Mercy (The Last Army Book 1)

by Freeter, John

  MERCY

  THE LAST ARMY – BOOK 1

  by John Freeter

  Copyright 2015 by John Freeter

  https://johnfreeter.wordpress.com/

  Edited by Alyssa Hall and Sarah Carleton of Red Adept Editing

  Cover design by Streetlight Graphics

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events and places either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or real satanic conspiracies to bring about the end of the world are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Thank You For Reading!

  Chapter 1

  A thin strip of sunshine flashed across my eyelids, cutting my sleep short. I caught a glimpse of a bright blue sky along the edges of my flower-patterned curtains and started to panic.

  I tumbled out of bed and pushed the curtains away. The blinding glare of New York City’s summer sun made me shut my bleary eyes, but the sounds of frantic bustle coming from outside made it clear that my trusty alarm clock had failed me.

  Every day the damned thing wouldn’t just wake me up but would scare me awake with its loud, relentless ringing. It was as if the building were on fire. I’d often been tempted to just use my phone’s alarm, but as soon as I turned it off, it didn’t seem so bad. Besides, it looked really cute with its shiny steel bells, hand-painted numbers, and elaborate wooden casing. I spun toward the nightstand, looking for the stupid thing.

  Oh, crap.

  It didn’t look so pretty anymore, shattered into a thousand little pieces. Instead of shutting off the alarm, I’d slammed it onto the floor, some violent primal instinct kicking in before I was fully conscious.

  I picked up my cellphone and gasped as I discovered that my math exam was in half an hour. Rubbing my face with cold, sweaty hands, I took a deep breath and struggled to keep my emotions under control. Failing that exam meant repeating my final high school year.

  Come on, Rebecca. Move!

  I staggered to my cheap little desk, gathered the printouts and materials I’d prepared for my study session—all untouched—and stuck them into my schoolbag. I entertained the thought of taking a quick shower, but I had less than ten minutes to catch my train. I would’ve sat down to cry if only I'd had the time.

  Instead of showering, I sprayed body splash all over, used generous amounts of deodorant, and took a handful of my mom’s dry shampoo so my long, wavy locks of auburn hair wouldn’t look like a greasy mop. I put on some jeans and running shoes—which I knew would come in handy—and was tempted to wear a beige tank top on account of the suffocating heat, but the sight of my slightly muscular arms made me go for a red shirt instead, which went well with my dark-blue eyes. Usually I wasn’t too self-conscious about my arms, which had made me the best batter in the school’s softball team, but my day’s rough start had sapped my confidence.

  I grabbed a hairbrush and makeup from the dresser, fighting the temptation to take a peek in the mirror, and tossed them into my school bag. I couldn’t help feeling a little proud as I checked my phone and saw that I'd only taken five minutes to get ready. I ran out of my room and crossed the deserted apartment in a few strides, taking the shortest glimpse of my reflection in the TV screen that covered almost an entire wall of our cramped living room.

  I almost tripped on the carpet when I found a cereal bar next to a small water bottle on the entryway table. My parents usually forgot they had a daughter during their rush to work, so it took me by surprise. There was a sticky note attached to the bottle.

  “Good luck on your exam. Love u – Mom” was in written in my mother’s neat handwriting. Underneath, my father had scribbled, “+ Dad.”

  Well, at least they tried. It brought a smile to my face… a smile that evaporated as soon as I noticed my mom hadn’t just left me a cereal bar, but a light cereal bar. I wondered what I would’ve found there if I’d actually been fat—an exercise routine?

  I shook my head, but thinking about my parents reminded me of the silver necklace with a little cross on it they’d given me for my first communion, and I rushed back to my room to get it. I doubted that wearing it would grant me divine assistance during my exam, but my plain outfit screamed for a little more flair.

  The necklace fastened around my neck, I ran out the front door and locked it behind me before sprinting downstairs and heading toward the station. I caught myself praying that I’d get there in time.

  ***

  I barely managed to get into the subway car before the doors slid shut. I panted for a few seconds, resting my hands on my burning thighs as I tried my best not to fist pump in celebration of my small victory. At least getting to school on time for my exam was still within the realm of possibility. Whether it would do me any good, given how successfully I’d avoided actually studying for the exam, was another matter.

  Once I caught my breath, my eyes went over the rows of orange fiberglass seats lined up against the sides of the car. I looked not only for an empty seat in which to skim over my notes, but for one next to someone who could take the fall for any weird smell coming from my unwashed and sweaty self.

  Unfortunately, every single person in the curiously vacant subway car who might’ve smelled a little funny looked like a sex offender. A middle-aged man sporting a stained trucker cap and a bushy moustache actually licked his lips and winked at me after he caught me staring at him.

  Danger, Rebecca.

