Mercy Fall
The Survival Chronicles III
By
Fergal F. Nally
Copyright © Fergal F. Nally 2018
The moral right of Fergal F. Nally to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act, 1988.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover design: Beetiful Book Covers
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 The Storm
Chapter 2 Landing
Chapter 3 Guide
Chapter 4 White Rabbit
Chapter 5 The Other Side
Chapter 6 Rising
Chapter 7 Evergreen
Chapter 8 Evolution
Chapter 9 Highway
Chapter 10 Infiltration
Chapter 11 Descent
Chapter 12 Disruptor
Chapter 13 Lines
Chapter 14 Wild Blue
Chapter 15 Evasion
Chapter 16 Warning
Chapter 17 Recon
Chapter 18 Safe Room
Chapter 19 Broken Arrow
Chapter 20 Super Trope
Chapter 21 Railroad
Chapter 22 Fort Worth
Chapter 23 Trapped
Chapter 24 Separation
Chapter 25 Blades
Chapter 26 The Killing
Chapter 27 Ablaze
Chapter 28 Constantine
About the Author
“Si vis pacem, para bellum” (If you want peace, prepare for war).
—Latin adage
Chapter 1 The Storm
Mercy clung to the winch rope and stared at the chaos on the ground. Tropes were swarming through the fort’s gates, the Chinook’s M134 Miniguns had fallen silent, the need for suppressive fire over. Fort George was lost, the barracks roof was in flames, sparks and cinders reached high into the air. Rough hands grabbed Mercy’s arms and pulled her into the Chinook. A crewman wearing a flight helmet shone a torch into her eyes and pressed a device to her neck.
“It’s her,” he shouted into his mouthpiece, “asset confirmed.” He paused, listening to instructions through his headset, then nodded, “Roger that.” He placed a hypodermic gun on Mercy’s arm, she felt a sharp pain. Numbness spread through her body, the thump of the rotors grew distant as she lost consciousness.
Noise, cold, stiffness. Mercy opened her eyes, soldiers sat hunched along the interior of the Chinook opposite her. She was on a stretcher, a soldier sitting above her. She glanced down, an intravenous drip protruded from her arm. The engine noise was loud, the floor shook, its vibrations rattling her bones and teeth.
Where’s Flynn and the others?
Mercy tried to move but her arms and legs were bound. She stopped struggling and closed her eyes.
Go with it, go with it, breathe. Be ready, alert, for the opportunity—
Mercy examined her surroundings. Her stretcher was secured to the helicopter’s cargo floor. She glanced at the row of soldiers, they wore Kevlar body armour and helmets, some wore skull face masks. They were heavily armed and wore no insignia. Mercy frowned.
Who are these guys?
“Hey, you awake girl? That’s some quality shut eye you had there, I wish they’d give us some of that jungle juice—” the boots beside her moved and a face appeared above her.
Mercy looked at the medic, her mind blank. He shone a torch in her face.
“You OK there? Warm enough? I can get another blanket—”
Mercy nodded at his suggestion.
“Hey, Kowalski pass me a blanket—”
The medic leaned down and draped a blanket across Mercy. She watched his hands, dried blood stained his wrist, extending up his arm and beneath the sleeve of his tunic.
A cut or—
Mercy looked into his eyes, he shrugged. “You’ve been out for six hours since the last refuel. Your memory may be a bit scrambled with the sedative but it should return. Only a couple more hours to the mountain, just relax—”
“My friends?” Mercy managed to croak.
The medic raised his eyebrows. “Good job you got to that roof, we managed to evacuate everyone who was with you. The rest of the garrison was fucked though, a total shit storm.” He looked away then sat back closing his eyes, he frowned and clutched his arm. Despite the cold, fresh sweat beaded his brow.
They got everyone? Mercy repeated the words in her mind, they got everyone on the roof. Flynn?
Mercy closed her eyes relieved that Flynn was safe and somewhere close by. Time is an illusion, just wait, we’ll be together again, it’ll be alright, it has to be, after all this.
The Chinook shuddered as it hit turbulence. Mercy’s stretcher shook against its restraints, the medic leaned forwards to check the securing straps. Mercy watched mesmerised as a drop of sweat trickled down his nose then fell onto her blanket. His face was flushed, his breathing laboured.
He’s been bit—
The medic leaned across her, she noticed a backup knife strapped to his boot. Mercy struggled against the cable ties holding her hands and feet but it was no use. She witnessed the moment the medic turned, the moment the phage virus took him. She had seen it before; bloodlust rising in the eyes, the bulging neck veins, muscles squirming beneath the skin. He looked at her, straight through her, an old familiar ache returned to her stomach, she knew her biotech had kicked in.
The infected medic ignored her and attacked the dozing soldier on his right, biting his exposed neck. Blood vessels burst like ripe grapes in the medic’s mouth spilling blood onto his victim’s uniform and smearing the medic’s face. The taste of blood ignited his frenzy. The other soldiers sitting opposite shouted out in alarm and raised their guns. A voice rose above the sound of the rotors.
