Dark Water: The Chronicles of Mercy

by G. P. Moss

  My heart slows to a steady rhythm. Hopefully, we’ll be the other side of the town. I’m so grateful I could shout it. I thank both Sisters but otherwise I stay quiet. She continues.

  “You will help out here. The dog can stay in the hut – there is little room as it is at Sister Anne’s but you are very welcome. There is a lot to be done here, every day. You will both work with the initial filtering systems but Mercy, I will come for you later, for instruction.”

  I hope I can guess what she means but I just nod.

  “Hopefully, Alex will return and you shall have your answer, one way or another, but for now, we welcome you and are grateful for your contribution to our vital work.”

  A different Sister collects us and takes us to one of the filter sites, a long network of blue, insulated pipes showing the way.

  The work keeps me busy. Checking and cleaning filters is easy, if messy. We follow the Sister’s lead and work diligently. After a few hours, I’m sent for. Storm stays at the filters. Once again, I enter the office of Sister Maria. She sits in a high backed wooden chair, inlaid with faded tapestry at the seat and back. She motions for me to take the plain chair opposite. Her back straight, with hands clasped in her lap, she looks directly into my eyes and begins to speak.

  “Though you have the power to heal, my dear, it must be focussed properly to have a quick and lasting effect. Also, to spread the healing effectively, your mind should be in a truly thankful state. Of course, to be grateful will always stand one in better stead, but the gratitude and calm should be directed into and around the water, with no distractions.”

  I nod gravely, my concentration full as the Sister continues.

  “In these times, when there is so much danger, and all very real, it is extremely difficult to focus absolutely on this most essential task. But focus we must, for the eventual survival of mankind depends on it. Though we know little of what may have befallen the rest of the world, I will assume it has suffered a similar fate. The lack of help forthcoming from sea, air or land over the years bears testament to that assumption. I will attempt to guide you, for if you stay here or venture elsewhere, your skills will be valuable beyond measure. Come with me and let us make a start.”

  Her wide smile puts me at ease but I’m under no illusion that I’m expected to obey and learn.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Through meditation, and with constant practice, Sister Maria develops and hones my healing skills. The difference in the water quality amazes me and I can tell when I give my full concentration, which is the whole time. This water is clear, refreshing and pure. It’s only been one day. The lady’s a quick, focussed tutor. She knows I have a sword and a knife and she understands the reasons – I’d be dead by now without them.

  “What is important, is to separate the two things entirely. There are times to be a warrior, and times to be a healer. Mixing the two makes both ineffective.”

  I’m more than surprised to be hearing this. I listen, enraptured.

  “To multi-task is to move backwards, or at the best, tread water. You may be skilled at both but the secret is switching. One or the other. Warrior. Healer. With practice, one can switch rapidly - just focus. One task at a time.”

  I know it makes sense. My excuse, I tell myself, is there was only me at the beginning. It’s harder with one or two - Rags doesn’t count. As loyal and brave as he is, the decisions he makes are from the heart. Mum understood the need for me to search, to find, to belong. She also thought I could lead – we’ll see. To have the chance, not to be alone. ‘Trust no one. No. One.’ Johnny’s words ring true. They’re not hardwired into my brain though. I prefer gut instinct. I trusted David, at first, but there was something that didn’t feel good and I was right.

  I go outside to see Rags. The rain is still light but constant. Storm waits for me in the entrance with Sister Anne.

  The whole day is overcast but darkness now descends like the broadest stroke of a giant brush. This time we turn right from the hotel entrance, walking a straight parallel with the south side of the beach. The tide’s well in and through the blackness it’s still possible to see the angry snarls of crashing waves as they swallow sand and rock without distinction. Sister Anne says little during the walk but she looks cheerful - inner peace is how I’d describe it.

  After three quarters of a mile, we head inland, crossing one street to reach the next. At first sight, the Sister’s house looks to be in good condition, until we’re close enough to see the multiple repairs keeping it together. After turning a solid-looking brass key, she forces the steel-reinforced door open with her shoulder, the metal scraping along a solid wood floor. She strikes flint against dry moss, quickly lighting a candle stub.

