Fear Mercy

by Fergal F. Nally

  Well, that ought to get their attention—

  Mercy pulled out her SIG and watched the dock. Shouts from above. Men’s voices. A door opening. Feet on the stairs. Two rifle shots from the shore. Two bodies tumbled down the steps like rag dolls, slamming hard and broken onto the dock. Unmoving.

  That’s it McShane, nice work. Just two though? Come on guys, you gotta check out these flames they’re gonna burn your house down—

  Nothing.

  Dammit… the shots have put them off. But… they have to do something—

  A splash came from the other side of the burning airboat. Mercy swung around, trying to see through the flames. A square of light shone from the hut’s floor above.

  Shit, a hatch. A rope. One of them’s dropped down to deal with the boat. But… the tropes will get him—

  Mercy moved closer to the flames and edged around the boat. A shadowy figure was untying from the rope twenty feet away. She glimpsed the outline of an M16 slung across the man’s chest.

  Fuck, McShane will be focusing on the steps and windows. He won’t be able to see anything under here. This is up to me—

  Mercy bent her knees, the water came to her chin. She crept forwards, trying to see the movements of the man ahead.

  Surely the tropes will get him—?

  The man came towards the flaming airboat, he pulled out a knife. Tropes thrashed and reached out to him as he passed. He ignored them, one trope got close and grabbed his arm sinking its teeth into him. The man pushed the trope away, clubbing its head with the butt of the knife. The trope sank beneath the water, its chain tight. The man moved towards the mooring rope.

  He’s going to cut the boat free. Wait. What’s he wearing? What is that shit?

  Mercy’s eyes narrowed, then widened.

  Crocodile skin. Armour. Clever bastards, that’s how they chained all these tropes down here. Armour. I’ve got to stop him—

  The man reached the airboat and examined the mooring rope. Understanding dawned on him, his body stiffened and he looked around, pulling his M16 free. He cut the rope, the airboat started drifting, blocking Mercy’s view.

  Shit. I can’t see him. Just do it. Now—

  Mercy took a breath and dived under the airboat, her legs propelling her forwards. Four seconds later she burst from the surface in front of the crocodile man. He stepped back and brought his M16 up to strike her. Mercy’s feet found the bed, she launched herself at the man, her knife glinting in the flames. Her blade struck the man’s chest armour and slid harmlessly off.

  The man brought his rifle stock down hard, delivering a glancing blow to Mercy’s left shoulder. Pain exploded through Mercy’s arm but her knife hand was already sweeping up in a deadly arc through the water. Her head splashed beneath the surface as her blade struck the lower section of the man’s armour and scraped down its rough surface.

  The man lent forwards to follow through his attack, Mercy’s blade slid into a gap in the armour, into his groin. Mercy thrust her blade forwards, twisting hard. The man let out a scream and staggered back, his arms splaying wide. Mercy tasted his blood in the water, with an adrenaline fuelled surge she burst up, her blade lashing out, severing the paracord binding at his left shoulder. His armoured sleeve loosened and fell away.

  So much blood. I’ve hit the artery, fucker’s dead—

  The tropes behind the man erupted in a mass of grasping arms and snapping teeth, grabbing the bleeding man, drawing him in to their feeding frenzy.

  Christ, like sharks, get the hell out of here. Get the boat back in here—

  Mercy turned, pulling away.

  Shit, I’m covered in his blood—

  A bony hand grabbed her from behind, pulling her under water into the feeding maelstrom. Instead of fighting Mercy allowed the trope to pull her back, she threw herself onto the tropes’ shared chain toppling the nearest one. She swam through the forest of trope legs, her lungs bursting, her vision wavering.

  Fight over me, go on you fuckers, fight for me—

  The bony arm lost its grip on her jacket, she struck out with her knife at the searching hands and pushed her way through the water. She surfaced with a gasp, her arms flailing, a silent scream etched across her face.

  I’m… alive. I’m alive—

  The drifting airboat was thirty feet away. She turned to check on the tropes behind. The chain had unwound from the nearest support and a long line of tethered tropes were reaching out towards her.