“Use blades, no firing, you’ll bring us down—”
Three soldiers launched themselves at the medic and his victim. Three combat knives sliced into the medic’s body, one of the knives piercing his temple. The medic froze, his body went limp falling to the floor beside Mercy. The medic’s victim jerked, spewed black frothy mucus and lurched forwards biting one of the attacking soldiers who dropped his knife.
An alarm sounded in the hold, emergency lights flashed. Mercy tried to reach the fallen knife beside her. Her fingers touched the blade but she could not grasp it. The cabin had exploded into a frenzy, she could not see what was happening. The helicopter lurched, dropping height, gunfire erupted further back in the hold and screaming followed. Three soldiers, with bloody mouths, staggered around the hold. A masked soldier appeared alongside her and cut the cable ties at her wrists and ankles.
“Do as I say, we’re getting out of here. My orders are to keep you safe at all costs—”
Mercy sat up rubbing the circulation back into her hands. More gunfire erupted at the rear of the hold. The masked soldier pulled out a pistol and pointed it at a crazed figure running towards them. He squeezed the trigger three times, two rounds caught the trope in the chest, the third entered his right eye. The trope’s body dropped to the floor at Mercy’s feet.
Mercy remembered Rose’s words; the bullets always run out. The masked soldier adjusted the parachute straps on his shoulders. He produced a chest harness and wrapped it around Mercy.
“We’re going to jump, I’ve got you, don’t worry—”
He pulled her over to an emergency exit and twisted a handle, the door detached disappearing into the night. Screaming wind tore at Mercy’s face, she looked back into the Chinook and saw more stretchers tethered to the floor, other figures tied to them just as she had been.
Flynn, Stevie, Rose, Tawny, Dakota, the names of her friends flashed through her mind. The Chinook dipped, lurching through the air, Mercy fell back into the cabin and called out.
“Flynn?”
The nearest stretchered figure turned towards her, lit by the flashing emergency lights. It was Flynn, his expression uncomprehending, a series of muzzle flashes lit up the rear of the hold, bullets thudded through the fuselage beside Mercy. A powerful tug wrenched her from the Chinook into the night air. Strong arms held her in a vice like grip. The Chinook spun across the sky, its navigation lights blinking in the dark. The harness tightened around Mercy’s chest as they were pulled backwards, falling head over heels through the sky, the lights of a second Chinook raced by, its rotors cleaving the air mere feet away.
Mercy screamed at the world, she screamed at life, she screamed at losing Flynn.
Chapter 2 Landing
The parachute opened, the chest harness tightened squeezing the breath from Mercy. The Chinook’s lights receded in the distance. Falling, silence and rain, Mercy looked up and saw the parachute above. Below, dim shapes were fast approaching, Mercy realised the soldier was not guiding the parachute, she reached back and felt his limp arms dangling beside her.
Christ, he’s dead or injured, maybe caught a stray round. I’m on my own—
Mercy swore, there was nothing she could do, she was a passenger. She sensed the ground rushing towards her, she tried to remember every movie she had seen showing parachute jumps.
Keep your knees bent, hit the ground and roll, keep rolling—
Mercy drew her knees up and curled her body bracing for impact. Seconds later she was struck from behind and the feeling of weightlessness vanished. A sickening crunch came from the soldier’s body as it cushioned her fall. Parachute nylon fell around her obscuring her view, a tangle of parachute cordage pulled at her. She reached down to her harness and searched for a release button.
The parachute jerked once then twice then all movement stopped. Mercy took a deep breath and concentrated, she remembered the medic’s backup ankle knife. She reached down and felt the soldier’s ankle beside her, nothing. She leaned across and tried his other ankle and found what she was looking for. She pulled the combat knife free and started hacking at the tangle of cordage in front of her face.
Ten minutes later she had cut herself free and had managed to release her chest harness. She stood up, her legs shaky and stared into the night sky. Rain pelted her from above, wind tore at her hair, her body ached. She lifted her face to the rain. She was alive. She was free. She was alone.
Despair welled up inside her, she held her arms out, closed her eyes and screamed until she could scream no more. She felt lost, on the verge of madness, on a cliff edge. Something pulled her back, her breathing slowed, she regained control.
Insanity is the easy way out, like suicide. Fight and live, fight and stay sane. Take the first step away from this and into something new, each step will take you closer to Flynn and life. Breathe, suck it up and live—
Mercy blinked and opened her eyes, the spell was broken. She wanted to live, she wanted to survive, she was not finished yet. She sighed and bent over the soldier’s body. He was dead, a round had caught him in the chest, right over the heart, at least it would’ve been quick. She searched his body and found a Beretta M9 pistol, two nine round clips and a fragmentation grenade. A flashlight, compass, small first aid kit, water bottle and some field rations completed her haul. She explored his webbing last and opened a side pocket. She froze, a small transmitter lay inside, its LED light flashing silently.
