Fear Mercy

by Fergal F. Nally

  Rose smiled.

  Tawny nodded.

  “And with our biotech, me, Rose and Tawny can go beyond the gates and search for the stuff. Unless we run into any super tropes we’ll be fine, normal tropes will ignore us.”

  Cronin nodded.

  Renton raised his eyebrows, “Game on.”

  Chapter 17

  Collateral

  Fay, Blake and Sparrow returned with tinned food.

  “Tuna, corned beef, alphabet spaghetti and canned fruit,” Tawny appraised Fay’s haul. “Not bad, we’ve filtered some water, there’s enough for everyone, there’s blankets and candles so we’re good for tonight.”

  Mercy filled in Fay, Blake and Sparrow on the plan for the following day’s scavenging trip beyond the gates.

  Sparrow looked up, “I’ll come with you; I passed through the town on my way down here. I might remember stuff; buildings, roads—”

  Mercy shook her head, “No, it’s OK, no need. Me and my friends work best together, we—”

  Mercy caught Rose’s eye.

  “We’ve been together for a while, we’ve got a chemistry… out there—”

  “A sixth sense you could call it,” Tawny added.

  Fay raised an eyebrow, “I’ve got an inbuilt BS detector, and I just detected some kind of BS right there.” She raised her hand, “Whatever, if you don’t want Sparrow that’s fine, you got your reasons, we’ve all got history. We’ll be cutting loose anyhow, soon as we reach the outskirts of Norfolk me and my crew will be out of your hair.”

  Mercy shrugged, “Thanks for the offer Sparrow, but we’re good. If you guys could help scavenge materials from the campground to improve the boat that would be a help—”

  Fay nodded, holding out her hand, “You got it.”

  Mercy shook Fay’s hand and watched with surprise as Rose did the same with Sparrow and Blake.

  Awkward. I like Fay, but there’s only so much she needs to know and she don’t need to know about our biotech. If the militia captured her or any of her crew they could find out our true identities and report back to the NSA… that would bring down a whole world of pain—

  After eating, everyone settled down for the night. Blankets were passed around, blinds were checked to ensure the candlelight was not visible from outside. Cronin’s men set watch; one man on the roof of the RV, another patrolling outside, both with night vision goggles.

  Flynn lay beside Mercy, his arms wrapped around her, soon his breathing deepened, his body was warm. Mercy closed her eyes and replayed the day’s events in her head. She heard the others move and breathe inside the RV, sleep evaded her.

  I’m among the living, surrounded by these people, this trope bait. I should be alone, I’m putting them in danger. Pull it together, you’ve covered this ground before, everything’s better in daylight, these doubts only come in the quiet moments, at night. It’ll be fine. Rose, me and Tawny, we’ll be OK—

  Mercy focused on her breathing, gentle tapping on the windows made her stiffen before she realised it was just rain. The glowing numerals of her watch read 3:27 am.

  Poor Pace and Hicks outside, they’ll be soaked—

  She smiled.

  But then again they are SEALs—

  Sleep claimed her at last.

  Movement. Voices. Consciousness surfacing. The smell of sweat, stale air, people. Daylight.

  “Here, have a coffee,” Rose pressed a steaming mug into Mercy’s hands.

  “You ready for this?” Rose sat on the floor beside Mercy.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Mercy took a sip of the scalding liquid.

  “Sparrow remembers a lot of tropes in the streets when she passed through, she used distraction to get out of a tight situation; she had a flash bang, seemed to work for her, drew a lot of them away from her route,” Rose said.

  “We don’t need flash bangs, we’ve got the biotech, you, me and Tawny,” Mercy felt the coffee waking her up.

  “Tawny says she’s got a bad feeling about this one,” Rose said. “She’s spooked. I ain’t never seen her spooked before.”

  Mercy raised an eyebrow, “She can sit this one out if she wants; me and you can do it. In fact it may be better with just two, what do you think?”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. When you’re spooked you make mistakes. I can do without mistakes. We’re all close to the edge, it’s been a rough ride, we’ve lost people. Sometimes when you’ve had a bit of respite like last night, it makes you think, and when you think too much you lose the edge—”

  Mercy nodded. “I’m OK with just you and me Rose. Do you want me to have a word with Tawny?”

