Mercy looked into Sam’s eyes. He shook his head slowly and pointed to his chest then to her. She understood, “You’re in this all the way, huh? Well I guess I just wanted to give you an out. I get it, those bastards took your life away. Well we’ll see if we can bring them some pain, it’s only fair.” Mercy looked northwest at the low sun. “Just need to find a hunting shop, we got some serious resupply to do tomorrow Sam.” The setting sun was turning the sky crimson. Mercy brought her hand up to her eyes and squinted. “A pair of binoculars wouldn’t go amiss either.”
They returned to the crypt after sunset. It was cold, Mercy was glad of the blankets as she lay on her cardboard mattress. A fire was out of the question. Her thoughts turned to Flynn and the others, what was happening to them? The NSA she had seen were better equipped than back east. Cobalt Biotech had long tentacles and had infiltrated the government and military to the highest level. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind outside. Sleep was elusive, she repeated her night time mantra.
Don’t stress about not sleeping, just close your eyes and rest. Rest is good enough, it is all there is—
After a while her arms and legs became heavy, her mind drifted, at sea in the crypt’s silence. Sleep finally crept up on her.
Mercy woke to the hoot of an owl. It was a reassuring, a tiny sliver of normality in a world gone mad. She moved and rubbed an aching shoulder, her breathing slowed and eventually she returned to sleep.
Dogs barking in her dream, dogs running behind her in Central Park, other people’s dogs off their leads, coming at her from every direction, chasing her. She ran ahead of them, in bare feet, the sun’s warmth on her back, happy, alive. Except it wasn’t a dream. Her face twitched, her eyes snapped open. She was back in the crypt, in the dark with Sam.
There it was again, another dog barking, in the distance but definitely there. She lay still for a moment, seconds ticking away. Dogs were never good, dogs meant trouble. She looked at her watch, 3 am. She reached over and shook Sam.
“Wake up Sam, we got company. Dogs.”
Sam was ready in an instant, he lit a candle. Mercy stood on a crate and listened at the window. Voices, men’s voices some distance away.
Shit, it’s got to be the NSA, how did they find us? Another drone? Maybe the convoy saw us? It doesn’t matter, they’re here, with dogs, we’ve gotta get out—
“Come on Sam we’re leaving,” Mercy hissed.
They scrambled out the window into the long grass around the chapel. The night air was cold and damp, stars glittered like diamonds. Mercy felt danger, deep in her bones.
“OK Sam get us out of here, which way?”
Sam crouched and moved away from the chapel heading north. Mercy followed him senses alert, nerves on edge. She looked back, torchlight flickered in the trees. The NSA were always one step behind, she curled her lip and spat on the ground.
Bastards, you’re not gonna get us—
Sam disappeared behind a mausoleum, a marble skull glared down from above the entrance. Mercy skirted around to the rear, the tomb backed onto a wall, the same wall they had scaled earlier that day. Sam was climbing a vine on the mausoleum, he reached the roof and waved at Mercy to follow.
The earth vibrated under Mercy’s feet, she spun around and threw herself to one side. A massive dog charged at her, missed and hit the vine covered wall. Mercy pulled out her combat knife. The dog slumped to the ground stunned. Mercy stabbed it through the heart. It struggled briefly then went limp, she pulled the knife form its warm body and looked at the trees. More shapes were bolting towards her.
Shit, get a move on—
Mercy scrambled to her feet and jumped onto the vine. She half scrambled half pulled herself up and reached the roof. Two dogs burst from the undergrowth below barking furiously. She ignored them and started to climb the adjoining wall. Sam had disappeared. Her knee cracked against the stone, sharp pain surged through her leg. She took a deep breath and using her last reserves, threw herself over the top. She landed heavily on the ground on the other side winding herself.
The barking intensified as other dogs arrived on the scene, men’s voices joined the commotion. A walkie talkie crackled, “Subject has escaped, repeat escaped over the north wall, send night hunters to track her from our position, over—”
Mercy’s breath returned in a ragged gasp, she rolled over and stood up feeling light headed, her vision blurry.
