The Survival Chronicles (Book 1}: Mercy Kill

by Nally, Fergal F.

  “You’ve done well Flyer. You’ve entertained us. I’m a woman of my word, you’ve earned another twenty four hours of life. Let’s see if your story is true, let’s see if Dawes shows up.” Laurient said to his back.

  Flynn turned to face Laurient, she looked different somehow. Madness and brutality ruled this world, he had just crossed the line to join her there, her world her terms. Flynn threw his sword at her feet. His shoulders slumped, he would play the game, for the moment. There was safety in madness and brutality.

  “Take him away,” Laurient said to the guards.

  A pistol to his neck, hands bound behind his back. Flynn’s mind shut down as he was led away.

  The wall of tears had claimed another victim.

  Chapter 10 Preacher Rules

  So it’s true—

  The Preacher knelt in front of the crucifix, beads of sweat lined his forehead.

  The infected are growing stronger. Satan’s children are adapting, his reign of terror is not over. How do I fix this Lord? How do I crush the devil spawn? Help me be your instrument, help me do your work. Help me exterminate them and cleanse the earth of their blasphemy.

  The Preacher looked up at the figure on the cross, his eyes searching for an answer, his lips quivering in silent prayer. He nodded once, twice and raised his eyebrows.

  Of course Lord, of course, I should’ve seen it, I should have known. I will follow your instruction. My hands are yours to command.

  Marcus Voight, former sales assistant for Adamswell Locker Systems, rose from his all-night vigil, his knees stiff and cracking. That was his old self, his old name, he was reborn now, the living embodiment of God’s new ministry. The Lord had not forsaken him, he knew he would find the answer, his people were waiting, the unbelievers were waiting, even the tropes were waiting for deliverance, and he would be the one to unleash God’s will.

  He had the answer now. He knew what he must do; declare war.

  Total war. Everything must be cleansed— to ash.

  A soft knock on the door. He frowned, he had asked not to be disturbed, it would be God’s will no doubt, nothing happened without a reason, like the Fall. That had been God’s will, to rid the earth of Satan’s corruption. He, Marcus Voight, had been selected to protect and lead God’s chosen to the light, to the Promised Land. It was a trial, mankind’s last chance at redemption, and he had been given this task.

  And he would deliver.

  The Preacher went to the door and opened it. Initiate Matthew stood in the hall.

  “Father, may I enter? I have news,” Matthew’s voice was tense, solemn.

  “Matthew, it is always good to see you. Come in, I have finished praying, and am at peace,” the Preacher said ushering the younger man in.

  Matthew entered the room, the air was stale, candles flickered at the foot of the crucifix. The old man had pulled another all-nighter, God’s will would be done.

  “Please, take a seat,” the Preacher gestured at a chair. He went to the other side of his desk and sat down. He was tired, he so wanted to sleep, he wanted to feel the wind on his face, he wanted to walk along Orient Beach again, he wanted to be with Sereena again. But Sereena was dead, killed by the pandemic along with their four children, their four angels, they were the ghosts he carried in his heart.

  God gives and God takes away.

  He nodded at Matthew, “Go ahead my son.”

  Matthew cleared his throat. “Father, I have bad news from one of the patrols. The Angels have taken Initiate Luke and have killed Initiate Peter. They were searching for food and ammunition in Midtown. Tropes attacked them in daylight, they were pushed back to the Lincoln Tunnel. They hid in a service shaft and evaded the tropes. On their way back they were ambushed by the Angels, the unbelievers shot Peter, he couldn’t be moved, Luke stayed with him and was captured, he ordered the others to escape. Four of them made it back, another died on the way, another trope attack—”

  The Preacher’s jaw tensed, he closed his eyes. Whatever about the infected, the Angels attacking his men was another thing. An attack on his men was an attack on him and on God. The infected at least had an excuse, they were Satan’s children. The Angels however, they had reason and clarity of thought on their side.

  No, this was murder, they had chosen to commit this crime and it would be avenged.