  Rose shook her head, “Nah, I’ll speak to her. She’ll take it from me—” Rose stood up and went outside to find Tawny.

  Flynn brought Mercy some food, he watched in silence as she prepared her gear.

  No need for words, no need for talk—

  An hour later they were ready. Cronin, Renton and Hicks accompanied Mercy and Rose to the gates. The asphalt was broken, the gates and fence choked with weeds.

  “No one’s passed this way in a long while,” Renton said.

  “You’ll need something like a wheelbarrow to cart the welding gear back,” see what you can find. Should be something out there—” Cronin rubbed his forehead.

  A thick chain secured the gate.

  “Don’t want to bust open the gate, give us a boost instead,” Mercy asked.

  Cronin nodded, “We’ll wait for you here, be careful.”

  Hicks gave Mercy a boost, Rose followed a minute later. Mercy hefted her Tikka T3 and checked her SIG P226. She looked out over the street.

  “Quiet as a graveyard,” Rose said in a low voice.

  A torn piece of plastic sheeting flapped on the campground fence.

  “I guess,” Mercy replied. She stepped forwards, feeling Cronin’s eyes on her back.

  The entrance to the RV park joined the main road after ten yards. Rusting cars lay scattered on the main road to the right and left.

  Mercy pulled out the tourist map and examined it. “Garage is this way, keep close.”

  Rose swung in behind Mercy, a silenced SIG in one hand, knife in the other. They turned left and kept to the middle of the road. A rusty sign swung in the wind, grating every few seconds. Birds chattered in the trees beside the road, wind rustled the long grass and sighed through the shattered windows of the buildings.

  They passed three fire damaged SUVs, one of which was riddled with bullet holes. A sign over a shop proclaimed: “LOOTERS WILL BE SHOT”. Spent shell casings littered the ground as if to back up the claim. Mercy’s eyes darted to the cars and buildings.

  Where are the tropes—? Inside? Hiding? There’ll be limited food for them here, especially now—

  Rose tapped Mercy’s arm, “There’s the alley that leads to the rear of the garage.”

  Mercy checked the map and nodded, “Looks like it.”

  They went over to the pavement and looked down the alleyway. A row of dumpsters were lined up on the left, broken glass littered the ground. A few cars were visible in a parking area in the distance. Mercy returned the map to her pocket and entered the alley. Two minutes later they were standing behind the garage. The rear door was locked.

  “Try the window,” Rose put the side of her hand against the glass and peered inside. The glass was coated with a film of grime, she could make out office furniture inside.

  Mercy inspected the window frame.

  Keep it quiet—

  She pulled out her knife and started working on the putty at the edge of the glass. Rose stood guard behind. Chunks of old putty fell away revealing the edge of the glass underneath. Five minutes later Mercy had exposed the edges of the window pane.

  Now work at the wood, get the knife tip under the glass, lever it out—

  Mercy dug a groove in the wood frame and placed the knife tip under the glass. She began to exert pressure, levering the pane out.

  Easy does it, you don’t want
to shatter it—

  Something moved behind the window. Mercy jerked back, holding her breath. Two hands pushed against the other side of the glass, lips and teeth pressed against the pane, a thick tongue swirling across its surface. An old, bald trope with opaque eyes stared out at Mercy.

  Ugly fucker, must’ve heard me—

  The trope banged at the glass with its hands, loosening the pane from the inside.

  OK, so this helps—

  Mercy pressed her blade under the edge of the glass and, together with the trope’s banging, managed to lever the pane out in one piece. She stepped back, the pane of glass in her hand. The old, unseeing trope leant out of the window, its rotting shirt catching on the window frame’s splinters.

  “I’ve got this,” Rose stepped up to the trope and dispatched it with her knife. The trope fell to the floor.

  Mercy put the pane down and stepped up to the window peering inside, “Good to go Rose, I’ll give you a boost.”

