“Molotov City it is then, let’s get to work,” Tawny said standing up.
An hour and ten petrol bombs later they settled around the campfire. Their clothes had mostly dried out and they felt better. They had no food but they had rainwater.
“We’ll rest, let the storm blow itself out, leave at first light. We need to set up watch on the door. I suggest two guards, just because—” Mercy’s eyes flicked to the sign Rose had brought from outside.
“Yeah, I agree, me and Rose will take first watch, then you and Flynn, then Garrett and Stevie. That work for everybody?” Tawny said, standing up. She looked at the rafters, “Just as well this place is so big, the smoke seems to be finding a way out.”
“Once the storm’s over we’ll quit the fire. Smoke attracts attention and we don’t want to advertise our presence,” Mercy said.
“At least we got these in case we run into any mindless fuckers,” Rose said indicating the petrol bombs at her feet.
Brave talk Rose. But we are vulnerable, vulnerable as hell— Mercy kept her thoughts to herself, morale was a fragile thing.
Mercy slept fitfully and was awake when Tawny and Rose handed over guard duty. Mercy had kept the fire going and was reluctant to leave its warmth for the cold and draughty barn door. But she was with Flynn and that was… she searched for the word.
Wonderful— it’s the first time we’ve been alone since… forever.
Mercy checked her Beretta and handed Flynn the axe. They sat together by the door and listened to the storm. The time for talking was gone, it felt as if they were one. Mercy was content in Flynn’s company, huddled up to his warmth. Their breath misted the cold night air. Mercy closed her eyes, her head on Flynn’s chest. Minutes passed, she looked at her watch, 3:43 am. Flynn’s heart beat was strong and steady, she heard a skipped beat, then another. She frowned and pulled her head away from his shirt.
She listened and heard it again, the sound came from outside. She stared at Flynn and held a finger to her lips, his eyes were wide, he had heard it too. Mercy opened the door a crack and peered out. Clouds obscured the sky. It was the hour before dawn, the darkest hour.
Maybe it was nothing, just my imagination—
Mercy’s eyes tried to read the outlines in the fields. She squinted at the outline of the crucifix in the distance. She slid out the door and along the side of the barn. Flynn followed, the axe in his hands. Long grass rustled in the breeze, the wind whispered in the eves of the barn. Mercy shivered and pulled her jacket tight around her.
Make a circuit then head back, it’s nothing—
She stepped into the long grass and began circling the barn, glad of Flynn’s company, two pairs of eyes were better than one. Mercy moved slowly, her gaze sweeping the terrain in front and to the sides, alert for anything out of place. Then she saw it. An inky stillness twenty feet away, she stopped and crouched, pointing it out to Flynn.
Her eyes scanned ahead to another unmoving area within the swaying grass. Without warning a tremor came up through her feet. Mercy’s brain raced trying to put the jigsaw together. The answer came in a flash, it was a horse stamping on the ground.
Men on horses— shit, they’ve got the barn surrounded.
Mercy jerked forwards about to stand up, Flynn grabbed her shoulder holding her down, he shook his head. The nearest horseman lit a wooden torch, its flame outlined the rider’s head and shoulders. Mercy watched helpless as more torches lit up around the barn, she counted four on the right and three on the left. A walkie talkie crackled, the nearest rider waved his torch in the air and moved his horse forward. A shotgun was slung across his back and a sword hung from his waist.
They had somehow managed to slip through the ring of horsemen undetected. Mercy watched in horror as the riders converged on the barn, their torches lighting up the night. She circled to the front of the barn. The deep growl of a diesel engine came from the approach road. Seconds later a rack of headlights burst into life illuminating the barn, a man stood behind the lights on a truck, an automatic rifle in one hand and a loud hailer in the other. Mercy ducked down and watched as he brought the loud hailer to his mouth.
“We’ve got you surrounded. Come out, no fuss, no shooting. You’re outgunned, out manned and out of luck. So come out, one by one, hands up. We’ll give you sixty seconds. If you don’t cooperate, things will get bad—”
Mercy stirred, maybe she could get a shot off and hit the megaphone guy. Flynn grabbed her arm and shook his head, two other vehicles switched their lights on adding more illumination to the front and sides of the barn. More men were standing in the fields either side of the barn.
