The Survival Chronicles (Book 1}: Mercy Kill

by Nally, Fergal F.

  Rose crouched low and ran across rows of potato and tomato plants. She came to a large greenhouse and peered through its glass. Plants stood waist high. She made her way to the corner, the sound of a generator burst into the night. Bright light erupted from the greenhouse illuminating the area. Rose cursed and threw herself to the ground. Voices came from the other side of the greenhouse. She turned her head to look through the glass again.

  Cannabis plants— bet this is the Professor’s work, something to do with amber production, I’m getting warmer, keep focused—

  Rose glanced around then ran to hide behind a stand of trees. She turned to look at the greenhouse. Two men rounded the corner, one stopped to pull out a cigarette. The man with the cigarette was older, tall and thin, the other had long hair and a beard. They carried rifles.

  They’ve recruited Jesus— Rose thought.

  “Are you on the security detail for the sacrifice?” Jesus asked holding a match to his companion’s cigarette.

  “Yeah brother, the Watch will secure the Canyon of Heroes and the Charging Bull. We’ve got the new Steyr AUG rifles.”

  Jesus whistled. “That the arms cash they found on the Lower East Side?”

  “Yeah, 5.56mm, forty-two round magazine, bullpup stock. Serious firepower,” the older man replied.

  “I heard they’re gonna bring the 50 Cal along too, in case the tropes get too interested. The smell of blood always fires them up,” Jesus said.

  “What’s the reason for the sacrifice?” the older man asked exhaling smoke.

  “Preacher’s decree, direct word from God, the Saviour,” Jesus answered.

  The two men walked along the side of the greenhouse.

  “You know what else I heard?” Jesus said.

  “Go on…”

  They rounded the corner of the greenhouse their conversation disappearing.

  Rose digested what the men had said. The Angels knew about the Preacher’s bloody ceremonies. Rose had never witnessed one but some of the big girls had seen what happened. Sunrise at the Charging Bull, Canyon of Heroes, Broadway. The victim impaled on the bull’s sharpened bronze horns, gored to death.

  God knows what twisted logic makes him do it— the smell of blood drives tropes crazy. Perhaps that’s the reason, flaunting his strength in the face of darkness—who knows? Rose thought. She sat at the foot of a tree. That’s where he’ll be. Tomorrow morning, first light. At the Charging Bull. If I can get there ahead of them, hide somewhere— Rose smiled, she would be the real Fearless Girl.

  A plan started to form in her head. A mad, serious plan. She looked around and moved away from the trees keeping to the shadows. The park was overgrown in places, shrouded in darkness, the lighting was kept for the buildings and the wall.

  Rose picked her way through the park. The wall grew nearer, its near side was dark, the guards in the watch towers concentrated their lights on the city streets beyond. She had to find a way to get over it, the guards were there to prevent the wall being breached from the outside not the inside.

  A generator droned nearby, a rusting fence poked up through the long grass, Rose followed it until she came to a gate. She made out a sign near the entrance, she brushed the grass away.

  The Bowling Green. I’m near the Netherland Monument— Broadway’s just over there, I’m near the main gate—

  Rose took out the Walther and went towards the sound of the generator. She heard voices. The generator was housed in a lean to shed propped against the wall, the smell of diesel filled the air.

  The power supply for this section of the wall—

  Rose knelt in the grass watching the wall guards, a large gate lay in the wall, a door in the gate caught her eye. Light spilled from a hut beside the gate, an oil drum with a fire stood outside the hut, two men beside it warming their hands. An hour passed. The voices on the wall became quiet as the men slipped into their routines. Rose looked at her watch— 3 am.

  She was cold and hungry, she had to move, this was her window. The air felt oppressive, a drop of rain landed on her skin, she looked up, the stars had vanished. A deep roll of thunder came from overhead and rain erupted from the sky.

  The voices on the wall retreated to the watch tower, its searchlight reaching out to Battery Place and the city beyond. The two men by the gate went into the hut to shelter. Rose ran across open ground to the generator, she ducked under the lean to and looked inside. It was loud and reeked of diesel, a row of switches lay behind a locked panel. There were no keys, she went around the back and saw electric cables leaving the generator and an emergency stop button.