Night hunters? They’ll probably have night vision and thermal imaging. We’ve got to get away and hide—
Mercy looked ahead, a road ran beyond a narrow strip of wasteland, Sam was waiting for her. She pulled herself up and ran to him. He looked worried.
“OK Sam they rumbled your safe house, they’re onto us. Have you somewhere else to go? Preferably below ground—”
Sam shrugged and pointed vaguely in the distance.
“Yeah, well— whatever, I’m right behind you, let’s go,” Mercy said.
Sam took the road west. They weaved in and around a mass of abandoned vehicles, Mercy was glad the road was gridlocked, it would force the NSA to follow on foot. They had a head start but she was not sure by how much, the NSA had tech and communications. She needed to lose herself deep in the city, throw the NSA off. Mercy looked at the buildings on the right and a park on their left.
Sam kept moving along the road. A sign declared; East Fountain Boulevard, she made a mental note of the name. An engine roared, vehicle lights were weaving through the abandoned vehicles behind.
What the fuck?
Mercy watched the lights and understood.
Bikes, they’re using motorbikes, shit, run—
Mercy reached Sam and tapped his shoulder. “Sam they’re gaining on us, they’ve got bikes.” As she spoke Sam froze, his eyes glued to the road ahead. More lights were approaching from the west.
“Shit, they’ve got us on both sides,” Mercy said, her voice uncertain. “Hey, look over there—”
Sam swung right and ran down a track disappearing into an overgrown strip of wasteland. Mercy followed nearly losing her footing on a single track railway line. She put her hand on a gate to steady herself, a level crossing extended across the road. A sign read; TRUCK ROUTE: RESTRICTED ACCESS 4 AXLES OR LESS. Mercy ran after Sam into long grass, the motorbikes were almost on them. Sam disappeared down a slope on her right, Mercy headed after him passing a rusted sign: SOUTH SHOOKS RUN PARK.
She forged through the grass descending the slope, she heard water. Starlight faded as clouds obscured the sky. She cursed and held her arms out to protect her face from weeds and brambles. Sam kept going, the ground levelled out and Mercy’s feet splashed in water. Lights came from behind with the roar of engines.
Mercy crouched low and caught up with Sam, he guided her through a marshy area then her feet found solid ground, a rough path of some kind. The motorbikes had entered the park, two keeping to the railroad track on the higher level and two dropping to the marshy ground below.
Trying to flush us out—
Mercy concentrated on her footing and kept her eyes glued to Sam’s back. The wet ground was slowing the bikes. Then the bikes found the path and shot forwards. Sam ducked under a low branch which stretched across the path. Mercy turned, the headlights were close.
“Sam, keep going, let them see you,” Mercy shouted, not sure if Sam had heard. She retreated up the slope beside the fallen tree, the motorbikes sped along the path, their headlights bobbing. The lead bike crashed into the low branch its rider crumpling like a rag doll. The second bike skidded screeching to a halt just short of the branch, Mercy ran down the slope and aimed the Beretta at the rider’s head.
“Game over,” she shoved her pistol into the rider’s neck and squeezed the trigger. He fell to the ground his bike’s engine ticking over. “Come on Sam, over here, we’ve got a ride,” Mercy stepped over the first rider dispatching him with her knife. Sam appeared, clambering over the branch. Mercy took a M4 carbine from a rifle holster on the downed bike, t
ogether with a spare magazine. The dead man also carried a pistol, she found a spare pistol clip on his belt. The two bikes on the upper level had stopped and were turning towards them.
“Time to go Sam, get on,” Mercy ordered. She pulled the bike up and turned it around. She jumped on, Sam did the same and held onto her waist. She opened the throttle, the bike lurched forwards. They sped along the path, trees and bushes whipping by. Mercy’s eyes darted left looking for an exit from the park. The remaining two bikes were gaining on her, her headlight revealed an opening on the left. She left the track and turned into a residential street. The road was clear, she switched off the headlight, gunned the engine and raced ahead. They reached the end of the avenue and she turned left into South El Paso Street, switching on the headlight to get her bearings. She sped ahead, hearing the other bikes growling behind.