Megaphone man started counting, “Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen—”
The riders at the rear of the barn drew close and pulled their rifles out. Somewhere a dog barked.
“Five, four, three—”
The barn door opened and a figure stepped out. Garrett was holding his hands in the air, Claire, Tawny and Stevie followed.
Mercy bit her lip. Come on Rose, don’t try anything, these guys hold all the cards, come on Rose, come on—
Mercy let her breath out when Rose emerged from the barn, hands on her head.
That’s right Rosie girl, pick your battles—
The first rays of morning lit the eastern sky. Megaphone man jumped down from his truck, he was tall and bald, with a full beard. He wore a leather jerkin with a large insignia on the back. His arms and neck were covered in tattoos, he nodded at his men, they entered the barn, their guns drawn.
Megaphone man barked orders. Garrett, Claire, Tawny, Stevie and Rose were bound, and bundled into the truck. An explosion erupted in the barn followed by shouting, seconds later three men burst from the barn door their bodies on fire. They threw themselves on the ground writhing in agony their screams echoing in the morning light. Megaphone man walked over to the burning men and pulled out a pistol, took aim and shot each man in the head.
He looked up at the rest of his men and lifted his megaphone. “Bastards will pay for this, you’ll all get your turn. Torch the building.” He returned to the truck and signalled the driver to move out. The riders gathered at the front of the barn, three dismounted and directed others from the remaining vehicles. Fuel was splashed on the barn’s wooden walls and set alight.
The riders watched as flames took hold of the barn. Shouts and whistles pierced the air. Finally the vehicles pulled away and the horsemen followed. Smoke belched from the barn filling the air. The heat was intense, Mercy watched the last of the riders disappear before she stood up.
“Rose must’ve found a way to rig the remaining fuel in the combine harvester—”
Flynn stood beside her, “They’re not NSA, they must be the local nut jobs.”
“Yeah, the La Casa Brotherhood—” Mercy replied.
“Well, they’ve just messed with the wrong people,” Flynn said.
“We’ll find them, we’ll get them back—” Mercy’s words sounded hollow. “Ready?” she asked.
“Ready,” Flynn said.
They set off after the riders.
In the distance, off to the east a brief flash of flame and colour hung suspended in the sky. The NSA hot air balloon spotter swung his binoculars towards the burning barn. He lifted his radio handset and relayed the relevant coordinates.
Chapter 17 Recon
“At least their trail is easy to follow,” Flynn kicked at the ground.
“Men on horses, it feels like a Wild West movie,” Mercy replied.
“Yeah, they had swords too, brings back memories of Manhattan—”
It was late morning, Mercy and Flynn had been walking for three hours. They had found water but no food. The horse tracks cut cross country, they left the farmland behind, the ground underfoot was dry, the terrain undulating with low scrub and stunted trees. Mercy marvelled at the azure sky, crickets and insects clicked and buzzed, they had not encountered a single human since the raid on the barn.
The ground rose. Mercy
was surprised to come across a dirt road. Tyre tracks and horse prints ran clearly along the road, she turned to Flynn, he shrugged. She stepped onto the road and followed the tracks, forty minutes later a stretch of water glistened on the right. A sign declared: LAKE TANGLEWOOD SOUTH EAST SHORE.
“Garrett mentioned this lake, we’re close to Amarillo, these guys must have a base somewhere near here,” Mercy said.
“Yeah, it’d make sense to be near water but out of the city. They could forage in the country with quick raids into the city for more specialised stuff,” Flynn spat on the ground and pulled a face, “We gotta find something to eat soon.”
Mercy remained quiet. The road ran parallel to the lake, she looked at the far shore, buildings nestled among the trees. Empty boat moorings lay scattered on the opposite side of the lake. They came across a house, its windows boarded up, one wall carrying a message: GONE EAST FIND US IN DALLAS.
“Looks old,” Mercy said, staring at the faded paint.