  Rose hit the button.

  The generator stopped, all the lights went out above and at the gate. The silence was startling. Rose ran back across the open area and hid in the long grass. Men’s voices came from the wall and gate, torchlight stabbed the ground around the generator.

  “Damn thing’s gone again,” someone shouted. “Get down and fix it quick.”

  More shouts and torches coming her way.

  Time to retreat and flank these guys— Rose thought.

  Rose retreated to deep cover amongst the trees. Rain fell in sheets, lightening lit the wall with explosive flashes. Four men congregated on the generator, including the two from the gate. Rose crouched and ran towards the gate. The hut’s door was open, she reached the gate and saw a massive beam across it. She examined the door within the gate— she needed the key.

  Rose glanced back at the generator, the men were still busy, she went to the hut and looked in. It was too dark to see, she made out a desk, a chair, objects stacked against the wall, the place stank of cigarettes. She entered the hut as a flash of lightening illuminated the sky, she spotted a row of keys along the wall. She searched the table and found a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. She went to the row of keys and flicked the lighter. The key hooks were labelled.

  “Gate door”, that’ll do—

  She took the key and left the hut. The storm was worsening, the men were still working on the generator. She went to the gate and unlocked the door stepping out into the world beyond. She locked the door behind her.

  The Canyon of Heroes was close. She knew from the big girls that the Preacher’s men had booby traps in the no man’s land beyond the wall. She reasoned they would have cleared a way through the traps to allow access to the ceremony. The road led directly to the gate, they probably had a platform for the Preacher to view the sacrifice just like the previous ones.

  The guards’ conversation came to her— she pictured it in her head: the Preacher’s Watch armed with Steyr AUGs at the Charging Bull, transport, a viewing platform and a truck mounted 50 Calibre machine gun. Rose kept to the middle of the road and walked slowly across Battery Place expecting to be shot in the back at any time. She forced herself to resist the urge to run up Broadway.

  Buildings loomed ahead on either side. She placed one foot in front of the other expecting to trigger a booby trap. Ten seconds later she had crossed the street. Without warning searchlights on the wall sprung to life illuminating Battery Place on her left. Rose could see up Broadway and, without glancing back, ran as fast as she could into the Canyon of Heroes.

  A search light swept the ground behind missing her by a few feet. She continued up Broadway. The Preacher’s men had cleared it of vehicles, they had even cut back the worst of the weeds and long grass to deny cover for tropes. Her feet carried her along the street past the gated park, in less than a minute the Charging Bull loomed on her right.

  A raised platform sat to one side of the bull.

  There’s the podium— Rose thought. No point having a sacrifice without a good view.

  Rose glanced down the street checking for any sign of pursuit. The searchlight hovered in the distance but no one followed her. She looked up at the buildings, they lessened the wind and rain to some extent. She recalled old television footage of ticker tape parades starting at the Battery and ending at City Hall. She closed her eyes and imagined noisy crowds pressi
ng in on this narrow space, ghosts from the past.

  She shuddered, this city was haunted by death and blood. Well, soon there would be one more death on this spot if she had her way. She walked over to the platform and felt her way around it. It was made of sturdy wood panels, she came to its side, her fingers found a notch in the panelling. She knelt to examine it.

  An access panel— she explored and found a latch. Rain streamed down her face, she shivered in the cold. The latch clicked and she pulled on the panel, with a little effort it opened enough for her to peer in. She remembered the lighter and lit it extending her arm through the gap, a tarpaulin and a tool box lay on the ground inside.

  This is it, this is where I’ll get the bastard, one bullet is all it’ll take but I’ll give him six and keep one for myself—

  She climbed into the space pulling the panel behind her, at least it was shelter of a sort. Rose looked at her watch, 2 am, she’d get some rest and be ready for the Preacher when he came. She’d be blind under the podium but would wait for the distraction of the sacrifice before she struck. No doubt the Preacher would give a speech then hand over to his executioner.

