Dark Water: The Chronicles of Mercy

by G. P. Moss

  As we approach the start of the valley, Sister Evie raises an eyebrow and leans back in mock alarm as we encounter the first of Johnny’s warning signs. Already knowing we didn’t have boundary fires here, she asks me if I think the signs were an actual deterrent.

  “I don’t know,” I say, laughing, “but for many years there hasn’t been much trouble.”

  On a more serious note though, I think of Donny Ray and his evil, purposeful mission to keep control by unleashing a continuous stream of Subs into the land. I think it’s why Eastsea, Longton, and probably more towns to the south and west suffered such relentless attacks. Most were wiped out in the valley a long time ago and we assumed much the same would have happened elsewhere. I keep these thoughts to myself – our journey is to be one of good tidings, not historical horror stories.

  There’s one trip I’m not looking forward to but I promised and as soon as I’ve seen Johnny, I’ll head to the north-eastern land bordering the valley.

  I hear Johnny’s shout before I see him. If I doubted Sister Evie’s eyebrow could climb any higher after seeing his boundary signs, then I don’t any longer. Seeing him run around the short hill before his home makes me laugh, filling my heart with joy. His hair’s a straggly mess but at least he’s shaved and something else is different – the stale alcoholic smell is absent.

  “I’ve been busy,” he says excitedly, fussing Rags until I tell him my glorious furry friend suffered a serious head injury.

  “He’s a true veteran, is Rags,” I say, smiling widely before opening my arms to the old rascal. He looks briefly at Sister Evie before giving her a huge hug – poor lady, he’s enough to frighten anyone but she takes it in the spirit of welcome it’s meant.

  “Johnny, meet Sister Evie - magnificent healer of Eastsea.”

  He immediately stands back, bending forward to deliver a short, serious bow.

  “I’m sorry, you don’t look like a Sister.”

  “Well I most certainly am,” she says, before finishing with, “though I’m quite proficient with a semi-automatic rifle.”

  Shaking his head in wonder, he suddenly asks, “where is Storm?”

  I shake my head, not trusting myself to be able to speak.

  “I’ll tell her mum,” he says.

  “No,” I reply – “I’ll do it. I promised her.”

  He nods as the sobering revelation finally extinguishes his excitement and he starts to walk back.

  *

  We’re spending the day touring parts of the valley where residents are showing a more proactive approach to living. Johnny’s made a huge effort to identify those he feels have the organisational skills to begin the healing process not only here but to the wider areas beyond the borders where before there was only fear and distrust.

  There are other healers here, mainly taught by Mum, that have continued the cleansing – it’s becoming easier – not in the skills required but in the severity of sickness that intense periods of healing dark water induce. It killed Mum in the end but it never stopped her. Her ultimate sacrifice is one of the main reasons that the valley’s in the shape it’s in today.

  Vegetables are being grown on small plots of land that have slowly become irrigated with fresh nourishment, instead of the poisons that dwelt there before, strengthening the local population with nutrients they were previously denied.

  I think of Mum. I miss her. I wonder if the controlled anger I felt when confronting Donny Ray and his thugs was borne from the fact that while she tried so hard to heal as much as possible, there were people out there who fought against it for their own despicable, selfish purposes. To think that even after the mess, certain elements not only didn’t learn a thing from the past mistakes that caused it, but capitalised on it, taking human greed, unkindness, and violence to an even baser level in the pursuit of personal gain.

  I remind myself that for now, those deliverers of evil have gone, while at the other end of the scale, others have shown immense courage and selflessness in their pursuit of the building blocks to begin again, for the benefit of all.

  Sister Evie’s staying in the valley, helping with the healing while I head north-east to find Storm’s mum. Johnny’s on this sad leg of the journey too as he knows the area well – it’s just a few miles inland from the coast. As we pass the northern boundary signs of his making, I can’t help but smile at the very serious messages he wanted to convey. ‘Death to Subs, Guaranteed’ is certainly one promise he stuck to – there haven’t been any sightings for several months now.

