Mercy’s random thoughts stopped when she saw the uniformed man step out of the shadows. Her lip curled, she had to stop herself from reaching for her gun.
Dammit—
Mercy’s stomach turned, on seeing the NSA uniform. She saw the faces, the men in lab coats, the restraints, the needles. She winced as the old familiar pain ghosted her body as it had done many times before.
Her flashback ended when the quartermaster spoke to Deadstick. “Glad you could make it. So this is the fugitive they’re all looking for. You don’t look like much, girl. What’s all the fuss about?”
The man’s thin, pale face gave him a pinched look. He took a cigarette out and lit it, inhaling deeply. Mercy noticed his yellow teeth.
He looks like someone already dead—
Deadstick held up a hand. “This is Mercy Dawes. She’s a friend of mine, we need to get her across the river, through the tunnel. She’s got questions for you—” Deadstick gestured at Mercy, “Over to you—”
Mercy stepped forwards, her eyes darting to the shadows at the far end of the warehouse.
Keep calm, focus—
She returned her gaze to the NSA man. “So, exactly how do you propose to smuggle us through the tunnel?”
The quartermaster took a long pull on his cigarette and exhaled, “I normally deal in smaller packages you understand, but the principle is the same. We’ll get you through in one of the Washington supply trucks. All the paperwork goes through my office. Deadstick here tells me you’ve got nine people to transport. I can do the paperwork and organise uniforms for four adults to pose as support crew, the others will have to hide in the back of the truck. I do the final check of every truck on my shift then sign it through the tunnel, so that won’t be a problem.”
Mercy raised an eyebrow, “Support crew?”
“Yeah, each truck needs support… a security detail, in case of trouble on the road. You know; flat tyres, survivors picking a fight, that kind of shit. The trucks are armoured and we have radio contact so they can call in if there’s any problems and we can scramble backup. We’ve got route 64 west to Richmond and route 95 north to Washington clear, there’s bases along the way. It works, mostly—”
“So… uniforms, passes and papers won’t be a problem—?” Mercy’s mind raced.
“Only for Deadstick here,” the NSA man coughed, his chest rattling with phlegm. “It’s going to cost him an arm and a leg, so to speak. Nine people, that’s a big transaction—”
Deadstick spat on the ground, “Don’t you worry, I’ve got it covered. You’ll be rolling your ass in blow for quite some time brother—”
“Damn right… brother,” the NSA man said.
Mercy took another step forward trying to read the NSA man better. “What if there’s a spot check? How are you going to hide my people in the back of the truck?”
The NSA man flashed his nicotine stained teeth, “They can hide in empty crates at the back. I’ll make sure there’s a few scattered around, they’ll be open, all they need to do is pull the lids back on. It’ll be up to you to decide when to get off, like I said there’s various stops along the way. I don’t recommend trying to bust into D.C. by truck though, security is extremely tight at the other end—”
Mercy flashed him a look, “Noted.” She paused, “So the only person we’ll have to interact with is the driver?”
“Correct, it’s just you and three of your people and the driver in the cab. You’re his support crew.”
“We can bring our weapons?” Mercy asked.
“You’re expected to be armed, so not a problem,” the quartermaster checked his watch. “Look, I don’t want to harsh the mellow we’ve got going here, but I’ve gotta go.”
Deadstick clapped his hands, “So are we good, people? We’ve got a deal?”
The NSA man nodded, “We’ve got a deal.”
Mercy stared at the quartermaster, “Yeah, we’ve got a deal mister.”
The NSA man dropped his cigarette and stood on it, “See you back here 00:30 hours tomorrow. The truck’s rostered to leave at 01:00 hours. I’m coming off a night shift at the naval station and finishing my shift at the Willoughby terminal, so I can pick you up here. I’ll provide transport—”
“Understood… later then—” Deadstick turned and walked back to the truck.
Mercy watched as the NSA man vanished into the shadows on the other side of the warehouse.
How come I feel like I just made a deal with the devil—?