  The Preacher closed his eyes and followed his thoughts. As always the Bible’s wisdom came easily, like a lightning bolt from the sky. He spoke, “Cursed be he who does the Lord’s work remissly, cursed be he who holds back his sword from blood.”

  Initiate Matthew blinked. “Jeremiah 48:10—”

  “I cannot argue with scripture, the word of God is all around us, in us. We have to obey. It is time we brought the word of God to the Angels, to the unbelievers,” the Preacher said.

  Matthew shrugged. “Why do they mock the sacred with the name they have chosen? They should call themselves the Fallen Angels.”

  “God calls them murderers, we will visit His retribution on them and their leader. God’s justice will prevail over this affront,” the Preacher said.

  “God is good,” Matthew said.

  “God is great,” The Preacher replied. “It is decided then, it ties in with what the Lord has revealed to me last night, we will treat the Angels like the infected. No quarter, no mercy, blood for blood. We have the numbers and the firepower. We will cleanse the city of evil.”

  Matthew smiled. “When Father? When will we unleash God’s will?

  The Preacher opened his eyes and stood, he went to the window and pulled the curtains open. Light flooded into the room blinding them. The Preacher shielded his eyes and looked out over Battery Park and Ellis Island in the distance. He turned to face Matthew. “We will go tomorrow morning. I will lead our fighters, this will be a crusade like no other the city has seen. Mobilise the Army of Light we will bring the rule of God’s Law to bear on this godless city.”

  Matthew stood up, “I will do as you command father.” He turned to leave.

  As he reached the door the Preacher spoke. “Oh and Matthew—”

  “Yes father?”

  “The Lord demands a special offering to grace our endeavour.”

  “Father?”

  “Choose one of the women, we will release her soul on the Charging Bull at first light tomorrow. Her life will be our sacrifice, this will please the Lord, for He sees and knows true faith, true belief.”

  “The women will volunteer themselves for this honour father. How do I know who to choose?” Matthew asked.

  “Open your heart, God will let you know,” the Preacher replied.

  Matthew nodded and took his leave.

  The Preacher turned to the window, the Statue of Liberty caught his eye. It was going to be a good day, no, it was going to be a glorious day. He was in the belly of the beast, he would rip it open and drain the corruption from within, he was the sword of God.

  ~

  “Rose, I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” Arabella said looking at the Walther P88 pistol and map that Rose had taken from the store.

  Rose frowned. “Shut up Bella, you want to see Maggie again don’t you? She’s your sister too, and the big girls won’t do anything about it. We need to take action ourselves, my mom always spoke about taking direct action where there was injustice,” Rose felt empowered by her mother’s words. They would take direct action, she would do it with or without Arabella. Rose looked at the younger girl, they were friends, almost warriors, but not quite old enough so none of the others listened to them. Well she would show them all, she would show Laurient, Tawny and the rest. She would find Maggie and rescue her from the Preacher and his drugs.

  Rose knew a way in to the Preacher’s compound, she had spotted it on a scavenging run. As a carrier it was her job to haul supplies and be an extra pair of eyes on the street. They’d been on the outskirts of the Preacher’s Battery Park stronghold when she’d found the hidden manhole. She’d been small enough to climb unde
r the truck and there it was, plain as day, untouched.

  The Preacher’s men had welded all the other manhole covers and demolished the sewer systems surrounding Battery Park. His fence, watchtowers and lights kept the tropes out at night and his men had blocked off the nearby subway entrances just in case the freaks got any ideas. Well, she would show him, Rose and Arabella would show him. They were just as good as the big girls. She had seen the older girls remove manhole covers elsewhere in the city, she knew what to do.

  It would still be tricky removing the manhole cover underneath the truck, that’s where Arabella came in. She would’ve gone alone but she needed another pair of hands and eyes. They would figure it out, she would return a hero and the others would recognise her as a warrior at last. Laurient was always saying they needed to use their initiative and show strength, well, that was exactly what she was doing.

  “How come you’ve got a gun and I haven’t?” Arabella asked.