  It’s been a long, hard struggle to get to this point of reduced danger but I’m hoping they can be eradicated quickly now that they’re not being produced on purpose. Hellhounds are still a threat but sightings and reported attacks are massively down over the past year. He believes there are a couple of compelling reasons for this. First, there’s no evidence to suggest they’ve been breeding so they’re dying of old age. Second, the water’s much cleaner now, in many places.

  They feed off the poison – hopefully there’s not been enough time for change in their DNA structure to enable them to thrive in a purer environment. Thinking of breeding, nobody has witnessed any new births since a year or so after the collapse of society as we know it – as they know it anyway – I don’t know any different apart from what I’ve been told.

  *

  I ask Johnny about Dad. About how Alex thinks there’s a chance he could be alive. Johnny looks at me as we walk, then speaks, quietly and carefully.

  “You know, Mercy, I like to say ‘never say never’ and believe me, I want to believe your father’s alive. He was a great friend of mine as well as a loyal and trusted colleague, a true brother in arms. Your mum believed he was dead – she took the sign of the tags as evidence of that. It wasn’t a belief that she didn’t think he could survive in hostile territory but rather that he would do anything to get back. After several months, she’d made her own mind up. I would never contradict her – it was her grief to bear.”

  I touch the tags, the coolness of the metal unable to change the warmth in my heart.

  “I want to find him,” I say suddenly.

  Johnny replies in a way I know he’s chosen so that I don’t feel patronised but so I understand.

  “The air is clean. Birds are returning. Perhaps across the seas, it’s happening there too. The Far East, where we were, is many thousands of miles away. I’m not saying that if the opportunity should arise, you shouldn’t go and try to find him but give him a chance to find his way back. For almost two decades, dark water and disease, Hounds and Subs and goodness knows what else, has hampered people from doing anything but survive – here at least. Things are changing now. Give it a year. Give him a chance. You need to start your own life too.”

  I nod, my thoughts returning to my dreams. I pray the airborne particles and dark water haven’t ruined our reproductive systems – it will be the end of humanity unless far corners of the planet were untouched. I don’t have anybody though. A husband. It’s what I want. It is.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Storm’s mum is digging out pebbles from the soil. A long, rectangular vegetable patch is neatly partitioned for different crops - climbing beans draw the eye as they slowly inch their way up bamboo poles. Tall like her daughter, her chestnut-brown hair is tied at the back with a thin cotton strip - grey streaks running through don’t detract from its healthy shine. She turns on her heel as she hears us approach, crunching fine, loose gravel with our heavy boots.

  She knows why we’re here. Aged forty-five, her solid beauty betrays only the look of quiet resignation but even before any of us speak, I know her heart will be breaking inside. Johnny introduces me but she already knows who I am as she gently lays down her spade, slowly walking towards me. Briefly looking me over, she asks what happened to her only child.

  “Storm’s the bravest person I ever met,” I say truthfully. “She died saving someone else, another girl. Her actions were heroic and will never be forgotten. She a
sked me to come and see you - to tell you she was brave and that she loves you.”

  Where before there was the controlled beginning of acceptance, Storm’s final words now create a crushing reality as her mum’s body starts to tremble, releasing heavy sobs of pain, tears falling onto the softening earth. I stand, head bowed in respect and gratitude, with a sorrow that threatens to rip my heart in two. Johnny stands back, respectfully sharing this moment in quietness. I hold Storm’s mum for a little while - enough for a small comfort, knowing she’ll never be able to hold her own child again.

  We follow at her invitation to share some hot nettle tea in her small house. Crumbling walls are shored up with salvaged wooden panels - Johnny comments that he’ll be back soon to offer help with a more permanent fix. They’re comfortable with each other after a long friendship and much cooperation. She heals like my mum and me now but she’s lucky enough not to have been too sick.