  Rose clambered through the window. The room was small, with two doors. Mercy followed her friend.

  “This one’s locked,” Rose pulled a face.

  Mercy listened at the other door then tried the handle. It opened; a large area stretched out beyond. Narrow beams of daylight filtered into the space from skylights above. Mercy reached for her torch and stepped into the room. A truck and two other cars lay over vehicle inspection pits, shelves lined the walls, equipment occupied the space between the vehicles.

  Looks promising—

  Mercy signalled to Rose.

  We’ll stick to the walls, scope out what’s in the workshop—

  Mercy moved along the nearest wall keeping her torch down, the silenced SIG at the ready. She listened and waited.

  Nothing—

  She lifted the torch and shone it briefly across the room. Her eyes alighted on the oxy-acetylene rig beside the truck.

  Now we’re talking—

  A movement, a sound. Mercy jerked the beam up with a flick of her wrist. Her eyes widened, she froze. A group of six tropes stood, huddled in the far corner; thin, emaciated, their clothes torn. Mercy brought the torch down, covering its beam with her hand.

  One, two, three… nothing—

  Relief coursed through her body.

  Biotech’s working—

  She crouched and beckoned at Rose. Rose crept in.

  “There’s six tropes over there, oxy-acetylene is twenty feet away on a trolley, biotech’s working. I’ll go in, you can cover me,” Mercy whispered.

  “No, I’ll do it, I’m smaller than you,” Rose countered.

  Mercy began to protest but then saw the sense in Rose’s logic, “OK, you got it, I’ll cover you.”

  Rose nodded, she pointed at a narrow strip of daylight along the floor coming from underneath roller shuttered doors on the right, “Light’s OK here, I’ll need both hands to pull the oxy over here. You can light the way for me with your torch—”

  “You got it,” Mercy said.

  Rose pulled up her neck scarf and hood, “Ready.”

  Mercy switched on her torch and lit the area ahead, revealing the oxy-acetylene gear. The area behind remained in darkness. Rose went forwards, crouching low. Mercy held her breath, time seemed to slow. Mercy focused on motes of dust floating in the torch beam. A flicker across the floor caught her attention.

  Christ, something’s moving outside—

  A series of shadows flitted across the floor from outside. Mercy’s eyes returned to Rose.

  She’s made it, come on Rose, time to haul ass—

  Something outside slammed into the shuttered doors.

  Fuck—

  Mercy swung towards the doors, SIG at the ready. The doors remained in position, daylight streaming through the narrow gap below. More movement and shadows flickered across the floor from outside, something struck the metal shutters again, further blows followed in quick succession.

  Doors are holding. Shit, Rose, sorry, you need light—

  Mercy swung her torch back towards the oxy-acetylene kit, Rose was hauling the trolley across the floor. Six tropes burst from the dark recess and raced towards Rose. Mercy aimed her SIG P226 at the lead trope.

  Rose saw the movement and froze, her hands still on the trolley.

  There’s too many of them, I’ll never get them all—

  Chapter 18

  Locked In

  Mercy’s trigger finger paused.

  Wait, they’re—

  The emaciated tropes ran around Rose to the shuttered doors, slamming their bodies against the panels.

  It’s OK, it’s the noise outside that’s drawing them—

  Rose pulled her scarf down, her face expressionless.

  Mercy waved her on. The tropes continued to slam against the panels.

  Come on Rose, come on girl—

  Rose pulled at the oxy-acetylene trolley and reached Mercy.

  Mercy lowered her SIG and grabbed the trolley. “I’ve got this. You go on, back to the office, make sure there’s no surprises back there.”

  Rose ran ahead checking for any wayward tropes. They made it to the office and closed the door, barricading it with the table.

  “Jesus—” Rose said, “I nearly threw up back there, when they swarmed around me. What made you hold your fire?”

  “It happened too fast, the noise… that banging outside, I thought they were going to get in. But it worked out, the biotech worked… and we got what we came for—” she kicked the trolley with her foot.

  “Back door’s locked, we’ll have to manhandle it out the window,” Rose frowned.