“Yeah and pointless, in light of what happened,” Flynn scratched his chin, “people were doing their best back then, they didn’t know—”
“Hell, we didn’t know,” Mercy echoed. She stepped through the broken doorway, her Beretta and knife drawn. The place was a mess and had clearly been ransacked; smashed furniture, broken glass and doors. She walked into the kitchen, a wind chime tinkled outside. She lowered her gun and moved to the shelves.
“Nothing. Empty. Cleared out,” Mercy said, turning to Flynn. He was gone. “Flynn? Where are you?” she ventured. A noise came from the porch, she went to explore and found the back door open. Flynn was sitting on a chair in the shade grinning.
“What are you smiling at?” Mercy asked.
“Oh nothing, just found us some food, only—” Flynn stopped.
“Only what?” Mercy asked.
“Found two tins. Just don’t look at the label,” Flynn looked sheepish, he handed her one of the tins.
Mercy examined it, “Dog food, yeah, I figured. No problem, I lived on this stuff for days back in the Big Apple.” She used her knife to open the tin and did the same for Flynn. She scooped out a mouthful of the jellied mush and shovelled it into her mouth.
Two quick chews then swallow. Oh yeah, I remember that taste—
“Good ain’t it?” Flynn said, the grin back on his face.
“Vintage. You know how to treat a girl,” Mercy said, scanning the back yard and the lake beyond. “Where’d you find it anyway?”
“There’s a stash in that outhouse over there,” he pointed to the back of the garden. Whoever trashed this place found it but passed—”
A gunshot rang out, Mercy’s head snapped up. She jumped to her feet and squinted at the far shore. “It came from further up the lake, I couldn’t make out which side. What do you think?”
Flynn was standing, his head tilted slightly. “I think we rest up, lie low and start exploring towards evening. Find the bastards, scope out their camp, find a way in.”
Mercy nodded, “A way in and maybe a diversion. Finish up, I want to see if we can spot anything from the roof.”
They finished their meal and climbed the stairs to the upper floor. Flynn found a loft ladder and the access hatch to the roof. They climbed out onto the hot roof tiles, it was mid-afternoon, the sun was making its slow arc to the west. Mercy scrambled to the roof edge and looked out over the lake. Their vantage point provided a good view of the surrounding properties and lake shore. She let her eyes drift over the water then back again, completing a slower circuit.
“There,” Flynn hissed, pointing to the near shore. “Half a klick up, just to the left of that small marina, man with a rifle on the shore—”
Mercy squinted, “Got him.” She traced back and saw a cluster of rooftops set in from the shore. “Houses, look, a wall, barbed wire on top, must’ve been a gated community. They’ve fortified it, must be them, it adds up.” She brought her hand to her forehead, “Look, you can see the city in the distance, we’re not that far.”
Flynn pulled a face, “Want to take a look now?”
Mercy’s face was taut, “No, they hold all the cards. We need to know their numbers, their routine. Now that we’ve got shelter we can take it slow, do it properly.”
Flynn frowned, “You saw those bastards, they’ll—”
Mercy met his stare, “I know Flynn, and I want to slit their throats just like you. But we do it when we’re ready. We want to get our people out alive not dead, so we think clever, we outsmart them, that’s what we do. That’s what Rose, Tawny and Stevie would do. Be smart, be the winner.”
Flynn’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, you’re right— we need weapons and an exit plan.”
Mercy’s eyes returned to the gated community. “It’s not going to be easy—”
The day wore on. The sun sank in the west, shadows lengthened and the evening air became chill. They left the house and went down to the lake shore, without line of sight they could not see the compound. Mercy went first moving carefully along the rocky shoreline, water lapping at her feet, a soft breeze blew from the east. She stopped and sniffed the air.
Cooking— they’re eating. That’s good—
Mercy crouched and watched the compound wall, now fifty yards away. Men’s voices rose from behind the wall, harsh voices, laughing and cursing. Smoke drifted into the air followed by sparks and cinders.
Must be a big meal, they must’ve had good scavenging, good—
She inched forwards on hands and knees and stopped; broken glass and razor wire ran along the top of the wall.
Twenty yards. They feel safe—
Mercy’s nostrils twitched, she wrinkled her nose. A bad smell wafted from somewhere across the lake. She frowned.