  “I’ve had weapons training, you’ve not. Stick to your knife and spray, keep your eyes open, we’ll stay close to the river. The truck is on the west side of Battery Park, the highway will take us straight there.”

  They crept along the street, early morning chill in the air, the Whitney Museum lay on their right. It felt dangerous and exhilarating to be outside Angel territory without the big girls.

  Rose looked across at Arabella, she was a good kid, another orphan rescued by the Angels. In the first few days and weeks after the Fall children had been easy targets for the infected. Women and children had suffered at the hands of men. Arabella had a story from back then, but she kept it to herself. Rose had seen other girls like Arabella, those that refused to talk about their pain, the fear was too great.

  Rose reflected; it was best to live in the moment, live for the next breath, fight for each day of life and treasure it, among friends and sisters. The Angels were her family. You could only rely on your family and that was why she had to free Maggie. Maggie would do the same for her.

  They continued south along Route 9A, pier 46 and 45 passed on their right. Abandoned cars and trucks littered the highway, their fuel long ago plundered by scavengers. Hudson River Park appeared on the right, sunlight reflecting off the water beyond. Rose’s unease began to grow, something wasn’t right.

  Arabella stopped beside her. “That’s funny,” she muttered.

  “What?” Rose asked, looking around.

  Arabella pointed. “Why are all the car doors open?”

  Rose stared. Arabella was right. Many of the car doors were open, buses and trucks too.

  Shit— Rose shivered.

  “Where are the dead, the skinnies? Where are they?” Arabella whispered.

  Rose looked up and down the highway, all the cars were empty. Where were all the bodies? The dead, cocooned in their vehicles, had been protected from the rats and the birds, their remains mummified to husks.

  They were gone.

  Rose was caught in a dilemma. This was important, this was something she had to report to Laurient; the Angels needed to know this. But that didn’t help Maggie, Maggie still needed saving. Conflicting emotions coursed through Rose.

  Shit, shit, shit—

  Rose closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the answer came to her.

  Stick to the plan, rescue Maggie, get back home, then tell Laurient. Don’t lose your nerve now, you are a warrior.

  Rose looked at Arabella. “Come on Bella, we’ll be there in an hour. We’ll get Maggie and bring her home, we’ll tell Laurient about this when we get back.”

  Rose was surprised, Arabella took it without question, nodding. They continued on down the centre of the silent highway. Rose reached for to the pistol at her side, she unclipped the leather strap and kept her hand on the weapon. The sun was bright in the late morning sky. Rose’s mind returned to her conversation with the prisoner Flynn. He said the tropes had changed, become more organised, more intelligent, they were coming out in daylight. And now the dead had somehow left their cars, she struggled to make a connection.

  The highway continued south toward Lower Manhattan. They passed the Holland Tunnel and the World Trade Centre. The tension was unrelenting, she tried to hide it from Arabella. Arabella was quiet, lost in her own thoughts.

  Rose switched her attention to their surroundings, they were near Battery Park. The truck and manhole cover were only twenty minutes away. She put a hand on Arabella’s shoulder stopping the younger girl in her tracks.

  “We should slow down, the Preacher has eyes and ears everywhere in this part of town. Let’s get off the road, we can approach the truck by the side streets.” Rose pulled the map from her pack and they examined it together.

  Arabella pointed to her right. “There, we can take West Thames Street, then Battery Place, we might need to use some of the buildings there for cover.”

  Rose nodded. “The truck’s outside South Cove Plaza so that works, let’s get off this road.”

  They exited the highway and entered West Thames Street, it was over grown with weeds and long grass, ivy ran up the buildings obscuring much of the lower floors. Evidence of conflict lay all around; burnt out cars and military vehicles. Rose remembered the army had attempted to make a stand in Lower Manhattan. They had held out against the tropes for a while but in the end their positions had been overrun.

  They came to a children’s playground on their left. Rose lifted a finger to her lips, they watched and waited. It was midday, the sun directly overhead, its light harsh. Seagulls called in the distance.