  “Hold on, let’s see if it’s working first. Do you know how to start it?” Mercy asked.

  “I think so,” Rose said, “one of the Angels used to patch stuff up back in the city; I watched her sometimes—”

  Rose took the welding goggles from the trolley and put them on. She opened up the acetylene valve and lit it with the striker. Bright yellow flame burst from the nozzle, she opened the oxygen valve, the flame intensified and lengthened.

  “Nice blue feather flame. Renton will be happy with this,” Rose said.

  Mercy turned away from the bright flame. “OK, we’re good, shut it down—”

  Without warning the flame spluttered, and died.

  “Shit,” Rose said, lowering the torch. She checked the regulator and tapped the dials. “Tank’s empty; that was the last of the oxy.”

  Mercy’s face fell, “Well, that’s that.”

  Rose removed the goggles, “Hey, we’ve still got the hardware store and the chandlery to try—”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Mercy looked at her watch. “We’re good for time, let’s do it.”

  They left the garage, retraced their steps to the main street and returned to the RV park entrance. She glanced at the gate in the distance, Cronin stepped out from cover and waved. Mercy waved back and pointed up the street. Cronin nodded.

  Five minutes later Mercy and Rose turned into a side street; a fast food restaurant and carpark lay on the left, a row of low buildings stood on the right, a glass fronted hardware store among them. Something else grabbed Mercy’s attention.

  “What the fuck is that doing there?” Mercy said, her voice just above a whisper.

  A black armoured personnel carrier stood in the centre of the road behind a scattering of abandoned vehicles.

  “Engine’s not running, turret’s open, who knows how long it’s been there?” Rose replied.

  Mercy moved a few feet to the side for a better view, “Its tyres are inflated, it’s a big beast; battering ram, turret, the works, it could hold twelve men easy.”

  They looked warily around the side street and main road. Everywhere seemed deserted.

  “Nothing’s going down as far as I can make out,” Rose said. “What do you want to do?”

  “That’s the hardware store right there, the chandlery is a block further down, we still need the oxy-acetylene so I’m going to take a look. You with me?” Mercy sa
id.

  “Right behind you,” Rose replied.

  Mercy moved down the street, giving the abandoned cars a wide berth. Her eyes darted to the buildings on either side. Insects hummed in the morning air, the surf was pounding the shore in the distance. The hairs on the back of Mercy’s neck rose.

  Something—

  She stopped yards from the armoured vehicle and waited.

  But what—?

  She turned full circle, watching.

  Nothing—

  The door to the hardware store was open, darkness extended beyond.

  We’re good—

  Mercy moved over to the truck, the driver’s door was locked. She climbed the bonnet and windscreen to reach the open turret. A rancid stench emanated from the hatch.

  Oh… shit—

  Rose moved to the back of the truck scanning the buildings. Mercy leant into the turret and tapped the side of the open hatch.

  No response, good—

  “Don’t move,” Rose’s voice, urgent, tense, from behind the truck.

  What the—?

  Mercy lifted her head to see over the turret.

  Christ—

  Six militia men in helmets and body armour had emerged from the hardware store. Every muscle in Mercy’s body tensed. Recognition surged through her.

  Super tropes, six of them—

  The lead trope charged at the truck, jumped onto the bonnet and scrambled up the windshield. Rose opened fire on the others in the doorway with her M16. The lead trope threw itself at Mercy, teeth flashing behind its clear visor.

  Do it now—

  Mercy lifted her SIG and fired, point blank at the trope’s face. One of her three rounds punched through the polycarbonate visor into the trope’s skull. The inside of the visor turned red and the trope fell back across the bonnet. Rose threw down her M16, its magazine empty. The remaining five super tropes were still standing, slowed by the M16 rounds.

  Rose ran around the armoured truck to the bonnet and scrambled up to the windshield. Mercy looked down, the five super tropes had recovered and were moving fast, towards the truck. Movement stirred on the edge of her vision, she swung around. Dozens of tropes were emerging from the surrounding buildings, drawn by the gunfire.