Midnight never feels good these days—
Mercy patted her jacket for the fifth time to check the satellite phone. Cronin had insisted she carry it, arguing it was safer with her due to her biotech.
Midnight sucks—
Mercy glanced around.
Shit, it’s all on me… if this bastard double crosses us, I’ll never forgive myself—
Deadstick checked his watch and glanced up at Magenta with her sniper rifle on the upper level. Static erupted from Deadstick’s walkie talkie. Magenta’s voice came from the tinny speaker.
“QM’s truck turning in, eta twenty seconds. Looks like he’s alone—”
Deadstick nodded, “Roger that, keep your eyes open until we’re done—”
Magenta responded, “Affirmative. Out.”
The armoured car’s deep growl broke the silence. The Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle rounded the corner and entered the warehouse its lights blazing.
“Fuck me,” Deadstick said, “He’s giving you guys the red carpet treatment, well… you’ll all fit in that thing, no question—”
The MRAP pulled up and the quartermaster jumped down. “OK, everyone listen up. There’s four uniforms in there as promised. I’ve got four passes, the rest of you keep your heads down when we go through the gates. Leave the talking to me. I’ll pull up alongside your ride. I’ll introduce Dawes and two of your men to the driver. I’ll come back to my vehicle and bring one of your men to the rear of the truck, make it look like an inspection. We’ll signal to the rest of your people when it’s clear, then they can get in the container. I’ll show you where the empty crates are. I’ll lock up the truck… then it’s over to you—”
Rose threw Mercy a look.
I know, I know; we’ll be in the belly of the fucking beast—
The uniform was too big. Mercy turned up the sleeves.
At least the passes look OK—
The quartermaster took his time driving through the dark streets. The journey to Willoughby Spit was uneventful. A few lights glimmered in the distance.
“Is that the truck park?” Mercy asked.
“Yeah, we don’t light the place up much, don’t want to stimulate the tropes with our activity. Light, noise, scent, we try and keep disturbance to a minimum, especially for those alphas out there. I’ve seen one myself, fucking scary shit—” the quartermaster replied.
Rose leaned forwards from behind, “What did you call them?”
The quartermaster lit another cigarette filling the interior with more smoke. “Alphas; clever tropes, they’ve got some brains those fuckers—”
“What do you know about them?” Mercy pressed.
The quartermaster reduced speed and negotiated a series of Jersey barriers on the road. “They hunt in packs, sometimes you get a loner. They’ll stop at nothing, tear you apart… they can think… to a degree. One of my guys said he saw one use a weapon—” his tone changed, “OK everyone, I’m going to radio in, keep quiet. We’ll pass through a few fences, don’t get out of the vehicle, you will be shot… or the tropes will get you. Let me do the talking.”
The quartermaster tapped his earpiece and spoke into his tactical headset, “Spider 65, this is Aceman 47 with the back-up crew for the 01:00. Commence entry protocol—”
Mercy looked out the windscreen into the night. Hundreds of emaciated tropes were milling around the outer fence, pressing their bodies against the chain link. Charred bodies lay on the road beside the outer gate.
Elect
rified gates, flamethrowers—
They passed through a series of automated gates.
Like an airlock, keeps out the tropes. Guard towers, razor wire, machine guns, shit, they’ve got night vision and silenced weapons—
Mercy watched the security detail at the final gate. Three men came forwards to meet the MRAP, three others hung back, their eyes on the gate entry system. The quartermaster opened his window and the lead soldier stepped up onto the driver’s step. The soldier flipped up his night vision goggles and peered into the cabin, his breath misting the air.
“Cold night, sir. You got your paperwork there?”
The quartermaster passed a folder through the window. The guard took it and stepped down examining the paperwork with a torch. He nodded and tapped his headset speaking into his mouthpiece. He stepped back up and returned the paperwork to the quartermaster.
“You’ll find the 01:00 parked up in bay twenty four, sir. Driver’s on board, weather’s forecast as fair and no reports of hostile activity north of the river.”
“Thank you sergeant,” the quartermaster exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke into the chill night air and closed the window. He drove across the compound to a row of huge armoured trucks. Each truck was fitted with a V shaped snow plough blade at the front.
