Mercy (The Last Army Book 1)

by Freeter, John

  Little Friend and Mr. Forty-five. Bet he’s got a name for his penis, as well.

  I immediately winced at the mental image I’d just subjected myself to. I wondered if that had been Mark’s intention all along—to get me thinking about...

  Maybe he was a lot smarter than I gave him credit for.

  “Your sissy ass would be dead if it wasn’t for me and my boom stick,” Danny said and rested his engraved shotgun across the shoulders, like someone in a Vietnam War movie. I quickened the pace as a sour smell reached my sunburnt nose. Large, sweaty patches showed through Danny’s blue polo shirt. “My little brother and Vince did act like little bitches, though.”

  “That piece of crap belongs in a museum. This is a man’s gun.” Vincent extended the polymer stock of his carbine with a loud click.

  I glanced back at Tommy, expecting him to join the pissing contest, but he just walked in silence. His slightly pouted lips and furrowed brow hinted at discomfort. Snide peeks at me whenever he thought I wasn’t looking made the source of his uneasiness clear, but I just felt sorry for him. The way he slouched and stared down at the road as he walked didn’t project a lot of confidence.

  “It’s a cool gun, but have you guys seen Mr. Forcellati’s collection?” I asked, glancing back at Tommy. “He’s got a real hand-cannon of a revolver. You probably could kill a monster in a single shot with that.”

  “I’d stay clear of that guy if I were you,” Danny said, marching up to me. Fortunately, he’d lowered his arms.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard some weird things about him. They say that he used to get wasted and beat the shit out of his wife.” Vincent flanked me from the other side.

  “And that’s not even the worst part,” Mark said, marching a few steps ahead of us. “Apparently he also got into his own daughter’s pants from time to time. That’s why she…” He pointed two fingers to the side of his head as if they were a gun and cocked his head to the side. “So, his wife finally got her act together and left with the other kid.”

  I didn’t want to believe what they said about Mr. Forcellati, who seemed like a nice enough man—if rather creepy—but even Mark lost his swagger as he spoke. The eerie silence of the blasted landscape surrounding us made me desperately aware of the fact that I was walking in the company of four heavily armed men whom I knew nothing about. At least I’d followed Mr. Forcellati’s advice and kept a round chambered in my gun, ready to fire at the slightest hint of trouble.

  “Yeah, no wonder that bastard’s been drinking himself to death since then,” Vincent said. “I wouldn’t be so eager to die if I was him, though. He’s got to know what’s waiting for him in the next life.” He gripped his gun as if he wanted to give Mr. Forcellati a hand with that.

  “That girl was really cute, too. What a waste, huh?” Tommy said in a hoarse voice from behind me. He giggled nervously.

  “Wow… you’re a little messed up, aren’t you?” I answered without thinking. Mark and the others chuckled.

  “Yeah, what the hell’s up with that, bro?” Danny asked and shoved his brother.

  “It was… it was a joke,” Tommy said. His face glowed with embarrassment. I recalled my fight with Amy during laundry and how badly she’d taken my own misguided attempt at humor.

  “I know, Tommy. It’s okay. I’m sorry.” I smiled at him. He answered my smile by looking away, scowling, as he whispered something to himself.

  “Don’t apologize to that idiot, Becky,” Mark said—to Danny’s amusement—and tried to lay his arm across my shoulders.

  “I thought I told you not to call me Becky.” I pushed him aside as I walked past him.

  Mark’s laughter boomed behind me, unnaturally loud and harsh—almost intimidating.

  “All right. I’m sorry, Becky.”

  ***

  We reached the next town around noon, judging by the punishing sun overhead. A handful of days before, it would’ve been just another upper-middle class town on Long Island’s southern shore, much like New Jerusalem. Not anymore. The wooden houses slanted at weird angles, and those made out of brick had simply collapsed, the odor of decay seeping through the rubble. The pavement had cracked and shifted, sometimes rising or dropping by over a foot. Wooden utility poles lay broken along the road or smashed over abandoned cars, leaving only shattered stumps standing.

  We looted a surviving hardware store, taking wheelbarrows and loading them with tools, empty gas cans, and other supplies written on the scavenging list. I maneuvered the orange wheelbarrow I’d taken carefully along the fractured road out of town, stepping over the power lines lying on the ground even though no electricity flowed through them. The guys weren’t so careful. They plowed their wheelbarrows through the wreckage with a deafening clatter.

  “Hey, let’s check out that gas station. Maybe it hasn’t been looted yet.” Mark pointed ahead with the rolled-up supply list.

  The station only had two gas pumps. Its aqua-colored roof tipped over to the side, smashed next to the sidewalk. A small convenience store stood about forty feet away from the pumps, painted bright white with aqua trim along the roof. All of its windows had been shattered, but the wide cracks along the walls showed evidence of the earthquake rather than looters.

