“Yes,” she said as she put her hand on his. “You shouldn't give up, either. Rachel could still be out there.”
“It happened so long ago. It's been over two months... And I'm too frail to look for her. Isaac said his men searched for her and found nothing.”
“You don't know she's dead though. I mean, you-”
Daniel called to the group with just enough volume for them to hear. “All right, move out!”
Mercy turned back to Glen, who activated his flashlight and they stood together. Glen paused, looking at her endearingly, but said nothing. I hope I didn't offend him, she thought. Everyone departed together, headed in the same direction as before. Mercy could keep better focus now. It undoubtedly had to do with talking to Glen. She became ever more thankful to have met him. Arriving to the meeting late, unprepared and ignorant, led her to meet him. For once, she thought, something good that came from the bad.
That second move was shorter than the first. Or did it only feel shorter? The group reached their destination without interruption or incident. Assuming from the florid exterior and large unlit text above the entrance, Mercy guessed they were at a hotel. Now a place of more permanent residence. With Daniel at the lead, the group moved in through the front's already-shattered display windows. Mercy was among the last to enter. Complete darkness returned when she was inside, now more a nuisance to her than something to fear.
Everyone remained idle at first. A few of the women flocked at the windows, keeping themselves just out of view from the outside. “You should join them,” Daniel said to Mercy.
“What? Why?”
“You're new, and some people need to keep watch.”
“No, it's because I'm a woman. I'm not useless, and I won't know how to carry my own weight unless I learn.”
Daniel said nothing else. Perhaps even he knew it was futile to argue with her.
As the group proceeded, only Daniel's light was active. All the others knew to keep theirs off. She thought, I'll learn these routines later. She felt slightly claustrophobic from all the movement through narrow halls. The hotel was a ruin. How do they know there's food here? Most of the mess consisted of loose papers, clothing unsuitable for the cold, and graffiti.
Their leader brought the group to a halt when they were within steps of the dining room, according to what Glen just whispered in Mercy's ear. “We found a stockpile here last night. It should still be here.”
“No one touched it all this time?” asked Mercy.
“It was prob'ly stored there recently. Daniel will have us wait here while his men check for it.”
So they waited. Glen leaned against the wall while the others conversed quietly among themselves. Mercy decided to sit beside him. She admired him, but quickly came to realize he had a distinct stench to him. I guess, so does everyone. She nearly felt guilty noticing it, and for being repulsed in the slightest by it.
The noise from the streets outside was difficult to ignore. While hiding in the basement with Haley, they had the windows boarded and stuffed with cardboard, which muffled any noise from the outside at night. Cries of warring, shrieking and grieving were virtually new to her. Tonight, she listened, though. Occasionally, sparsely, she could hear children playing and couples making love without caring for privacy. Not all screams are of suffering, even now, she thought happily.
“Hide!” Daniel sharply commanded as loudly as he could in a whisper. They obeyed unquestionably, though it required they use their lights. Mercy followed Glen to cover behind a stack of three trashed suitcases. Then, she heard the reason for the alarm: a fairly sizable group was already present. Mercy didn't feel entirely unsafe, for she had her own people for protection this time.
“They got to it first,” Glen whispered to her. “This happens a lot lately.”
“What do we do?”
“Not get noticed. By the end of the night we're usually so far split up that we return home in waves.” It took her a moment, but she realized he meant that the group will probably split up to find better cover. Or to keep searching for food elsewhere, she thought. She was opposed to, and terrified of, the very thought of it. No offense, Glen, she thought as she considered the old man would be her only protection if everyone separated.
After a moment, members of the other group came close to walking by them, so Glen retreated to a room on the opposite end of the hall, and Mercy followed. They were talking as if it were day, and the world was back as it was – without whispering and without discussing anything important. Their voices gave Mercy the impression they were all around her age or less. They were happily discussing eating junk food, which was apparently a luxury they had been deprived of for months. Even junk food is better than no food at all, she admitted to herself. Despite now being without food to obtain, she still felt happy for them. At least some people have found something to smile about.
Then they began to panic. Heavy, rapid footsteps echoed through the halls, lights flashing all around. Even she felt afraid. A third group? she questioned. But this one seemed to know there were people already inside, because their movements were coming right for them. “Run!” she screamed at Glen. Just as she spoke, gunfire ripped through the air, deafeningly loud, followed by chunks of wall being torn through. Small chips cut into her, but she took it for the moment, as she frantically searched for a place to hide.
“OW!” She heard someone scream. It sounded like a little boy. “WHAT WAS THAT FOR?”
“Get the fuck in there and help your fucking friends!” The voice came from a larger man with a deep voice.
“I already have food! Stop hitting me! I–” The boy's words were cut off. Mercy heard him starting to cry in pain as it sounded like he was being beaten. Instinct commanded her to rush to the sound, but fear controlled her most. She aimlessly fled the opposite direction.
Next she knew, she found herself in a kitchen, without her backpack or any memory of removing it, hiding in an oven barely large enough to contain her. The bloodshed was not muffled out when she closed herself in. Mercy squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands against her ears tightly. People were dying, begging to be spared, beaten, and attempting to run away in terror.