  “Welcome to my home,” she says brightly. Sister Anne sets a small fire in the hearth before inviting us to sit. Small, shiny metal chairs take the weight off our feet. As the Sister goes upstairs, Storm says she’s seen these before.

  “For camping trips. When living in the woods was a treat, not a necessity,” she says with a grin.

  Five minutes later, Sister Anne reappears. My mouth opens and is stuck briefly in mid-air. The long, high neck habit has gone. The demure, pleasant lady of the purification hotel is transformed into a combat-ready soldier. At least her clothing suggests that. I can’t see a weapon. Yet.

  Sister Anne throws her wide smile as she jumps the last step.

  “Everything happens for a reason,” she says brightly. “Well, we all know the reason for the mess, the greed, and the rest. It’s what we can do about it. First, I want to tell you something.”

  I listen, transfixed. I’m sure Storm is listening with interest, too.

  “I’m glad you left Carrie’s house. Carrie is fine, she just plays for peace. I’m not one for rumours but I’ll give you a little information. I heard about the dream by the way - it made me shiver. Holly believes that David spread the story about Carly turning and killing, to detract from the accusation that he purposefully shut Carly out as she was hunted and chased by Subs. It was almost seventeen years past. Holly was five, or six, I think. She told me someone saw David running. As he reached his house, Carly was not far behind. He could have saved her but instead, he ran inside, took a shotgun, blasting two Subs through the door as they tried to smash their way in. He then reloaded, went back outside, and shot a third Sub. The witness saw him point the gun at Carly. She was dying. He didn’t fire, just went back inside, shutting the shattered door. She died in the street.”

  This is not what I expected to hear – I feel sorrow and shock.

  “This is what Holly believes. David was never directly accused. Afterwards, armed to the teeth, he killed many more Subs. It was this that stopped the accusations. There was no direct proof and Holly’s witness never came forward. There’s something else, and it fits together. Holly alleges that David had been bothering her Mum. Carly was freaked out and told him to leave her alone. Michael was away working. No one’s seen or heard from him since. We presume he died. Like I said, I’m glad you’re out of there.”

  I sit, staring at the Sister, thinking that we made the right decision to leave there as quickly as possible.

  “Sister Maria sent you here for another reason.”

  Sister Anne beckons us towards a large kitchen. Kicking back a thick piece of carpet, she feels around for something on the floor. Grabbing a long, hook-ended pole, she pulls up a trapdoor before stepping down to a cavernous cellar. We wait until a couple of candles are lit then follow her. Heavy-looking wooden crates line the far wall while a four-wheeled metal and wood trolley sits in a corner. I take a less than wild guess - weapons. Above us, the night sky explodes in thunder as lightning throws bolts of supercharged power across the town, briefly illuminating the cellar. I hope Rags is okay. I wish he was here.

  We stand like dummies, staring at the crates.

  “Call me Anne while we’re here – Sister is for the hotel, okay?”

  We just nod, wondering what’s coming n
ext.

  “I’ll come to the crates in a minute. No one really knows how Alex manages to get in and out of the town, except Sister Maria, Sister Evie, and me.”

  She heads over to her right, stopping at the far wall. I don’t see anything except a square plywood board. It looks like it covers broken brick, keeping rats out. She uses an inch-wide chisel, prising the wooden plate away. I move closer to the wall. A hole disappears into blackness. My heart beats so fast it feels as if it’ll leave me far behind. I look at Storm. She’s nodding and grinning at the same time. Anne looks at me.

  “It goes outside the town, this way. It comes out in woodland, well beyond the southern boundary fires. This house is over three hundred years old. The tunnel was part of a network of smuggling routes. I’ve never been, apart from a few yards to help drag a trolley or crate through - Alex says it’s too dangerous. The tunnel heads down, then levels into a larger passage. Enough room to drag a trolley.”

  Anne stops talking while she uses the chisel base, knocking the board back into place. She returns to the crates.