  You can see me now, eh? Bastards—

  She turned to the airboat and swam towards it. It was burning brightly.

  Come on, come on, find the rope—

  Mercy’s hand brushed against something hard, just under the surface. She turned her head to investigate.

  That’ll do—

  She lifted a branch out of the water and swam with it around the side of the flaming airboat. Reaching out, she pushed the aluminium hull with the branch, nudging the airboat back towards the hut. A burst of gunfire erupted from the above, bullets ripping into the water on her left.

  Son of a bitch, they know I’m here. Those shots went wide, they can’t see me—

  Mercy pushed at the airboat again but the branch snapped in her hands. The boat started drifting away, the wind fanning its flames.

  Goddammit—

  Mercy lowered herself into the water, her eyes on the nearest hut window.

  They can’t see me, get back to the dock, think, think—

  She struck out for the empty dock, her eyes searching for an answer, a way to break the impasse.

  Stalemate, they’ll just stay up there and radio for help. We’re fucked, Rose’s fucked—

  Movement on her left. Ripples. Guns. A kayak.

  Renton’s face, his arm lifting her up and across the middle of the kayak. “Hold tight, we’re going in.”

  Chapter 12

  Force Majeure

  Christ, they’re going in—?

  Mercy watched as Renton and Hicks clambered onto the dock. Hicks helped Mercy off the kayak. The SEALs readied their weapons.

  “We’ve got to force a resolution to this. Stay behind us, pick off any targets you see,” Renton’s eyes were bright, alive.

  Mercy nodded, “Got it.”

  Renton climbed the stairs, Hicks watched the windows above. The wind and rain covered Renton’s approach. He reached the door, Hicks behind him.

  They’ve got this, they’re trained for this shit, they know what they’re doing—

  Renton kicked the door open and threw a stun grenade in. An ear shattering explosion followed. Renton charged into the hut followed by Hicks. Automatic weapons fire filled the hut.

  Christ—

  Mercy counted to three and stuck her head around the door. A militia man was down, four feet away, blood pouring from his neck. Two other militia men lay crumpled and unmoving on the floor across the hut. Her eyes widened as she realised a fourth figure on the floor was Hicks. He was clutching his arm, moaning.

  Shit, Hicks—

  Mercy took a step into the hut and crept up to the inner door. Three bound and gagged figures were seated at a table at the far end of the room. Mercy took a deep breath. Renton was pointing his M16 at a militia man, standing behind the captives.

  Rose, you’re alive—

  “Drop your weapon asshole or I’ll waste these kids,” the militia man pressed his pistol against Rose’s temple.

  “I’d do as he says tough guy, I’ve got a 9mm round here with your name on it,” a second voice came from Renton’s left.

  Renton hesitated then slowly lowered his rifle.

  Shit—

  Mercy backed away from the inner door and stepped outside.

  I’ve got to do something—

  She looked around, her eyes intense.

  Find it, find it, there’s always a solution—

  The ledge caught her eye.

  Maintenance ledge, fucking narrow, no safety rope, shit—

  She could hear voices inside.
She stepped onto the ledge, faced inwards and shuffled towards the far window. Her fingernails dug into the wood, she moved without thinking, wind and rain lashing her face and back.

  No mistakes—

  She blinked, the window was before her. Her hand went to the SIG in her thigh holster. The man holding the gun to Rose’s temple was speaking to the other militia man in the room.

  “Go easy on him Crown, we can interrogate him when the others get here—”

  Mercy aimed through the window and fired twice at the man behind Rose. His skull disappeared in red mist as one round smashed through the bridge of his nose, her other round taking him in the chest. Mercy registered movement beside a darkened window on the other side of the hut. A militia man stepped into the light, his rifle raised.

  Too late—

  A distant shot rang out and the man dropped to the floor like a stone, half his skull missing.

  McShane—

  Mercy clambered through the window and fell to the floor panting. Sounds of a scuffle reached her from the doorway. Renton was grappling his captor. A grunt, then silence. Renton pulled a bloodstained knife from his tormentor’s throat. He turned, his face bloodied, his eyes met Mercy’s, he gave a nod at the window.