  That would be her moment, just after the speech. She would crawl out and shoot the bastard point blank. She tried to imagine the moment, pulling the trigger, the gun shot, seeing the surprise on his face, seeing the life bleed out of his eyes as the Walther’s 9mm rounds ripped into him again and again.

  Rain beat down on the platform above, thunder rang in her ears. She pulled the tarpaulin around her and curled up into a ball.

  A ball of rage and fear, a ball of death.

  Chapter 17 Splinter

  “Our scouts have confirmed a platform beside the bull,” Tawny said.

  “Well that changes the plan,” Santa Fe said.

  “Yeah, makes things easier, if I get a clear line of sight I can take out the Preacher with one shot. That would be sweet,” Laurient said exhaling cigar smoke.

  “That’s my part of town Laurient,” Dakota added. “I can second you, be your spotter. The Broadway Atrium building would give a clear shot.”

  “OK that works,” Laurient replied.

  Laurient looked at Mercy, Flynn stood beside her.

  “What’s going through your mind Dawes,” Laurient asked.

  “It’s a sacrifice, there’ll be blood—” Mercy said.

  “Yeah, and blood means tropes. So? We’ll be ready for the bastards, Rusty Red’ll have our backs won’t you Rusty?” Laurient turned to address a hard faced red haired girl. “Especially after our recent find—“

  Rusty smiled and stepped forwards. She patted the Belgian FN FAL 7.62mm military rifle. “Don’t know how you do it boss but me and the girls appreciate the upgrade and with the extra ammo we’re ready to surf some trope blood.”

  Laurient nodded. “You can get anything in New York City if you look in the right places. I want you and your crew to cover any trope activity that threatens our operation. Sure, let the tropes get the blood scent, let them attack the Preacher’s men, let them be the diversion, use them to our advantage.”

  “What about the skinnies? You saw what they were capable of the other day— if the skins and tropes get involved anything could happen, I don’t care what guns you got,” Mercy said looking at Laurient then Flynn.

  Flynn turned to Laurient, “You have, what? Eighty fighters maximum?”

  Laurient glared at him. “What’s your point?”

  Flynn glanced at Mercy, his lips dry. “I know where we can get rocket launchers, the army threw everything at the tropes in the early days, there’s still some choice equipment if you look in the right places.”

  All eyes in the room were on Flynn.

  “Now you got my attention mister. Rocket launchers? Tell me more,” Laurient said, her voice quiet.

  Flynn looked at the map on the table, searching. “Here,” he stabbed his finger on the map.

  Laurient leaned forward, “Midtown? What? The library? There’s nothing there, we cleared that out last year.”

  “Not the library, 5th Avenue-Bryant Park Subway Station,” Flynn replied.

  “The subway station?” Dakota snorted. “No one goes underground anymore, the freaks rule down there.”

  The room was silent, expectant. Motes of dust swam in Laurient’s cigar smoke.

  Flynn pointed at the map again. “Yeah, well I remember the army unit stationed at the library, I saw them unloading rocket launchers there, before they brought in the freaks to fight the tropes. The army were using that subway station as a base, but then they were overrun.”

  “The tropes got them?” Santa Fe asked.

  “Yeah, think a few got away to the command centre in the Bowery, but then they were overrun too,” Flynn replied.

  “Before the airstrikes?” Laurient asked.

  Flynn nodded.

  “So there may still be some good stuff there—” Laurient said.

  “Yeah boss,” Dakota chipped in, “but so what? There’s still freaks down there man— freaks.”

  Laurient nodded, silence returned to the room.

  Mercy leant forwards, “I have an idea.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  “Go on don’t keep us in suspense,” Laurient spoke, irritation in her voice.

  “Remember that blind kid I told you about, Vince?” Mercy said, then, not waiting for a reply, “Well I left him back at my place, we could ask Vince to take us into the subway. I know it sounds strange, but he can see down there, he’s in his element. He’s survived the last two years surrounded by freaks. He can get us to the rocket launchers and who knows what else we might find?”