  “Behind these is another tunnel. Alex says it joins another, coming out at the beach, just inside a corner of the northern boundary. It goes further, outside the town. I don’t know where it finally surfaces. He never goes that way. Too wild, he still reckons. Well, you two will vouch for that.”

  She opens the first crate. My eyes widen. From the corner of my eye, I’m sure I just saw Storm lick her lips.

  Black, flat plastic cases are stacked inside the crate. Large embossed letters spell the word GLOCK across the front. Anne takes one out, flipping the lid with steady fingers. Three long rectangular strips of black metal fit snugly by the side of a handgun. Dark bronze in colour, the weapon looks brand new. I’ve seen one before, watched Johnny as he stripped and cleaned it, but it was black, and smaller. She holds one of the magazines.

  “These are fully loaded. Ten bullets, nine-millimetre calibre. It’s accurate up to around fifty yards - if you’re accurate, that is. Close quarters stuff. Though not as close quarters as your sword, eh, Mercy? I’ve checked the other crates. There aren’t any spare bullets so what we have are already loaded into these. Alex has tested a couple, through necessity, out there, but we can’t really start shooting around here unless we want the attention of the whole town. They can take silencers but we don’t have any. I’m grateful enough for these. There are a few smaller handguns too. They only take six-round magazines though.”

  Storm stares at the case. She looks like she’s imagining the feel of the gun in her hands. I remember Sister Maria’s words. Through a growing excitement, I try to look at the gun objectively. It’s for one purpose. There are other purposes too. Remember that, Mercy.

  “The town doesn’t know about these. Alex has given a few people some older firearms he’s brought back but these can’t be distributed freely, unless we’re under a major attack. People are people. They hold grudges, often for years. Unstable personalities and these guns don’t mix well. Who knows. David had a twin-barrelled shotgun - he probably still has it. No idea how much ammunition though.”

  From the careful, thoughtful way Anne speaks, it sounds like she’s pondered this before. The Sister gives an involuntary shudder.

  “Go and bring your sacks,” she tells us.

  A candle from the kitchen still throws enough light to guide us up the steps. We return quickly but carefully. Anne is sorting two piles, one for each of us. Each pile has two black hard plastic cases. She’s added a black leather holster for each of us and a sheathed, long thin-bladed knife.

  “Commando knives,” she says. I’m no longer objective. Focus, Mercy.

  We unpack our sacks in the cellar, on a piece of old, blue-swirl patterned carpet. We need to store the weapons properly, within easy reach but not obvious if looked in. I’m not that careless though – my sack rarely leaves my side. Anne has shown us the basics - both guns look simple to use. She explains the recoil and the two-pressure trigger. The clips, as she calls them, slot in easily. I can change them quickly. To Storm, this is super-easy. She’s fast with Ghost but this is like lightning. As I listen to further instructions from Anne, I hear the thunder again.

  The rain descends with a roar, bouncing off the roof in a furious beat. The sword will stay with me. It’s too big to store comfortably and it’s not going out of my sight. It belonged to Dad. He was an expert in some of the martial arts. Sport-Karate, Mum said. Fast and furious. He studied Bushido, too, the Samurai way. The sword looked to a casual observer merely ceremonial but it wasn’t. Isn’t. It cuts through flesh and bone. Mum kept it sharp and showed me how.

  I’m grateful for the handguns - hopefully it’ll keep some distance between Subs and me. And Hounds. They’re worse, slinking, waiting. Subs are consumed with so much rage there’s no planning at all. They can’t wait. I try the holster, practice drawing the gun. The safety is built into the trigger mechanism so nothing to switch – it will fire once the trigger’s fully depressed. Anne tells me not to try it but you can drop these and they won’t discharge accidentally. I won’t try it. Now we have some extra protection, I hope we won’t need it. I know we will.

