanging bodies.
We should cut them down, bury them, but we can’t—
“Move out,” Cronin’s voice cut through her thoughts.
She joined the others.
“Fucking piano wire, can you believe that shit?” Renton said to McShane.
Mercy caught McShane’s eye, he nodded at her and mouthed the word: Thanks.
They continued down the road and came to an intersection. The wind howled through the overhead lines. A vehicle pile-up blocked the junction.
How in hell did that happen? There must be at least ten, twelve cars here—
Mercy glanced at the surrounding buildings. The windows were mostly broken, the buildings looked empty, decaying. She narrowed her eyes.
A good place for an ambush—
She shifted under the weight of the kayak.
“McShane, find a way up and over, to the left, we need to get these kayaks through that lot—” Cronin ordered. He turned to the rest of his men, “Form a perimeter, you know the drill.”
Erickson gave McShane a boost onto the roof of the nearest car. The vehicle windows were dark, covered with a layer of grime. Mercy watched as Erickson followed McShane, they hoisted their kayak over the pile-up.
Could be skinnies inside. So long as they stay inside, not like in New York—
Then it was Rose and Pace’s turn, they disappeared over the top.
“Us next,” Cronin said to Mercy. “I’ll give you a boost up.”
Cronin pressed his back against the nearest car and placed his hands together. Mercy stepped in and stood up, her hands slipping on the car’s wet roof. Her hand found the aerial antenna and she pulled herself up. She lay on her stomach and peered down between the next two cars.
What the—?
A square tin was stuck to the door of the lowermost car. She crawled forwards for a better view.
Duct tape? Shit, it’s been put there on purpose—
She turned back to Cronin, “There’s something in there.” She pointed between the two cars. “I’m going to check it out—”
Cronin nodded and moved so as he could watch Mercy. She crawled along the car roof and part way down the windscreen. She reached out to the tin on the adjacent door. Cronin shone his torch in from the outside. The lid partially covered the tin. Mercy slid down another few inches and froze.
Jesus—
A red LED light was flashing inside the tin.
Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? Booby trap, it could be triggered by movement. We need to neutralise it. What if it’s already been activated? There’s no time to mess around—
Mercy turned and met Cronin’s eyes through the gap on her right.
“Your call Mercy,” Cronin’s voice was tense.
Fuck it—
Mercy turned back to the tin and pulled at the duct tape surrounding the lid.
Nothing doing, use your knife—
She pulled out her knife and prised off the lid.
A small camera lay fixed inside the tin, its lens pointing outwards.
It’s recording everything in the street. Our street—
“Take it out, it’s either live feed or a trail camera. We need to know,” Cronin ordered.
Mercy prised the camera from the tin and handed it to Cronin. She climbed back up the windshield.
“It’s a trail camera, seems to be rigged for time lapse shots. Probably caught us but it’s not live feed so we’re OK. I’ve destroyed the memory card, nice work Mercy. If there’s one, there could be more. I’ll let the others know—” Cronin stepped away from the cars to speak to his men.
Mercy’s webbing caught on the car aerial.
Shit—
She pushed away from the aerial to free herself and slipped. She slid headfirst across the slimy windshield and hood into the gap between the two cars. Her hands touched asphalt, her left knee knocked against the driver’s window of the next car. She fell to the ground.
A scratching sound came from inside the driver’s door.
Chapter 6
Plaza
Mercy crawled along the road away from the scratching. Be
hind her, the car door opened, an emaciated leg appeared followed by a hand, clawing at the air. The door banged against the adjacent car. The skinny let out a long throaty sigh. The smell of decay chased Mercy under the cars, she emerged on the other side of the pile up, her clothes stained with dirt and oil. She ducked low and scrambled over the edge to join McShane and Renton in the next street.
Renton was pulling a memory card from another camera. He looked up, “Well spotted Dawes, we found two more cameras. No remote feed, just time lapse surveillance, crude but effective. Wonder if this was how our guys were caught?”
Cronin and Pace appeared on top of the cars and passed a kayak down to Renton. Twenty minutes later the others had joined them.
“Let’s get out of here,” Cronin growled. “Renton, take point, we’ll carry your kayak. Everyone else let’s go, watch your backs.”
The rain was relentless, Mercy had to squint to see where she was going. Her hands were cold and stiff despite the reinforced gloves.
Maybe we should ditch the kayaks and stick to dry land, it’s too hard to carry these things in a storm—
The street opened up, they entered a wide plaza, a large apartment building stood on the left. The plaza was overgrown, rusty cars pockmarked the space. The building was dark and menacing, most of the ground floor windows were broken. An old sign hung from an upper window: LOOTERS WILL BE SHOT.
Yeah, like that ever worked—
Renton stopped and raised a hand. They froze. He crouched, the long grass came to his shoulders. Mercy glanced around, a drip of water found its way between her shoulder blades, she shivered.
Without warning a wide-eyed doe and her fawn burst from a side street and ran across the plaza. Four others followed seconds later. Renton tilted his head. He waved his hand to the left, towards the apartment building.
Fear Mercy Page 3