  Laurient straightened up and walked to the window overlooking the Hudson River. She placed her hands on the glass, a flock of birds caught her eye, she followed them across the sky. She turned around and looked at Mercy. “OK Dawes, make it happen. You’re right, even one rocket launcher could be a game changer. Take your man, the blind kid and ten of my crew—”

  Tawny stepped forward. “Ten? Laurient—”

  Laurient’s lip curled. “Don’t worry Tawny, you’re going with them, you’re my eyes on the ground. Any sign of a double cross, if he tries to use the Flyers against us— kill him.”

  Tawny fell silent and nodded looking at Flynn.

  Laurient returned to the table and pointed at the Canyon of Heroes. “No matter what happens the Preacher will perform his sacrifice at dawn, he believes first light is the window to his god.” She looked at her watch, “We’ve got ten hours before daybreak, you all know what to do. Me and Dakota will be in position at dawn, ready to take down the Preacher, everyone else is there to back us up. You know the plan, this is real, this is happening.”

  ~

  Mercy stood outside her safe house on West 52nd Street. “Leave this to me, I’ll go in and speak to Vince.”

  Flynn took a step forwards.

  Mercy grabbed his arm. “Alone,” she said, her voice firm.

  Tawny looked up and down the street, she was chewing gum. “Make it quick Dawes, the clock’s ticking on this one.” Their small group was spread out, eyes and ears alert. Tawny’s crew were heavily armed, she had made sure her crew had the new Belgian FN FAL rifles.

  “I’m on it,” Mercy went down the side of the building to the rear fire escape. She climbed to the second floor and entered the building, the tape she had left across the window was undisturbed as were the corridor trip wires, nothing had been there since she had left the previous day.

  Mercy reached the apartment door, stood to one side and knocked. “Vince, it’s me. Don’t shoot. I’m coming in.”

  “Wait, don’t touch the door,” Vince’s muffled voice came from the apartment.

  Mercy heard footsteps and a scraping sound behind the door.

  “OK, you’re good to come in now,” Vince said.

  Mercy opened the door from the side and peered into the room. Vince had rigged a booby trap to the door handle using one of her spare guns and a
length of wire.

  “Sorry about that Mercy, I just wanted insurance in case the tropes followed our scent—”

  “It’s all good Vince, no worries,” Mercy replied. She looked at him, impressed, he was a born survivor.

  Mercy explained how the meeting had gone with Laurient. He kept quiet listening and nodding. When she had finished Mercy sat beside him.

  “So what do you say Vince? Will you help us to explore Bryant station?”

  Vince did not hesitate. “Of course, no problem but I’ve been thinking, I’m a liability up here, I’m better off underground, darkness is my friend, the walls are my streets. It’s all good as you say Mercy, but I need to get back down there, I’ll make a new home.”

  Mercy couldn’t help herself, “Vince, I didn’t mean that, you can come with us, after, I mean, once the dust has settled. Me, Flynn and you, we’ll make it work somewhere, maybe set up a new gang. We’ll figure it out.” She regretted her words as soon as she said them. There was no place for sentimentality in this world. The weak died— fact. Vince was like a fish out of water on the surface, he was dead if he stayed above ground.

  Vince turned towards her his milky eyes staring through her. “It’s OK Mercy, it is what it is. I’m a burden, a liability up here.” He reached out to her face, “Would you mind? I’d like to know what you look like—”

  “Sure Vince, go ahead,” Mercy replied.

  Vince touched Mercy’s face, his fingers traced her forehead, her eyes, nose and mouth. He smiled.

  “Hello Mercy Dawes, I see you. I’m glad we met.”

  Mercy shifted uncomfortably, it sounded like Vince was saying goodbye.

  “Come on Vince we’ve got to go, the others are waiting outside,” Mercy rose from the couch.

  “Wait a second,” Vince reached down to the side of the couch and lifted something wrapped in a towel. “The pistols, I fixed them, and the bow, over there. Take a look.”

  Mercy unwrapped the towel, the two Colt .45 Peacemakers gleamed up at her. She checked the pistols over they were loaded, cleaned and oiled.