Fear Mercy

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Fear Mercy Page 27

by Fergal F. Nally


  “Power. Christ, they’ve got electricity—” Mercy said.

  “Yeah, and we’ve got to break into that… city—” Flynn replied, his voice a whisper.

  Chapter 39

  Cold Shock

  Flynn’s words were not lost on Mercy.

  City—? Fortress, more like—

  Mercy checked her watch; 12:37am. “We’d better get some rest.”

  Flynn nodded, “Yeah, Hicks pulled first watch up here—”

  Mercy’s expression clouded over as she descended the stairs.

  There’s three people in this relationship: me, Flynn and President Mitchell. Once Mitchell’s gone we can—

  Hicks appeared around the corner. Sweat beaded his forehead despite the chill in the air, his brow was furrowed. He stepped aside to let Mercy and Flynn pass.

  “Hey you two, there’s some chow left down there if you want it. It’s cold but it fills a gap—” Hicks said.

  “Thanks Hicks. There’s a good view up there, even though it’s night. Enjoy—” Mercy replied.

  He looks stressed, tired… wasted. Reckon we all do—

  The window shutters were closed on the first floor. A single candle flickered in an old jar in the corner. The main room was occupied with kit and sleeping bodies. The smell of stale sweat tainted the air. Tawny was sitting against the wall beside Billy-Ray, his eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Soft snoring came from a side room. Mercy peered in, Cronin was asleep on the floor, his head resting on his pack.

  “Thought SEAL selection would’ve weeded out people who snore,” Flynn whispered in Mercy’s ear.

  Mercy gave a wry smile, “Yeah, you would’ve thought so. Cronin needs a suppressor on that—”

  Mercy pulled away from the open door.

  “At least you don’t snore,” Flynn said grinning.

  “What do you mean at least?” Mercy turned, poking him hard with her finger.

  “Well, you don’t snore… but you do talk in your sleep sometimes,” Flynn replied, pulling an innocent face.

  “No, I do not,” Mercy pushed him away, her eyes wide.

  Flynn kept his face deadpan for a few seconds then gave a broad smile, “Had you worried for a moment there. The look on your face. I should’ve milked it, but… I guess I’m too nice—”

  Mercy opened the next door and poked her head into the empty room.

  “Nice? Nice? I’ll give you nice. Come here boy—” she curled a finger at Flynn and disappeared into the room.

  What’s that… noise?

  Mercy checked the luminous dial on her watch; 02:28am. A soft thump came from the next room. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Flynn lay beside her, his breathing deep and regular. Another thump, this time louder. Mercy frowned, a burst of adrenaline tore away the last vestiges of sleep.

  That’s coming from Cronin’s room. What’s going on—?

  Mercy grabbed her SIG, jumped up and went to Cronin’s door. A muffled male voice came from inside the room. She lifted the latch and opened the door a crack.

  Hicks’s voice drifted out to her. His speech was pressured, urgent, “Delta One-Six to Blue Central, I repeat the package is here. Our co-ordinates are: 38.899°N 76.436°W—”

  Mercy pushed the door open. Cronin was on the floor in a pool of blood; his throat cut, his eyes glazed. Hicks was leaning over him, the satellite phone in one hand, a bloodstained knife in his other hand. Hicks swung around, his expression a blur in the dim light, his arm came up.

  Mercy squeezed her trigger sending two 9mm rounds into Hick’s skull. He slumped to the floor still clutching the satellite phone. A tinny voice erupted from the phone’s speaker, Mercy stepped forwards to listen: “Roger that Delta One-Six, nearest assets scrambled, will be at your position in… twenty minutes. Kill order confirmed. Over—”

  Footsteps. Shouting.

  “What the fuck—?” Pace stood in the doorway behind Mercy, shock on his face.

  Flynn and Rose appeared in the corridor and pushed into the room.

  “Hicks was NSA, he’s killed Cronin. He’s radioed our position to the mainland. The NSA are on their way, we’ve got twenty minutes—” Mercy heard herself speak, her voice calm, matter-of-fact.

  How can I be so… detached?

  Pace sprang into action. “Everybody out, grab a lifejacket, get to the boat. We’ll try and outrun them, maybe get to shore—”

  They piled down the ladder to the RIB. Flynn and Tawny carried Billy-Ray between them. Five minutes later they were speeding towards the western shore, Pace at the tiller.

  “Shit, over there—” Pace pointed at three searchlights moving towards them.

  The sound of diesel engines roared in the chill night air.

  “Three gunboats, they’re fast… but we’ve better manoeuvrability,” Rose said.

  “Come on Pace, get us closer to shore,” Tawny shouted.

  Pace headed straight for the shoreline. The NSA searchlights converged in front of the RIB. Pace swerved, avoiding the light, the four Yamaha engines roared against the swells. Water splashed over the sides, drenching everyone. The searchlights caught up with them. Mercy clung to the side of the boat, her knuckles white.

  Rose turned and tightened the straps on Mercy’s lifejacket. “This is it sister, this is what it’s all led up to. Promise me you’ll survive.”

  Mercy stared blankly at Rose.

  “Promise me,” Rose gripped Mercy’s arm.

  Mercy jerked her head, “I promise—”

  “They’re gaining on us Pace,” Fay’s voice, shrill, full of fear.

  Two of the gunboats swung out and raced ahead.

  “They’re flanking us,” Pace shouted. “I’m going to make a break for it, hold on—”

  Pace twisted the tiller, the RIB responded, swerving towards land. Gunfire erupted from the gunboat behind, bullets sprayed their wake. The gunboat’s searchlight lit up the side of the RIB. Pace played the tiller, zig-zagging the RIB along the coastline. The two leading gunboats slowed and swung around, completing the pincer movement. They trained their guns on the smaller craft.

  Mercy remembered the last words she had heard on the satellite phone: “Kill order confirmed—”

  Gunfire erupted from in front and behind, the water churned in a mad frenzy.

  “Jump,” Pace shouted. “Jump now—”

  The nearest gunboat was bearing down on them, a hundred yards away. Pace set the tiller on a collision course as three M249 5.56mm rounds caught him across the chest shredding his heart and lungs. More rounds slammed into the RIB and its engines. Rose fell against Mercy, knocking her overboard.

  Mercy sank beneath the waves like a stone, cold shock gripped her body. Blinding light stabbed the water around her. Her eyes followed the silver air bubbles racing to the surface. A huge explosion erupted twenty yards away as the RIB crashed into the lead gunboat. Light from the flames danced across Mercy’s retinas as she sank, gripped by the icy current.

  Darkness replaced light.

  (To be continued…)

  About the Author

  Fergal F. Nally is an outdoors lover often to be found amongst it all in the Scottish Highlands. His passions are hillwalking, music, and reading great stories. He lives in Edinburgh. Fear Mercy— The Survival Chronicles V is his eleventh novel.

 

 

 


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