  Rose pulled out the Walther P88 and nodded at Arabella. “Let’s go through the playground, it’ll shorten our route and there’s good cover there.”

  Arabella nodded and walked ahead, knife in hand. They scrambled over a low wall and looked at the playground, the bones of an old slide and a climbing frame stuck out of the undergrowth. Arabella wound her way towards the slide, Rose followed with the pistol.

  The sun glinted off a sign half concealed by weeds. Rose stopped and squinted at the sign, she moved towards it to get a better view. Arabella had reached the slide and was waiting for her. Rose bent down pulling the weeds away from the sign.

  A skull and crossbones stared up at her, one word emblazoned underneath.

  Mines.

  Fear shot through Rose, she turned to Arabella, “Arabella stop, don’t move. Mines—” Panic replaced fear, all her plans forgotten, she had figured on tropes, freaks even, the Preacher’s men, but not mines. This was cruel, an unexpected enemy, she trembled.

  Think, think, think—

  Arabella shouted back, “Rose, what do we do?”

  Rose stared, of course the military would’ve mined the area, any area of soft earth, parkland— would be ideal. She should’ve stuck to the road, lesson learned. Rose looked back at the way they had come, about twenty feet to the low wall for her and thirty feet for Arabella.

  “We’re going back to the road. Retrace your steps exactly,” she shouted to Arabella. “Exactly—”

  Arabella looked terrified. She knew what mines were capable of, some of the older girls had come across mines elsewhere in the city. Their stories of finding dead animals and human remains returned to her.

  “One at a time,” Rose shouted. “I’ll go first.” She steeled herself. “If anything happens just leave me and get back home. Got it?”

  Their eyes met. Arabella nodded.

  Rose looked at her feet, then the ground. She saw where her boots had disturbed the grass and took the first step, her heart in her throat. What an idiot she was, what was she thinking? How could she have been so stupid? Recrimination invaded her mind. She forced herself to stop, self-pity would get them both killed.

  You can do this, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Just stick to your footsteps, it’ll be fine.

  Rose took another step, her breathing settled. Her trail stretched ahead through the long grass. She glanced back at Arabella who was watching her with frightened eyes. Poor Arabella, poor loyal Arabel
la, why had she dragged her along?

  Keep going, keep moving, don’t freeze.

  Rose took another step, then another. She looked ahead, ten feet to the wall. Ten feet. She still had the Walther in her hand, a lot of use that was now, she holstered it and looked at the wall again. The wall was safety, the wall was life. She stepped forwards and saw the way ahead, the grass her feet had trampled. She was almost there, another step, and another—

  “Rose!” Arabella shouted from behind, fear in her voice.

  Rose didn’t turn, she couldn’t, she was committed. She took two more steps in quick succession and was at the wall. She climbed up and looked back at Arabella, her eyes widening in horror.

  Arabella was sprinting towards her. Five tropes had appeared from the nearest building and were running towards the playground.

  “Arabella, no, stop, stop—” Rose shouted. She grabbed the pistol pointing it at the tropes fifty feet away, they had entered the playground. “Arabella stop, it’s too dangerous.”

  The first explosion ripped through the air shredding the lead trope, the force of the blast threw the others to the ground. A secondary explosion erupted where another trope had fallen. The remaining three rose again and began lurching through the long grass blood lust in their eyes.

  Arabella had stopped twenty feet from Rose. She looked over her shoulder at the approaching tropes, she had killed one before, but the big girls had been holding it down and it had already been shot. Here were three live ones staggering towards her. She stood with the knife in her hand, waiting.

  A pistol shot rang out followed by three more. One of the tropes dropped to the ground his head a bloody pulp. The other two came on doggedly, Arabella steeled herself, if Rose could get at least one more maybe she’d stand a chance. Two more shots shattered the air and the nearest trope spun and fell.

  The remaining trope flung itself at Arabella and dragged her to the ground its teeth snapping inches from her neck. She fell backwards into the grass, nearby a loud explosion ripped through the air. The trope loosened its grip as flying shrapnel tore through its body severing its right arm at the shoulder.