However long it persisted, Mercy waited it out until silence returned. She waited for several more minutes just to be sure it was over. It wasn't until her muscles started to stiffen that she allowed herself to check the environment. She opened the oven door and crawled out, accidentally falling onto her back. She stood slowly, preparing herself to drop if she saw anyone there at all.
Once she was certain she was alone, it was time to find a way out. It was completely dark; no illumination of any kind from within the building or the streets outside. When she had fled to the kitchen, she passed through a small dining room without noticing. The pain from her right arm kicked in, reminding her of the injury. After a quick feel, determining it was only a minor wound with little blood pouring, she opted to ignore it again.
Walking back through the dining room, she felt a table to her left and used it for balance, but stumbled over something. She gently touched the object again with her foot, and felt that... it was also a foot. Mercy began to tremble ferociously. She used memory to guide herself back to the halls. It took several more minutes, but she was eventually successful.
The smell got to her first. It was no mystery what was there, littering the entire path. She vomited what little was in her stomach. Then, her mind, against her will, envisioned what she found herself walking over.
I should have died with them...
Among the many things she stumbled over was what felt like a flashlight. Reaching down with her back straight, she gently extended her hand to pick it up. The back of her hand brushed against someone's cold arm, and she jerked her hand away. Activating the flashlight, she saw exactly what she feared to see. The hall almost didn't have a floor anymore, except that which the bodies composed. She forced herself to look at the faces.
Most of the faces were unfamiliar
to her. I don't know if that should comfort me...
She traced her steps back toward the exit, doing her best not to step on any part of the victims, even their blood. When she found the front counter, and the exit immediately beyond it, she breathed easier.
There, at her feet, the last body she stepped over was that of a child, dressed in concealing attire with a bandanna over his neck. He was still breathing. It was his breathing that caught her attention. The boy was not shot, but beaten. He was armed as well, with a pistol on one side of his waist, and an absurdly large knife on the other. He was one of them? Mercy thought with shock. It was agonizing to swallow, but she considered: Someone's using children as soldiers?
It sounded familiar. But above that, it was sickening. Regardless, she chose to lift the boy into her arms and carry him out with her.
Standing outside completely alone, she froze. With no light, determining the right direction to walk was impossible. In time, she heard, “Mercy!”
The voice frightened her for a moment. It was relieving to see who it was, though. “What are you still doing here, Glen?”
“I got out as soon as it began. I never saw you get out, though. I almost came back inside after you, I was just...”
Too afraid to see what was left inside, she finished in her mind. “It's okay, Glen. We need to get back.”
“You... You have a child. And you're injured.” Glen's voice still bore the pitch of worry. “Isaac will never allow-”
“I don't care. He needs help. Now, we need to go.”
Glen nodded. “Okay. Do you want me to carry him?”
“You can't carry anyone, Glen. Sorry to be blunt.” She adjusted the boy and began to walk.
“It's this way, Mercy,” said Glen, gesturing toward the other direction. “I'm glad to see you're safe. I just... I hope you know what you're doing.”
GLEN
He wished he could have been of better use. In his earlier years he was the most agile man he knew. I was irreplaceable. Dad's most prized creation, he thought, recalling how his father took pride in his ability to master everything he put his mind to. His father could craft anything, grow anything, and had a lecture prepared for every lesson. But that was a lifetime ago. “Be a blessing,” he thought. They were his father's words, and later became his own. He made a family motto of it. But what am I now?
Sixty-two, balding and struggling to keep weight. He walked with an arched back, which caused problems with his spine years ago, and certainly wasn't benefiting him now when he didn't have access to a chiropractor. Rachel had helped with certain struggles, but ever since her disappearance, his body declined, as well as his mind.
He pitied Mercy every minute as they walked. He could see her wincing, hear her faint grunts with every step; before long, she was carrying the boy with her back more than her arms. She was soaked and cold. Every time he glanced at her, he knew she noticed, but she never looked back at him. Glen imagined what she must have been thinking. “Be a blessing?” I'm useless now.
He breathed easier when they reached the scouts' conference room. Before Mercy needed to ask, he already had his keys out and unlocked the door. He used memory to navigate through the dark to find matches for the candles. One by one he lit them, then adjusted the partition to obscure their candlelight from the windows. Mercy was breathing laboriously as she set the child onto the floor. She placed her hand on his forehead, not speaking. So, Glen asked her, “How are you?”
Mercy took a moment for her breathing to calm. “Alive. For now.”
“To be completely frank with you,” Glen began, “I don't know what to do from here. Isaac has a very strict rule – he does not allow children. Our chances of getting in, without Isaac's eyes seeing the boy...” He shook his head. “Our chances are slim at best, Mercy.”
“Then I'll find another place to live in.”
Glen folded his hands. He could see the young woman could not look away from the boy. The little one was breathing, but only that. “Mercy,” he said, almost choking on his words. “How will you care for him by yourself? Without help, he's no more likely to survive with you than he would be with … them. Whoever they were.”
“Are you suggesting I take him back? What help is there? If you have any ideas, please share them.”