  “Don’t you guys make a note of what places you’ve searched already?” I asked, putting down the wheelbarrow and wiped the sweat off my face.

  “Sure, but it’s not like we’re the only ones around,” Vincent said. “Most people have gone to hide to the east, as far away from the city as possible, but they come over here every now and then, looking for supplies.” He pushed his clanging wheelbarrow toward the gas station.

  “That’s what we’ve got these for.” Danny stroked the ornate shotgun that hung from his shoulder by a leather strap. “Most of the time they’re friendly, but some scavenger teams swear they’ve had to fight them off. No one’s been hurt, though… at least, not yet.”

  I picked up my wheelbarrow and strode to the gas station after the others, trying not to show my apprehension at Danny’s comment. A handgun with a single clip of ammunition wouldn’t take me very far in a fight.

  “Hey, Rebecca, could you help us out and fill those cans with diesel while we check out the convenience store?” Mark asked once we reached the station. He pointed at the red plastic containers I carried. I hesitated for a second, preferring to go into the store’s shade rather than stay out in the sun, pumping gas. There might’ve even been some snacks or something left inside to quiet my rumbling stomach.

  At least he hadn’t called me Becky, though. Besides, if things went smoothly during our scavenge run, maybe there wouldn’t be a problem with me joining the town’s militia after all.

  “Sure,” I said and headed toward the pumps.

  “Thank you, beautiful. If you see something scary out here, just scream, and we’ll come to your rescue, all right?” Mark flashed me a grin.

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll let you know when the cans are full, so you gentlemen can carry them back to town.”

  The boys snickered and followed Mark into the convenience store. Tommy reached the threshold last and actually smiled at me before entering the store. I smiled back and even waved at him, wondering if he’d started warming up to me. It wasn’t hard to believe that his awkward and bitter exterior had been the result of years of bullying, and that there was a perfectly normal and well-adjusted guy beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.

  Once I’d walked over to the nearest gas pump and unscrewed the containers, I unhooked the diesel nozzle and held it in the gas can. I pressed the handle, but as the seconds went by, not a drop of fuel reached the container. Since I didn’t own a car, I thought that maybe I'd missed a step, or had done something wrong, so I checked the pump to see if there was a problem.

  I closed my eyes and sighed, holding back the urge to swear.

  Of course. No electricity, dammit. Those bastards!

  The indicators were blank. The pump was dead. I slammed the nozzle back i
n its place, and as if on cue, the guys broke out in hysterical laughter, lined up just outside the convenience store.

  My face heated up with embarrassment. I grabbed the five-gallon plastic gas cans and stormed up to them. “Hey, really funny, guys.”

  “Crap, I’m sorry. I forgot you have to pay before you can use the pump. You can borrow my credit card if you want,” Mark said between fits of laughter.

  I cracked a smile but still hurled a gas can straight at Mark’s face. He caught it in midair, just a few inches away from his nose. Danny and Vincent took refuge inside the convenience store, so I threw the other one at Tommy, too distracted by Mark’s catch and his own laughter to notice. The gas can smacked him right in the ear. He grabbed it and howled in pain, which prompted the other guys to laugh even harder.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you? It’s not my fault if you’re too much of a dumb cunt to fall for that!” he yelled, a sliver of saliva hanging from his mouth.

  The laughter died out as if doused by a bucket of ice water. The boys just stared at Tommy, their lips still half-curled in a smile—shocked. A few tears welled up in my eyes. They were tears of anger.

  “Yo, Tommy—what the hell?” Vincent asked, stepping out of the convenience store and walking toward him.

  Tommy shuffled away. He rubbed his ear and gasped for breath. “I bet she won’t even put out.”

  I strode over to him, fists clenched.

  “What, you going to kick my ass now? Jesus, I’m so scared.” Tommy's voice was mockingly whiny.

  I lifted a fist up to my face and pulled it back—telegraphing my punch. Just as Tommy covered his face with his arms, I drove the tip of my boot straight into his groin in a swift kick. He screamed and fell to his knees, cradling his genitals. I turned to the other guys, but they laughed instead of coming to his aid.

  “That was just sad, bro,” Danny said, his face red from laughing.

  Tommy screamed through gritted teeth and reached for his handgun. He glared at me, his reddened eyes wide with anger. The moist paths left by his tears glistened on his flushed cheeks. He pulled his gun out of its holster. I did the same.

  Tommy aimed at me but didn’t fire. Instead, he grabbed the slide with his left hand and pulled it back, chambering a round. It only took a second, but it gave me time to aim at his leg.

  I pulled the trigger.

  The blast echoed throughout the town’s ruins. Tommy screamed in pain as he dropped his weapon. He fell face first to the ground, clutching his wounded leg, and rolled to his back. A cluster of blood splatters stained the concrete.

  Oh God.

  I just stood there, my gun still aimed at Tommy’s quivering body, as Mark and the others rushed to assist him. The dark-red patch on his jeans around the bullet wound got larger and larger by the second while his moans became fainter.