Take no prisoners—
The quartermaster pulled up alongside the nearest truck. A light shone in the driver’s cab.
The quartermaster turned to Mercy and the others, “Keep it simple, do it like we said and everything will go smoothly.” He looked at Mercy, Pace and Hicks, “You three ready?”
They nodded.
“Follow me—”
They jumped down from the MRAP and walked over to the truck. The quartermaster stepped up onto the driver’s step and opened the cab door. The driver looked up and nodded.
“Sir?”
“Got your back up crew soldier; four replacements from Norfolk Station. Here’s the paperwork.” The quartermaster passed the driver the documents and checked his watch. “Any delays I should know about?”
The driver scrutinised the papers. “No sir, we’re all good, we should make the first road base in an hour, they’ll have further updates. Should be in D.C. in seven hours, road’s bad in a few sections, may need an escort through the Fairfax and Oakton sectors, there’s been renewed trope activity there but the baiting crews have it in hand… mostly.”
“Good to know, I’ll leave you to it then,” the quartermaster backed out of the cab and waved Mercy, Pace and Hicks in. Mercy sat in the passenger seat, the others took seats in the rear.
“Where’s your other man?” the driver asked.
Mercy’s eyes flicked to the side mirror; the quartermaster was leading Cronin and the others to the back of the truck. “Taking a dump, he’ll be out in a minute.” She made a show of checking her Winchester.
“The quartermaster’s doing a final check of the truck,” the driver said, putting a stick of chewing gum in his mouth. He offered a piece to Mercy. “Say, where you from sergeant?”
Mercy closed her eyes, “Enough of the small talk soldier. I’ve just finished a forty eight hour shift. On top of that I find I’ve been rostered to replace some dumbass who got his skull busted in a fight. I’ve got a headache from hell and I’m expected to nurse your sorry ass all the way to D.C., I’m not in the mood—”
The driver stopped chewing, his mouth open. He regained his composure a second later, “Understood sergeant, got it—” he turned on the headlights and started the engine.
Sweat rolled down Mercy’s back, her face flushed.
Let’s get moving, dammit—
The cab’s back door opened and Cronin took the last seat in the back. The driver’s eyes flicked to the rear view mirror taking in the new man.
A few seconds later the quartermaster appeared at the driver’s open window. “You’re good to go soldier, safe journey.”
“Thank you, sir—” the driver responded.
The quartermaster disappeared and the driver rolled up his window.
“Buckle up everyone, we’re on our way—” the driver engaged gear and pulled out of the bay.
We’re actually doing it; we’re going under the river—
Chapter 33
Tunnel Madness
The truck moved slowly through the staging area and up onto the road leading to the bridge. They passed a weathered sign for Interstate 64, followed by a bullet ridden sign declaring: HAMPTON ROADS BRIDGE TUNNEL. Old graffiti scrawled on the crash barrier declared: AND THOSE SLAIN BY THE LORD WILL BE MANY.
Well, you got that right whoever you are… were—
The road surface changed, the truck pulled onto the bridge.
“Gotta go slow, roads ain’t what they used to be, no lighting in the tunnel except for our own lights, no comms when we’re in there either. Water’s been mostly pumped out, there’s still a bit left though—” the driver spoke in a monotone.
Mercy absorbed the information remembering from Deadstick’s map that the crossing was three and a half miles long. She watched the truck park disappear behind them in the side mirror. They passed over the bridge section without incident, the entrance to the tunnel loomed ahead. The driver slowed as they approached low ramps in the road surface. Mercy looked in the side mirror, her eyes widened. A lone figure ran alongside the truck then ducked behind, disappearing from view. Mercy frowned.
Did I just imagine that—?
Her eyes darted to the concrete walls rising around them as the road dipped towards the tunnel mouth. A group of men stood on the left, overlooking the truck’s path. One of the men glanced down and pointed, another man responded, aiming his silenced rifle at the truck. Two barely discernible muzzle flashes were visible before the truck entered the tunnel.