Tropes, dead tropes, where there’s dead tropes there’s live ones not far off—
Mercy looked around, her eyes glued to the trees. Flynn was close behind, fire axe in hand. A scream rent the air followed by men laughing. Mercy’s eyes flashed in recognition, she jumped to her feet.
Rose, bastards are hurting Rose—
Mercy crept up to the wall and moved towards the corner her eyes seeking a way in. She made it to the corner and pressed her face against the bricks. The screaming stopped, a low murmur came from the compound, if only she could see. She poked her head around the corner and moved forwards. A low growl came from behind, she swung around Beretta in hand.
“Wondered when you two were gonna show up. My scouts counted seven in that barn and we only got five. Guess they were right all along, you’re just in time for the show.”
A huge bear of a man stood behind Mercy. His eyes flicked over her body, the mastiff by his side strained at its leash growling. Two bearded men wearing bandanas and leather waistcoats flanked the bear man, both held shotguns. A fourth man was dragging an unconscious Flynn along the ground, he had put a plastic bag over Flynn’s head.
“You’ll suffocate him, take the bag off you bastard,” Mercy stepped forwards raising the Beretta. The mastiff lunged at her against its leash, its eyes full of murderous intent. Bear man smiled revealing a row of gold teeth, his eyes flicked momentarily behind Mercy and she knew she had been flanked. A faint footfall behind was followed by searing pain then darkness.
Moaning, whimpering, crying. Mercy attempted to move but something held her. She tried to open her eyes but something prevented her, she could not speak, her mouth was blocked. She breathed in through her nose and let her other senses take over. Hard ground beneath, the smell of unwashed human bodies and a young girl crying.
“It’s gonna be alright Meridith, it’s gonna be alright. Mommy’s here, Mommy loves you, Mommy’s never going to leave you, shush child, shush, you don’t want to bring those men back. Be quiet, quiet as a mouse, quiet, quiet. They’ve had their fun for tonight, if you’re quiet they might not come back. Hush now, hush—”
Mercy listened to the woman’s voice and the whimpering child. She turned her head and grunted behind the gag. She was trussed
up like an animal, hands tied behind her back and her legs tied together. Her head pounded, her skull felt split in five different places. A wave of nausea welled up inside, the urge to vomit rose.
Please no, no—
The pain in her head was overwhelming, her consciousness slipped and the darkness reclaimed her.
Someone pulling at her mouth, at the gag. A rush of air, relief at being able to breathe. Someone pulling at the tape around her eyes, light flooding in, blinding. Mercy reeled at the burning pain in her arms and legs.
A young girl’s voice whispered into Mercy’s ear. “Mommy said to leave you alone, for the men, but she’s asleep now. Are you awake? I’m Meredith, please be alive, please talk to me—”
Mercy groaned, her throat was dry, her breathing came in ragged gasps.
“The men mostly come at night, they take us out there and—” the young girl’s voice broke.
Mercy focussed on the ground beneath her face, she was drooling, her spittle pooling on the floor beside her chin, one side of her face was numb. What had they done to her? Where was Flynn and the others? Her brain tried to process the surroundings. The gated community, the barn, the La Casa Brotherhood. It all came flooding back to her, she stiffened and grappled with her voice, words spilled drunkenly from her mouth.
“Untie me, untie me Meredith—”
“I can’t do that, they’ll know. The men will know, they’ll punish me and Mommy,” the girl answered.
“Please Meredith, untie me. I’ll tell them I did it. You don’t have to worry,” Mercy concentrated on every word. Her speech was slurred, slow.
It’s concussion, go with it, they slugged you right out of the park—
The girl moved to Mercy’s back and her bindings. The rope around her wrists loosened. Mercy’s arms flopped forwards pain exploding from her shoulder sockets, the rope binding her ankles loosened, her legs moved, pins and needles flooded her feet as the blood flow returned. She hovered on the edge of consciousness for a few minutes before pulling back from the brink. She moved her fingers then her hands and legs, the pain intense like a wall of fire.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 3): Mercy Fall Page 13