  She doesn’t feel lucky right now, I’m thinking, as she sits on an old painted blanket box, worn in parts to the bare wood from years of human contact.

  “I’m so grateful you came, Mercy. It must be hard for you.”

  I stay quiet while she speaks, her green eyes moist with pain.

  “I raised Storm to be a fighter and to be grateful. To see the good but to be determined, even ruthless, with the bad. I never wanted her to find danger - goodness knows there’s been enough around these parts already - but I knew she would never shy away from it.” She smiles. “I’m happy she could make a difference.”

  I tell her where she’s buried and that if she wants to, sometime in the future, I’ll go with her to the cave where her daughter rests.

  I brought Storm’s possessions for her mum. Thanking me, she hands Ghost back with a sad smile.

  “Have it, please. It would make me happy.”

  I accept the crossbow with thanks, on the condition she takes my ten-shot Glock, along with spare ammunition. I can tell she wants to know more - the stories of our travels - it’ll come later, when time and toil will hopefully soften the hard edges of grief. I’m loathe to leave this lovely lady, full of grace and kindness amidst the worst personal tragedy a mother can possibly bear, but I’ll move on - there’s so much more to do and I feel that if I stop anywhere for long enough, my body will just tell me to settle and rest.

  I hold her hands gently as we say goodbye while promising to visit as soon as I can - it’s a promise I’ll keep.

  Walking along the broken flagstones to the end of the vegetable garden, I glance back just long enough to see Johnny embrace her. I think they’re more than friends - I hope they are. I do.

  *

  Sister Evie is enjoying herself in the valley but it’s time we were moving on. With news of the crushing of Donny Ray’s Sub conspiracy, spreading around fast with the good Sister’s help, some of the bolder residents are now prepared to travel and seek out other communities for cooperation and shared healing.

  I ask her if she’d also considered asking Sister Maria for a dispensation to leave the hotel. She won’t leave.

  “There’s much to be said for enjoying all the wonderful things that life has to offer, even under these reduced circumstances, but I love the work at the hotel and the extra responsibilities Sister Maria gave me. I will miss Holly, and I hope that when I’m back at Eastsea, she’ll find the time to visit occasionally. I’m just grateful for what I have - for what I’ve been given.”

  I know what she means. To have a defined purpose in life is an amazing thing, and one to cherish. Perhaps one day I’ll find peace but it’s early days and my future goals will depend on the decisions I start making now. My dreams. A husband. A house. Children. None of those things seemed possible the first time I left the valley. Now everything is possible. I know what I want. I do.

  Saying farewell to Johnny, I see he’s already packing some gear for his journey back to the north-east. His plan is to spend a little time with Helen, Storm’s mum, fixing her house and giving her company when she wants it. She spends a lot of time walking to the sea and exploring the beaches - he’s looking forward to it.

  I don’t see any of the crude distilling equipment he used to spend his time with.

  “Has the great hooch-lover lost his taste for the stuff?” I ask, laughing.

  “No, but I’m saving myself for something decent in the future - like a shipwrecked cargo of finest cognac.”

  I say nothing but I think he’s already found someone decent - a real beauty.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I say, waving as he secures the last strap of his sack, before adding, “how come you didn’t ask if I had anything to trade?”

  His reply is quick, funny, and truthful – “because I don’t have anything anywhere near as valuable as the gear you’re carrying nowadays.”

  Looking at Sister Evie as we round the final hill before the valley boundary, I see her laughing to herself.

  “Share the joke?” I ask, smiling at her.

  “No joke,” she replies. “Just immense gratitude for the people I’ve met, especially Johnny - he’s hilarious, in a mad kind of way.”

  After the horrors that we’ve seen, the fine characters in the valley, and Helen, of course, are a real balm to old wounds. I agree. I do. I tell the Sister I want to visit the railway shed again - where I found Michael’s journal. I’d like to see if there’s anything else of his he might appreciate having back. Maybe not. Maybe it’ll just rekindle memories he’d rather forget.