  Acting naturally, I strolled to the other end of the car, where I spotted a kid around four years younger than me reading next to an empty seat. Although he was a fellow redhead, he had short curly hair, was much paler than me, and had large brown freckles under his eyes. Just thinking of all the crap that poor kid must’ve taken at school made me shudder. I was certainly no stranger to the cruelty of little—and not-so-little—children.

  Of course, he wasn’t doing himself any favors by being well over thirty pounds overweight. His shapeless belly was wrapped in an ill-fitting T-shirt emblazoned with the drawing of a winking schoolgirl in a sailor outfit, flashing a gang sign across her face. To top that off, the paperback he was reading had a sculptured brunette in a miniskirt holding a rifle in the cover. He must’ve thought it was really compelling stuff since he only moved to turn the page or to wipe his sweaty brow.

  Desp
ite his questionable literary preferences, it wasn’t hard to paint him as a harmless enough kid, so I decided to sit next to him for the twenty minutes left until I reached my stop. The strong scent of cheese, which filled my nostrils as I slumped into the orange bucket seat, proved that the decision to sit next to him had been a wise one. Even if I hadn’t showered for three days, no one would’ve detected it below this boy's overpowering odor.

  With my more superficial concerns addressed, I finally focused on the exam. I dug into my schoolbag for my best friend Karla’s photocopied notes and flipped through them for a few minutes, struggling to decipher her infuriatingly loopy writing. I didn’t quite succeed, but “too little, too late” was certainly better than nothing at all.

  I flipped out my phone to check the time and was pleased to see I still had a few minutes left until I reached my station. I actually wondered if I could try waking up a bit later than usual from then on, since I became really efficient when going against the clock. I wasn’t exactly ready for a night out, but I didn’t like wearing a lot of makeup anyway.

  I had just enough time to lightly brush my hair, put some color on my cheeks, and use lip gloss before the train crawled to a stop. I leapt to my feet and gave the curly-haired kid a warm smile for putting up with my beauty ritual—he smiled back but avoided eye contact—and sprinted out of the subway car, my mind completely absorbed with thoughts of the bitter mathematical trial ahead.

  I ran straight into a wall. My nose was flattened against the unyielding surface, making my eyes tear up. Caught completely off guard, I landed hard on my behind before I could even think of using my hands to cushion the fall. The sharp wave of pain brought forth a very rude word from my lips, which focused the entire station’s attention on me. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and the fact that there was a man standing in front of me rather than a brick wall only meant I had a target for my fury.

  “Watch where you’re going, you stupid—”

  The words got stuck in my throat, quite literally choking me as my anger gave way to a very different set of emotions. The first thing I noticed about the man was the way in which he towered above me. I couldn’t know for sure while sitting on the station’s floor, but I guesstimated him to be well over six feet tall. The muscle on his arms and shoulders stretched the sleeves of his white T-shirt, which hung over greenish-grey cargo pants. Boots as black as his short, messy hair completed his ensemble. It seemed military—though definitely not government issued—and he looked tan enough to make me think he’d spent some time in warmer climates.

  He bent down toward me. I recoiled, wondering whether he hadn’t taken my insult too kindly. That didn’t last long, though, as a glance at his tender brown eyes and apologetic smile instantly put me at ease.

  “I’m sorry, are you okay?” He offered to help me to my feet.

  I held out my hand like a Victorian lady—palm down, slightly limp wristed—and soon found it swallowed by a warm, rough hand. He lifted me off the floor in one smooth, effortless movement, during which I never tore my eyes away from his face. He must’ve been in his mid-twenties, although his light stubble made him seem older. I was sucked into those dark-brown eyes of his, unable to blink, unable to breathe, unable to think… until he flashed me a blinding smile and waved his hand in front of my face.

  “Everything okay?”

  I shut my eyes and shook my head, struggling to recover from the brief hormonal spell that had ensnared me.

  “Yeah, sure, thanks, I’m… I’m okay. Thanks,” I said, obviously not quite recovered.

  “Well, okay then.” He picked up the canvas duffel bag lying next to him.

  “My name’s Rebecca, by the way. Rebecca Stirling.”

  Why did I do that? Oh God, please kill me. Like, right now.

  “Oh. Well, my name’s Martin. I’m sorry for crashing into you, but I’m running a little late.” He pointed to the subway car in front of him. “Take care, Rebecca.”

  “Bye,” I whispered and stood there like an idiot for almost an entire minute, wondering if I’d caught a spark of… something… in his eyes, or if his supposed lateness was just an excuse to get away from the creepy subway-station girl.

  I was in the middle of wishing I’d worn nicer clothes or even a little more makeup, when I suddenly remembered why I hadn’t done either of those things.

  Oh, crap—the exam!

  The slight warmth the chance encounter had brought to my cheeks turned into a cold feeling of terror that spread all the way to my toes. I ran like hell, without even bothering to see how much time I had left before my exam began.