Shit, what the fuck?
Mercy glanced at the driver.
His eyes are on the road, he didn’t see it—
Mercy’s mind raced.
No comms in the tunnel, they’ll radio to the far side, they’ll stop us and capture that person. Who the hell is it—? Shit… I bet it’s him—
Mercy kept quiet, her eyes glued to the tunnel. The truck’s lights lit the road ahead.
Cronin and the others won’t have seen it. Will the NSA send someone into the tunnel or—?
Mercy’s question was answered before she had time to finish her train of thought; blue flashing lights sprung into life in the distance.
“That’s unusual, ain’t seen that before, must be a problem at the other end—” the driver said.
Mercy gripped her Winchester. “Stop the truck,” she barked. “Now.”
“What—?” the driver said.
“I said stop the truck, someone climbed on board, they’re up top. We need to neutralise the threat—” Mercy glanced back at Cronin and the others, “Follow me—”
Cronin nodded. The driver engaged the brakes, the truck came to a screeching halt. Silence followed.
Mercy turned to the driver, “Get out of the truck, we need to find the bastard. She turned to Cronin and Hicks, you two go with the driver. Pace with me… three sixty sweep.”
“Hey, I can’t leave the truck,” the driver protested, “it’s protocol.”
“I’ll protocol your ass. I’m the ranking officer here. That bastard could be about to blow us and the tunnel to kingdom come, get out of the truck now,” Mercy placed her hand on her pistol, her meaning clear.
The driver nodded, flustered. He opened his door and jumped down.
Mercy leaned towards Cronin, “Could be a friendly up there, try and avoid shooting.”
Cronin looked puzzled then grunted his understanding and left the cab with Hicks to join the driver. Mercy jumped down from the passenger side with Pace and began walking the length of the truck.
She stood up on one of the wheels and called out softly, “Billy-Ray… Billy-Ray is that you up there? Billy-Ray—?”
A scrabbling noise then a second later Billy-Ray’s face appe
ared over the top of the container.
Mercy bared her teeth, “Jesus H. Christ— Billy-Ray, what the fuck are you doing? Get the hell down here.” She glared at him as he clambered down. She turned to Pace, “Keep him here… wait for me.”
Mercy swore and ran around the front of the truck, pulling out her silenced SIG. She walked up behind Cronin, Hicks and the driver on the other side of the truck. She pushed Cronin aside and pressed her pistol against the base of the driver’s skull. She closed her eyes.
Do it—
She squeezed the trigger. The driver crumpled to the ground, his face a bloody mess.
“Get his dog tags and jacket. We’re going to make him look like the stowaway. It’s Billy-Ray who jumped aboard, looks like he’s with us now, we’ve got to make this work—” Mercy’s voice was hoarse.
Cronin looked like he was about to object but he nodded, “You got it.”
Mercy took a few steps towards the front of the truck then turned, “Stick his body on the snow blades, we’ll say we dealt with it—”
She turned away and returned to Billy-Ray and Pace to explain her plan.
Billy-Ray nodded his approval, “Fast thinking, sorry I fucked it up for you, but I have to get to my daughter, this was the only way. Look, I can drive this thing if that’s a help, I used to drive 18-wheeler rigs like this in another life—”
Mercy took a deep breath, her mind racing, “Yeah, you’re the driver. Cronin’s got a jacket for you.” She turned to Pace, “Pace, tell Rose and the others in the back what’s going on—”
Pace nodded and headed to the rear of the truck. Mercy returned to the front with Billy-Ray. Cronin and Hicks had draped the driver’s body across the snow blades. They were waiting in the cab when Mercy and Billy-Ray climbed in. Billy-Ray pulled on the dead driver’s jacket. The atmosphere was tense.
Mercy turned to the others, “OK, so the plan is… there is no plan. This is fucked, we’ll just have to wing it. I’ll talk to them, make it look like we’ve dealt with it and push them to let us on our way.”
Hicks tapped the tinted window on his right, “Just as well this thing is armoured—”
Fear Mercy Page 22