Tracking device, shit—
The medic had said they were a couple of hours from their destination. She needed to get away and quick, she took the transmitter, smashed it with a rock and buried it along with the parachute. She concealed the soldier’s body in bushes then paused and listened to the night, the rain had stopped, a rich earthy smell filled the air. She had no idea where she was, the medic had said the helicopter had refuelled.
I could be anywhere. Move, it’s night, move under cover of darkness, get away from here— she looked at her watch: 11:29 PM.
Mercy started to walk, taking care where she placed her feet. The last thing she needed was a sprained ankle or a fall. She looked at the sky for guidance but the stars were obscured by clouds. She remembered the compass and took it out looking at its luminous dial.
If in doubt head west, west is always best— Mercy remembered the lyrics from an old song, well west it is, at least for tonight. She held the Beretta in her right hand, the compass in her left and started walking. The lack of trees struck her, she was in open country, the ground was level and covered in low scrub. She took her time and pushed on, an hour later she stopped for a break. Without the exertion of walking her temperature dropped and she started to shiver.
She jumped up and down and did squat jumps to warm up. The clouds parted allowing slivers of moonlight through, she noticed a shape off to her left and crouched down. She listened and waited, nothing happened, she scanned the scrubland ahead, there it was, she tried to understand.
A fence, a high fence—
Mercy had a flashback to the fence at the Henry Hudson Bridge in Manhattan where she and Flynn had been captured by the NSA. She ducked down, her eyes searching for cameras and guards. The wind blew forlornly through the chain link fence. A soft flapping sound came from further along on her left. She crawled towards the sound and, parting some dense scrub, she saw a loose sign flapping on the fence. She approached the sign, the fence was rusted and in poor condition. The sign was chipped and faded but she was able to decipher its message: WARNING, DANGER OF DEATH: CHEMICAL CONTAMINATION.
Mercy froze, the sign was old, who knew how old? But she knew ground could remain contaminated by chemicals for years, decades even. What had happened here? She retreated from the fence, her foot caught on something, she looked down, something white lay in the dirt. She examined the object pulling at it gently, after a little resistance it came away in her hand. She held it up then dropped it stepping back, alarm on her face. The human pelvic bone lay on the ground stark and real, its message clear.
People have died here. But why would they be heading towards the fence?
Mercy stood up and again felt questions welling up inside her. She pushed them away.
Work with what you see, work with what you know, keep to the facts. Those guys were taking us to a secure facility, it should be close by. If that chopper made it down Flynn and the others will be taken into captivity. They will send out a search party for me, so what have I got?
Mercy looked at the fence.
I’ve got the fence, it’ll take me somewhere eventually. It’s all I’ve got, use it.
Mercy reached her decision and started walking along the fence, she noticed more bleached bones on her left. She stepped over a skull its sockets raised to the night sky, a patch of hair still clinging to the brittle dome. She shuddered, it was like walking through a B-movie graveyard. Then she saw the burnt out truck and stopped. Even from this distance she could see large calibre bullet holes across its side, a skeletal form sat behind the steering wheel. The truck had breached the fence.
There’s a story here. People trying to get in, others trying to keep them out. Those with guns and fire power against those without guns, it’s always the same—
Mercy stepped carefully around the truck and carried on, her mind racing.
Where are the
others? What’s happening to them?
After another hour she came across what was left of a dirt road leading to a gate in the fence. The gate was chained shut and a wooden sign stood in the ground behind. Mercy peered at its faded lettering: PETERSON AIR FORCE BASE: RESTRICTED AREA NO TRESPASSING.
A noise. Somewhere behind. Mercy swung around, figures were emerging from the ground, some sluggish others faster. A shape burst through the soil nearby, a badly decomposed form struggled free; a woman in a torn floral print dress, tangled hair draped across her face hid snapping teeth. Mercy backed away from the reanimated corpses, her back touched the gate’s chain link.
Mercy did not want to use the Beretta, the dead woman staggered towards her halving the distance in a few steps. Mercy stepped forwards and pivoted raising her leg in a swinging kick. Her foot connected with the woman’s lower jaw which snapped off and fell to the dirt feet away. Mercy followed through with a lunge and swung her other foot which connected with the woman’s right knee. A crunch followed as the thing’s knee disintegrated, the woman fell to the ground twitching. Mercy stamped on the thing’s skull, crushing it like a shell.
Mercy breathed hard and looked around. At least ten more corpses were staggering towards her, all badly decomposed, weak, likely dead since the Fall. One or two she could handle but not ten, even if they were slow. She looked along the fence and saw her way cut off by more of the advancing dead.
Shit, shit, shit—
Mercy looked back at the gate, she’d have to do it, just like the time back in the Lower East Side when a cluster of skinnies had cornered her. She parked the memory, if she had done it before she could do it again. She moved away from the gate as close to the advancing corpses as she dared. She took a deep breath and ran at the gate jumping at the last minute reaching for the highest links. Her fingers found purchase and she pulled herself up. Momentum carried her halfway, her feet propelled her the rest of the way. She grasped the top of the gate throwing her right leg up and over.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 3): Mercy Fall Page 1