  Chapter 2

  Thick beads of sweat streamed down my face, and a cool, wet patch built up on the back of my shirt. The mixture of body splash and sweat made me smell like vanilla-scented crap, and all the effort I’d put into looking halfway decent had been wasted. At least I’d made it to school on time for my exam. A flurry of activity could be seen through the large windows of the grey, three-story building, which meant everyone had just started crowding into their classrooms.

  The school’s flabby security guard obviously didn’t expect to see any action in the boring, middle-class neighborhood at the edge of Queens, and amused himself by sniffing his fingers as he stood by the metal detector. He did have a policeman complex, though—particularly since he’d been given a gun. I made sure he wouldn’t hold me up on my way to class by limping up to the entrance as if a Rottweiler had mauled my foot. I struggled not to laugh when he held the door open for me.

  “Oww… thank you,” I said in between gasps.

  “Are you all right? Do you want me to help you get to the nurse’s office?” he asked, his greasy brow furrowed with concern.

  “Oh, it’s just a twisted ankle; I’ll get there just fine by myself. Thanks anyways.”

  I kept on limping until he finally took his eyes off me, then I raced down the empty hall, whizzing past rows of beige lockers. I took the stairs two at a time to the second floor and jogged over to the classroom of Ms. Greenlee, my math teacher. I took a moment by the door to catch my breath and wipe the sweat off my face before making my entrance.

  The door’s dry hinges squeaked as I gently pushed it open. My classmates were already seated but still carried on their morning chatter—probably boasting of how little they’d studied. I found Karla in her usual spot at the front of the class, by the window. She looked up from her notes and shook her head as she took her backpack off the desk besides her. Apart from her, only a few boys noticed my arrival, their wolves’ eyes going over my body as they flashed suggestive grins. Ms. Greenlee had been too busy fiddling with her phone to notice me. The stream of text messages reflecting on her rimless glasses as she furiously typed away, coupled with the scowl on her usually cheerful face, indicated that something was amiss in our young teacher’s life.

  As I sat next to Karla, I couldn’t help but feel jealous of her glossy black hair and the freshness of her cinnamon skin. As usual, she’d made an extra effort on her appearance for the exam. She claimed it made her feel more confident, but I suspected that her strict study schedule had a greater impact on her impressive grades.

  “For a minute, I thought you’d called in sick or something,” the buxom Latina said, giving me a sideways glance with her hazel eyes.

  “You know my mom would rather have me flunk the year before going along with that. Besides, it wouldn’t do me any good to reschedule the exam if I didn’t have my best friend beside me to give me a hand.” I gave her a knowing smile.

  She replied with an angry sigh. I suspected she’d rather end our decade-long friendship before involving herself in a cheating scandal.

  “I was kidding, Karla. Just don’t make your handwriting so damned loopy, okay?”

  Her face softened, and she cracked a smile. She wouldn’t whisper me the answers or anything, but at least I could count on her not covering her exam paper like an inmate guarding his meal. Things were looking up, and my mood improved considerably
—at least until I heard Amy Parker’s bored drawl behind me.

  “Is it just me, or did someone take the garbage truck to school today? The smell’s giving me a headache.”

  I tried to come up with a suitable comeback to her jab, but all I could think of was yanking on her long, blonde hair and ramming my forehead on her perfect little nose. If we’d been in elementary school, I might’ve done just that. Hell, I'd gotten a bit violent with a few boys before I grew up and they mysteriously started acting all friendly toward me. That sort of thing wouldn’t fly anymore, though. I took a deep breath through my gritted teeth and pretended not to have heard anything, even though the subdued giggling from Amy and her entourage felt like knives being buried in my back.

  “I think it’s time, Ms. Greenlee,” Karla said, calling the teacher’s attention.

  Thanks, Lala.

  Ms. Greenlee rested the phone on her desk and looked over at the large clock by the door. Startled, she grabbed the pile of exam sheets and handed them out to those of us seated in the front row. Fighting the urge to crumple them after taking mine, I passed them over my shoulder.

  “Oh, God—they’re all sticky,” Amy whispered as she took them, which prompted more giggling from the girls surrounding her.

  “Keep that up, and I’m taking your exams away. And I'd better not catch you with anything that isn’t a pen or calculator,” Ms. Greenlee said, her eyes already fixed on her phone again.

  I looked at Karla out of the corner of my eye. She had her eyes closed and crossed herself like the devout Catholic she was. I glanced at the silver cross dangling from my neck and felt the temptation to do the same. I decided against it and took a deep breath before attacking the exam instead.

  Just as the tip of my pen touched the exam paper, the bright fluorescent lights overhead flickered out. A mixture of cheering and complaints rippled throughout the classroom. Ms. Greenlee strode over to the light switch, mutely cursing her phone’s dark screen along the way, and flicked the switch back and forth a few times. Nothing happened.