Without warning Mercy braked and swung her bike left into a tree lined driveway. She killed the engine and pushed the bike down the driveway into the front garden. She threw the bike down, grabbed Sam and turned to watch the road. Their pursuers rounded the corner, gunned their engines and raced down the street. The engines receded in the distance.
Mercy’s shoulders slumped, Sam was shaking. “Close call, Sam. You did good back there.” Sam looked at her, his face blank. The motorbike engine ticked as it cooled down.
You don’t rattle easy, do you Sam? That’s why you’re still around—
Mercy looked at her watch, 4:12 am. There would be more NSA behind, they had to leave the neighbourhood. She looked at the bike weighing the pros and cons.
“Come on Sam, we might as well use this. We’ll need to keep the lights off and go slow, but it beats walking,” she lifted the bike and started the engine. They pulled out of the driveway and rode down the street to the next junction. Mercy turned left heading west, to the downtown area. They passed under a low bridge and kept going. Houses and buildings passed on either side, the city lay bathed in moonlight. A cold wind spilled down from the mountains into Mercy’s bones. They came to a junction, Mercy stopped. A multi-storey carpark loomed on one side, she looked around considering options.
A single gunshot rang out in the distance on the left. A sign. She turned the bike right and headed down South Tejon Street. Abandoned vehicles became more noticeable, Mercy had to weave the bike in and around them, they came to a set of barricades. Concrete barriers, sandbags and razor wire lay across the road, things she had seen in New York. Public notices and warnings everywhere, an overturned garbage truck which had been used as a battering ram breaching the outer cordon. Mercy slid the bike alongside the truck, the bike’s engine idling. Her eyes darted to the buildings on either side, the wind moaned along the empty streets, the city felt dead.
Mercy pushed the bike through the overturned sandbags, she saw an abandoned National Guard armoured personnel carrier, its hatches open.
We need to get off the street, find shelter—
They passed a row of police vehicles jammed side by side, bullet holes in their doors. A few burnt out cars lay scattered behind then they were through, in the city’s heart. Buildings were higher, rows of trees lined the street, the road surface was cracked and pitted, weeds and scrub breaking through its surface.
Mercy stopped at another junction, a sign for Colorado Springs Pioneers Museum caught her eye. The museum, a three story building with a clock tower, sat back from the road in its own grounds.
There’ll be a good view from the top and nothing in museums for tropes to eat, it’s worth a try—
Mercy rode the bike onto the sidewalk and hid it behind a row of bushes. They walked up the museum steps. The doors were locked, faded posters filled the glass windows on either side of the doors.
“Looks like it was used as some kind of civil defence headquarters during the Fall,” Mercy said. She went down the steps and walked around the side of the building, its north aspect was obscured by scaffolding. The ground floor windows were boarded up, Mercy noticed bullet holes in the masonry. The moonlight turned everything to silver, like a black and white movie.
Film noir in Colorado Springs. Well then, let’s do this—
Mercy climbed the scaffolding to the first floor, an internal scaffolding ladder brought her to the second floor. Sam followed, a partially open window faced them.
Coincidence? Or are there others here?
Mercy went to the window and listened. It was dark inside. She reloaded her Beretta with 9mm rounds from the pistol clip she had found on the dead NSA biker. She reached down and pulled on the sash and case window, it was stiff. Finally it moved with a grating sound, she cursed and waited. Nothing. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a stone she had taken from the graveyard. She looked at Sam, put her finger to her lips and threw the stone into the room, it hit the far wall and fell to the floor.
Nothing—
Mercy straddled the windowsill entering the room, pistol held out before her. The air was damp and musty but without the stink of the dead. She took a few steps, floorboards creaking beneath her feet. She was in an office; desks, computers and filing cabinets filled the room. She nodded at Sam and went to the door listening. They had no torches. In their rush to leave the chapel they had left most of their supplies. All they had was the clothes on their backs and their weapons. Mercy opened the door a crack and peered into the inky blackness beyond.