  “You’ve got some badass moves there Dawes, I’m taking notes.”

  Mercy stood up and went to Rose, she pulled the gag from her friend’s mouth.

  “Hey Rose, hey girl, you OK?”

  Rose nodded, her eyes bloodshot, her neck bruised. Mercy spotted the handcuffs on Rose’s wrists and the cable ties around her ankles. Renton started dressing Hicks’s arm with a bandage.

  “Renton, see if any of those bastards have handcuff keys on them—”

  Mercy cut the cable ties on Rose and the other two prisoners.

  “Catch,” Renton said, throwing a set of bloodstained keys across the room.

  Mercy caught the keys and undid Rose’s handcuffs.

  Rose pointed at a bottle of water in the corner and whispered something. Mercy grabbed the bottle and handed it to her friend. Rose took a sip and gave the bottle to the girl on her right.

  “Tags… they tagged us,” Rose bent down and pulled up her trouser leg.

  A tight metal band surrounded Rose’s ankle; on it a small box with a flashing red LED.

  “Really?” Mercy groaned.

  Static erupted from the far corner of the room, a disembodied voice filling the air, “Alpha Group to Blue Team, help inbound. ETA your position twenty minutes, repeat twenty minutes—”

  “Fuck,” Rose said.

  “We gotta exfil, help me with Hicks,” Renton lifted his friend to the steps.

  They made it to the dock. Hicks was holding his arm, his face twisted in pain.

  He’ll be OK, it’s just a flesh wound—

  Mercy and Renton let Hicks down onto the dock. Renton reached for his torch and pointed it at the shore. He flashed a message across the water and waited. A red light responded, flashing pulses in the dark. Seconds later an engine roared to life out on the water.

  “We got one of those airboats you cut free, they’re coming to get us,” Renton shouted against the wind.

  The chained tropes beneath the hut reached out to the dock, their eyes hungry, their teeth snapping mechanically. The airboat pulled up against the dock, Pace at the engine and Cronin at the front. Mercy and the others clambered aboard, Pace made for the shore where they picked up the rest of the group. Fay jumped on board and hugged Sasha and Charlie, she checked that they were unharmed, she saw the ankle tags.

  “We gotta get those tags off, the militia will find us,” Fay pulled out a serrated knife.

  “Hey, be careful with that,” Mercy shouted. “Those tags, they’re metal, high spec, probably titanium, we’ll need to saw them off. Anyone got a hacksaw blade or anything?”

  McShane pulled out a pocket chainsaw and gave it to Fay, “Try this.”

  Pace gunned the engine, the airboat pulled away from the shore.

  “Go easy Pace, I can’t see much in the dark up here,” Cronin shouted from the front.

  The wind eased, the rain stopped. Mercy looked up, puzzled; the sky was clear.

  “Look… stars,” Tawny said.

  “We’re in the eye of the storm,” Flynn said.

  A flicker caught Mercy’s eye on the right, she turned. Three lights were speeding towards the stilted hut.

  “We’ve got company,” Mercy yelled, readying her pistol.

  Fay and Flynn were busy with the pocket chainsaw. Tawny was holding Rose’s leg, keeping her flesh away from the blade. Mercy looked at the three lights behind.

  Come on, come on Pace, they’re gaining on us—

  One of the boats shot a flare into the sky above the channel. Incandescent green light spilled down from above. Branches tore at the airboat, roots scraped against the aluminium hull.

  Shit, didn’t realise we were among all these trees. Pace’s slowed right down, so… what? We’re not gonna try and get away then—?

  Pace killed the engine, his voice penetrated the cold air, “Everyone off, we’ve gotta fight the bastards, I can’t outrun them in the dark.”

  A small cry of triumph from Flynn, “Got it.” He held up Rose’s ankle tag.

  Cronin grabbed it and threw it into the footwell. “Everyone out, put two packs up by the engine; they might think there’s people on board. Pace, McShane, Renton… with me. Hicks, Erickson and Dawes out the other side. I want crossfire positions on our boat. Fay, you get the hell out of here, your two kids still have live tags—”

  The three boats were closing in on their position. Mercy jumped into the water and followed Hicks and Erickson. There was no time to speak to Flynn, she looked back. Flynn and Tawny were helping Rose. Fay was leading through the water towards a distant raised bank.