Glen pondered a moment. He recalled Mercy coming to the shelter with a man. A creep, was his impression from what he heard. “Who was that man you were with? I heard he was big and strong.”
“Ethan? He's gone.”
Glen wondered why she said nothing else. “Who was he? Why would he leave after he just got here?”
Mercy sighed, adjusting herself to lay beside the unconscious boy. “I hardly knew him. He didn't tell me much.” The way he saw her lay next to the boy, he knew full well she already loved that child. It rose above compassion. He knew she was ready to care for him for the weeks, months, or even years to come, even if she did not know it herself. Her loving heart touched Glen. Mercy was young, though. She needs care, too, he thought.
For a while longer, he pondered. Ultimately, there was only one conclusion to be drawn. “I'll come with you,” he said flatly, as if embarrassed. He saw Mercy turn her head then roll over to face him. “I couldn't stand you being out there on your own,” he added.
“Thank you,” she said. For a moment she was silent. “Haley wanted to start a shelter. It was the first thing she said once she saw the streets for herself. Maybe I'll do that. I'll permit children, most of all.”
“That's noble, Mercy, but try to think about it realistically. What makes you more capable of surviving and starting a shelter than Isaac? Or anyone, really. A compassionate heart isn't enough.” Mercy said nothing in response, only turning her head toward the ceiling. “I'll do what I can, but I won't be much use to you. Not in my old age. Before the world fell apart, half my diet was pills. Not literally, of course. I have problems with my breathing and my strength. My digestion too. Whenever I eat, most of the nutrients in my food seems to just flow right out of me. My body absorbs almost nothing. I don't have that kind of help anymore. I can't make trips to the doctor anymore. The pharmacies are closed, to put it lightly. Maybe I shouldn't come with you. It wouldn't be fair if you had to take care of me, too.”
Mercy sat up. She turned to face her boy, keeping a gentle hand on his arm. “No matter what the risk,” she said, “it's the best I've got, if Isaac won't let me inside.” She smiled at Glen, though it seemed forced to him.
Tap, tap, tap.
Glen looked at Mercy, whose face was now paler than the boy's. Someone from outside was trying to get their attention. Glen feared as Mercy stood and slightly moved over the partition for a view of the windows. “Who is it?” he asked. He had been searching for his gun as soon as Mercy stood up.
“It's Seth,” she said. Glen sensed relief in her tone. From how she said the name, he already knew that she trusted the man. Slowly pushing off his knee, he stood and went to the windows. Mercy was already there, opening the door to let the tall man in from the rain.
“Glen?” said Seth. “What are you guys doing in here? I've been looking for you. The scouts came back without you.”
“Can you keep a secret?” asked Mercy.
“Of course.”
Glen followed as Mercy showed Seth to the young boy. He saw the surprise in Seth's face. As Mercy knelt beside the child, Glen wondered if her judgment in trusting Seth was sound.
“I found him at the hotel,” said Mercy. “Someone nearly beat him to death.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Seth.
Mercy hesitated. “I don't know.”
I can't imagine witnessing something like that, thought Glen. If they did that to my child, would I have tried to kill them?
“What if Isaac finds out? He says no chil-”
“I know what Isaac says!” Mercy pulled her hair. “Glen has reminded me repeatedly, but I'm not changing my mind. If he can't stay, then I'll leave.” Her eyes went to the boy. “But
I'm keeping him with me.”
She doesn't even know the boy's name and she's already taken the responsibility of being his mother. Glen had nothing but admiration for that. He recollected what he told her, concerning the trouble of caring for the child in her current state, but he only came to admire her more for that as well. Who else will care for this boy? he thought.
“Maybe I can get him in without being seen,” said Seth. “The problem is... You're new to the shelter, which means Isaac's gonna have Daniel watch you for a while. Not to mention, you know … everyone else is gonna keep an eye on you, too.”
“He's right,” said Glen. “The people aren't very warm to newcomers. If you get the boy in, you'll need to put him in someone else's care.”
Mercy appeared shocked, almost angry. “What?”
“Only temporarily,” added Glen. He turned to Seth. “Can you watch the boy for the time being?”
“I'm one of the guard. Isaac runs inspections on all the suites regularly. Plus I live close to the boss himself. How about you, Glen?”
He thought for a moment, ultimately realizing an unfortunate truth. “I leave with the scouts every night. The boy can't be left alone all the time. One of these times, I might not make it back alive. Scouts always run that risk.”
“Then who should I leave him with?” Mercy snapped. “A stranger? No. Never.”
Seth raised his hand. “Wait, Mercy. There is someone you can trust. He never scouts and he lives with his wife, so you wouldn't have to worry about your kid being left alone. His name's James.”
That's right... How did I forget about him? thought Glen.
Seth added, “James is the shelter's unofficial medic. He's a reliable guy, and so is his wife.”
Glen looked at Mercy with hope in his eyes. She had a difficult decision to make, and with every ounce of his being he prayed she would not risk leaving the shelter altogether. But, his tense muscles relaxed when he heard her say, “Okay. If James is willing...”
Seth nodded, pausing. “I'll take charge of the gate. You should be fine as long as the guards on the roof don't see you.”
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