Think— well, I know tropes won’t attack me, or shouldn’t attack me, so I’ll go ahead, leave Sam here. Once I’ve checked the building I’ll come back for him—
Mercy turned to Sam and whispered, “Sam I need you to trust me, you stay here. I’ll go ahead and search this floor, find us a secure place to hide. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Can you stay here? Can you do this for me?”
Sam’s eyes were wide and trusting. He nodded and took a step back into the office, he glanced at the window then crouched and crawled beneath a table. Mercy let out her breath readying herself, she had two rounds left in the Beretta. She reloaded the magazine using rounds she had taken from the NSA rider.
I don’t want to use a firearm in here, if there are tropes it’ll bring them down on us. Put it away, trust in the biotech, it worked before in Halifax, the tropes ignored me—
Mercy put the Beretta away and pulled out her combat knife. She opened the door and stepped into the corridor, darkness stretched out before her.
Feel it, close your eyes and feel it the way Vince taught you. Feel the walls, the floor, taste the air—
Mercy closed her eyes and became one with the darkness. Her senses came alive, she allowed the space to speak to her. She felt the wall with her left hand and stepped along the corridor until she touched another door. She explored it with her fingers and felt a glass panel.
More offices?
She tried the handle.
Locked. OK, move on—
Mercy continued down the corridor, the air was cold and damp. The scaffolding had extended to the roof. Perhaps the roof had leaked and damp had spread through the building. Her fingers traced the wall and came to an open door, she listened, then leaned into the doorway. There was no death stench so she entered brushing against a water cooler, she moved away from the wall to the centre of the room, her arms outstretched. Desks and chairs barred her way.
Just another office—
She turned around, ready to leave.
Think, think, think— surely someone here smoked? Maybe there’s a lighter or matches somewhere, check the desks, the drawers—
Mercy returned her attention to the office and ran her fingers across the desks and opened the drawers, searching inside, her fingers were her eyes. She found nothing useful, she gave up and stepped towards the door. Her foot caught on something. She stooped to examine the object; a handbag, she reached inside. Random objects slipped through her fingers, then a familiar shape.
A lighter, there, a lighter—
Her fingers closed around the lighter, she pulled it from the bag and flicked the lighter, nothing h
appened. She tried a second and a third time, a flame appeared and lit the room dimly. She blinked and held the lighter out revealing the room’s secrets. Another office of sorts, a bench lay at the back containing artefacts in various stages of restoration. She went to the bench and walked along it; pottery, clothing and carved objects lay spread out magnifying glasses above them together with bottles of resin and brushes. She picked up an object at the far end of the bench and examined it.
A tomahawk—
She ran her thumb across the blade.
Sharp as the day it was made. Could come in useful—
Mercy put the tomahawk into her belt and turned to leave the room. A noise erupted somewhere in the building, from the level below. She froze, listening. Nothing. She moved to the door after a few seconds, the hot lighter burning her thumb, she swore and removed her thumb allowing the darkness to return. She listened in the corridor, breathing slowly. A creak came from below.
Mercy took a few steps and flicked the lighter again. Light shone forth, an open area lay in front of her extending to the floors below. A public area, exhibits in glass cases, pictures on the walls, she took it all in. Mannequins dressed in period costumes stared back at her, their faces expressionless. An old staircase rose from the ground floor. A huge trope was standing on the staircase its foot poised over the second step, it turned and looked straight at Mercy. Its eyes were not those of a normal trope, its eyes were calculating, intelligent. It saw her. Its stare bored straight through her.
It smiled.
The lighter burned her thumb and she dropped it. It fell uselessly to the floor, darkness swallowed Mercy.
Chapter 8 Evolution
Mercy backed away from the stairs, down the hall towards Sam. More creaks came from the stairs in rapid succession. Her hand brushed against the locked door, she found Sam’s door, went through and slammed it behind her.
“Quick Sam, help me barricade the door.” Moonlight bathed the room. Mercy dragged the nearest table up against the door. Sam appeared and pulled another table forward, they shoved it behind the first table. Something slammed against other side of the door.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 3): Mercy Fall Page 5