  We’re given extra clothing – tech-tops, camouflage trousers and a jacket each. These are much better than the ones we have. The inside-pockets are large, with plenty of room for both hands and ammo in the outer ones, too. They roll up easily into our sacks. Anne hasn’t mentioned the journal - perhaps Sister Maria didn’t tell her. Anne takes more boxes from the crates, places them carefully in an old canvas military-type bag.

  “For the Sisters,” she says. “Some of them, anyway.”

  She seals the crates and checks the boarding on the two walls. As we head up the steps, great flashes light up the kitchen and hall. I think of the people out there, trying to keep the fires going and whether one of them is David, and if he’s thinking of us. I shudder. I also think of Alex. I hope he’s on his way back. Soon.

  We’re in the front room. Anne shares the packages between us. I’m pleasantly shocked that weapons are being distributed to several of the Sisters.

  “Times have changed. Our devotion and gratitude hasn’t weakened but we need to protect ourselves and the hotel. When Sister Maria spoke to you about switching, from battle to healing and back again, she was describing a method that several of the women are trained in. It’s why the purification is successful. Gossip and rivalries still show their ugly heads at times. Our job is to quash it before it threatens our security as a town. A town under siege, but still a town. Once that job is accomplished, we go back to healing. If they think we’re meddlers, then so be it. Without us they’ll die, and I don’t say that smugly. It’s just a fact.”

  She smiles again and even in the dim light, her eyes shine ocean-blue. We prepare to head back to the hotel. This time we’ll go through the back, taking a different route. A high brick wall, badly patched, separates an alleyway from the next street. Anne moves an old, heavy wooden door, enough so that we can slide through with our sacks, weighted now with the small cargo of weapons. We wear ponchos while the sacks are protected with thin plastic sheeting.

  The rain beats down. Thunder rolls. Lightning wields its fiery power. Wind hammers our bodies - the perfect night for a clandestine walk. Across to the right, the southern boundary fires are struggling. People run back and forth to keep the fuel coming.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As we reach the hotel, the protective circle’s sheeting is taking a battering but it still holds. Sister Anne gives a series of knocks at the doors. A Sister aged around fifty lets us in after we shake off the excess water, under the portico - enough effort goes on here without us bringing more than the usual impurities with us. We head straight through to the back office. Sister Maria is waiting for us with warm tea and a smile.

  “I don’t think anyone saw us,” says Sister Anne.

  “The weather is not going to give people time to think beyond their own warmth or survival tonight,” says Sis
ter Maria, her eyes brightening. “Let me see what you have,” she continues, gleefully and at odds with her sacred standing. Catching herself, she reverts to her solemn look.

  “First, we will pray. And give thanks.”

  We remove the rain covers from the sacks, carefully placing the boxes on the table in front of Sister Maria. There are ten Glocks. Her gaze is steady as she flips the catches holding the lid. Removing the gun from the foam, she looks over it, appraising its workmanship, quickly slamming in a magazine, turning, and mimicking a shot. I’m trying not to laugh. Focus, Mercy.

  “Marvellous job, Alex. And thank you, all of you, for bringing them here.”

  She looks at Sister Anne.

  “Did he say where he is getting this weaponry from?”

  The younger Sister speaks slowly, respectfully, considering her words with care.

  “He never says much. About where he’s been, I mean. Most of the time, when he surfaces, I’m dressing his wounds, giving him hot tea and being thankful beyond reason for his appearance. His survival. There was a shipping container, further down the coast. He was trying to see if there was a way in when he was attacked. By Subs. There were several, I think. He’d shot some but had to use a hunting knife on two at close quarters. He had some rough arm injuries.”

  I listen, entirely fascinated and in awe of the story. She thinks carefully before continuing.

  “He piled the Subs up against the leading door-edge and set them alight, not out of temper but to ward off others. The heat further weakened the already damaged catches. After that he managed to wrench the door open with an iron bar one of the Subs had been carrying. I don’t think he could quite believe his luck, not just with the Subs but the cargo. They were at the back. He said it took him ages to throw out everything else first. Drums of spices. Then this.”

  Sister Maria looks on in admiration. In love, it seems. A light knock on the door brings an immediate response.