  I’ll go anyway, perhaps just to sit for a little while and marvel at how far I’ve come. I felt a huge responsibility, setting off after Mum died. A grudging responsibility, if I’m honest with myself. I’m grateful for the change in me. Without the growth that I’ve been through, I wouldn’t have made it. I did make it. I did.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  My plan is to accompany Sister Evie all the way back to the hotel, but there’s something I must do first. Past the point that Storm, Rags, and I were attacked, I look across the vast wasteland, littered sporadically with the overturned wells that will be there for some time yet. Last time, the fires were high and visible for several miles but now, although there’s a glow, it’s nothing like it was before. They’re letting the fires burn out.

  I’d originally planned to follow the coast again, partly because I’ve become so fond of the cool, refreshing breezes and unlimited possibilities I believe are beyond that mysterious far blue line, but also, since Johnny told me that Helen was sure she’d seen a boat on the horizon only a few weeks ago, I’ve more than a passing interest in the sea. Any boat is good. Scrub that. Any boat that’s not full of Subs, Hounds or people trying to kill us.

  There’ll be time later for the seaside - Sister Evie lives and works in Eastsea so she’s fine skipping it on this occasion. Still remembering the horrors chasing me in the past, we’re on high alert in case any of their friends survived the dark waters and fish-monsters of the nearby river.

  My heart begins to speed up even though we’ve a few miles to travel yet. I want to enter through the eastern boundary - it’s the nearest to the convent, which is my destination. I knew in my heart I was doing the right thing when I set off from the only home I’ve ever known in search of the man I needed to meet. I wasn’t convinced I’d find him but I did. I’m so glad. I am.

  The ground is softer - not so much that boots leave prints but a definite shift from rock hard soil, baked solid by the sun and nutrient deprived, that was the common feel under my feet away from the intense healing of the valley. Tough, straw-like vegetation, dominating the fields and snapping on contact, is slowly being replaced in parts by grassy tufts and stand-alone blades, bending and springing back with well-fed resilience.

  It brings a nervous happiness to my heart - the vibrations inside my body hiding the hyper-state of my whole being from my calm exterior as I get closer to the eastern boundary. From a few hundred yards, I see Sisters and townspeople mixing, probably surveying what’s left of the fires and discussin
g the new security needs of a town no longer under siege, where vigilance replaces outright fear.

  Plans can begin to take shape for rebuilding, needing the ingenuity of a population now given freedom to think of the greater good instead of the immediate gratification of a greedy few. Approaching Longton from the less used part of town, we’re not worrying about being able to enter safely - it’s clear that in places, the fires are so low that gaps have appeared, enabling us to be able to just carefully step over the last embers of an old, desperate protection against an evil partly created from within.

  I see an excited wave from a smiling woman, dressed in the familiar beige habit of a healing Sister. It’s Sister Agnes, running, lifting the hem to calf-length for clearance from the exaggerated leap over fading embers only a couple of inches high. Taking our hands in hers, she clasps them tight, revealing a very different, relaxed lady than the one I remember. I appreciated her focussed seriousness back then but I love the radiant happiness now. Letting go of our hands, she joins us in our short hop across the eastern edge and back into Longton.

  *

  It’s not yet noon but the sun already flashes through a pale blue sky as we walk along the right-hand side of the convent. Turning the front corner, I’m happily amazed at the quick transformation of the town. Not in the still broken structures, for it’ll take much time and effort to address these, but in the general buzz and hive of people talking and going about with purpose - others just enjoying the moment.

  I never knew there were so many inhabitants in this place - perhaps one day there’ll be very young ones among them - I hope so. I do. Friendly waves and greetings accompany us as we climb the stone steps to the large, solid convent door, a symbol of quiet strength, then and now.