  The boats slowed as they approached the trees and roots. Two hung back whilst the lead boat inched forwards, its searchlight sweeping the inky water. A second later the searchlight found their stationary airboat.

  “It’s over there, hard right, through the trees,” a man shouted above the wind.

  The boat inched forwards, its searchlight moving up and down the stationary craft.

  “Hey you there, surrender or we’ll open fire—”

  The boat came into view, four men with automatic weapons leant over the side, their eyes scanning the abandoned airboat.

  “I see something in the back—” the man’s voice was cut off by an explosion; a sheet of light ripped into the air followed by flames and smoke.

  Holy shit, grenade, Cronin’s lot—

  Mercy backed away and watched in horror as two flaming bodies threw themselves into the water. The other men on the boat were consumed by the raging inferno.

  They must’ve had extra fuel on board—

  The other two boats pulled away, their searchlights sweeping the trees and water frantically. Mercy lowered herself in the water and watched the nearest boat.

  Oh Christ, 50 calibre—

  The 50 calibre machine gun opened up, spraying indiscriminate fire into the trees and water around the burning airboat. Tracer rounds lit up the air, the deadly fire raked the water where Mercy had been moments before. The gunner began to widen his arc. The SEALs disappeared under the water on Mercy’s right.

  Dive under, water slows bullets—

  Mercy submerged and swam away from the churning maelstrom. Rounds pierced the water nearby, their copper jackets disintegrating after three feet. She held her breath and swam along the muddy bottom, her lungs bursting. Finally, she reached up and broke the surface. The firing had stopped, the men in the boats were shouting at each other.

  “Go in, check it out,” a voice yelled.

  The far boat gunned its engine and approached the burning craft.

  Mercy glanced around.

  No sign of the SEALs. We need one of those boats, do something—

  Mercy took a grenade from her webbing. She inserted a finger into the ring then he
sitated. Without warning an explosion ripped the far boat apart.

  Cronin, again—

  Mercy left the pin in and threw the intact grenade at the remaining airboat. She shouted, “Grenade—”

  Her grenade landed in the boat with a heavy thud. The four men in the boat flung themselves into the water. Two jumped from the front, one jumped from the far side, the fourth man jumped towards her. Mercy fumbled for her knife, the man disappeared under the water ten feet away.

  Where are you bastard?

  Mercy waited. Gunfire erupted further away, more shouts filled the air. The sound of close quarters combat echoed through the trees. Mercy’s eyes narrowed, a few bubbles broke the surface on her left, she swung around and stabbed the water with her knife. Behind, a figure burst up and grabbed her by the neck, a blade broke the water’s surface at her waist and swept up towards her neck.

  Back—

  Mercy brought her left elbow back and up in a vicious thrust, catching her attacker in the stomach. A groan followed, the arm around her neck loosened, the man’s knife arm dropped away. She threw herself forwards and swung around to face her attacker who was reaching for a gun on his belt.

  A figure emerged from the bulrushes on Mercy’s left and fired at her opponent. The militia man screamed and dropped his gun. He clutched his arm and staggered away. Mercy turned to see Hicks rise out of the water. Erickson followed suit.

  “Get that bastard and take the boat,” Mercy said. “We need it—”

  The SEALs grabbed the wounded militia man and climbed up into the boat. Hicks reached down and hauled Mercy aboard.

  “There’s a radio,” Hicks said, pointing to a radio set beside the engine. “Get him to call his unit and tell them that they’ve captured us. It might buy some time.”

  The wounded militia man was shaking, holding his bloody arm, his eyes wide with fear. Mercy pressed her knife against his throat.

  “You heard my friend, speak to your buddies, tell them you’ve got us. Any tricks and I’ll gut you.”

  The man scrabbled away from Mercy, his hands behind him on the floor of the boat. Mercy thrust the handset into his chest and nodded. He looked at her knife and swallowed.