  The gun rattled in my hands. My head felt light, a cold sensation spreading from my chest to the tip of my fingers as Tommy’s blood kept spilling on the ground. It all seemed unreal, like a dream—a nightmare—every second crawling by in slow motion.

  “Oh, God, n-no… please help me. Come on… oh, Jesus, p-please don’t let me die,” Tommy stammered, covering his wound. Bright-red blood seeped through his fingers.

  “Shit, shit, Tommy! What the hell?” Danny yelled, crouched by Tommy’s side. He stared at me, on the verge of tears. “What the hell did you do? Jesus Christ.”

  I opened my mouth to answer but could barely breathe. I couldn’t even make myself lower the gun.

  Vincent pressed his hands over the wound and frantically stuttered reassurances to his friend. Mark took off his shirt and squashed it over Vincent’s blood-soaked hands. The green fabric turned brown as Tommy’s blood soaked through it.

  “Doesn’t anyone know what to do? For Christ’s sake, lift his leg or something!” Danny screamed, looking everywhere but at Tommy’s pale face. Vincent let go of Tommy’s wound and rushed to raise his leg. A crimson puddle spread across the grey concrete.

  “Crap, you… you must’ve got an artery or something,” Vincent mumbled, his lips trembling as he looked at me.

  I took a step back, shaking my head as I finally aimed my gun to the ground, even if my finger still curled around the trigger. Tears dribbled down my chin. The sight of all that blood blanked my mind. Tommy sobbed in between short, panicked gasps. He clutched Mark’s shoulder with an ashen hand, his lips trembling.

  “Please don’t let me die, man. Make it stop… I’m cold… Jesus, please help me…”

  “Calm down, Tommy. You’re going to be okay—just calm down. It’s just your leg, okay? We’ll stop the bleeding, and we’re taking you home, okay? You’re going to be fine, Tommy, I promise. Just calm down,” Mark said, pressing his blood-soaked shirt against the wound.

  Tommy’s face suddenly twitched and immediately relaxed—his painful sobbing cut short.

  Mark removed his belt in one violent tug. His holstered forty-five fell to the ground with a sharp clack. Danny pressed the blood-drenched shirt against the wound while Mark secured it with his belt.

  “Get all that crap off and bring that here!” Mark's teary eyes went from me to my wheelbarrow. “We’ve got to get him back to town!” My feet remained glued to the floor even as I automatically nodded in short, timid jerks.

  Tommy’s eyes lost focus, and his hand slipped off Mark’s shoulder. It landed on the blood puddle with a muted splash.

  “Tommy… Tommy, wake up. Come on, you bastard, speak to me! Come on!” Mark screamed as he shook Tommy’s limp body. Vincent slowly lowered the wounded leg, his gaze fixed on Tommy’s peaceful face. Danny pressed two shaking, bloodied fingers against Tommy’s neck. We all stared at him in perfect silence.

  A few seconds later, Danny raised his tearful gaze to me.

  “You… you killed him. You killed my brother.”

  Chapter 26

  “I, I, I… I didn’t… he was going to… oh God. I just…”

  I’d killed Tommy.

  The boys stared at me in silence, their bloodied hands still on Tommy’s livid corpse, their clothes all covered in bright-red splatters. The sadness in their tearful eyes turned into reproach—into anger—as their brows hardened. They might have bullied and teased him, but clearly he was still their friend… and Danny’s brother. Mark rose to his feet.

  I trained my gun on him, taking a single step back.

  “Wait, wait!” he shouted, crouching back down and raising his palms toward me. “Calm down. We know it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Not her fault? She fucking shot him!” Danny screamed, his voice phlegmy.

  Vincent bit his lip, looking at Tommy’s vacant face. His hand inched down to his rifle.

  “Stop! Please, just… just… stay still! Oh God…” I jerked my gun from one guy to the next, making sure none of them reached for their guns. The soles of my boots ground against the concrete as I backed away. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t… he was going to…” I felt like each word got stuck in my throat, suffocating me. I swallowed the knot building up in my throat and blinked away the tears clouding my sight.

  Mark slowly kicked his bloodied handgun away and grabbed his buddies’ hands.

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Rebecca. Okay? Just put down your gun, and we’ll talk this through, okay?” Mark tried to smile, but his jaw trembled slightly. “No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”

  Mark’s voice wavered with desperation, just as it had when he'd promised Tommy everything would be okay. Now, Tommy’s blood trickled down his bare chest.

  “You… you first,” I said, staring at Danny’s shotgun. My pistol went from Vincent to Mark to Danny and back again. I kept retreating, one inch at a time.

  “Yeah, okay… but don’t shoot,” Mark said and whispered to his buddies. Vincent placed his rifle on the ground and shoved it away. Danny shook his head, teeth gritted. Only a few feet stood between us—I could see his nostrils flaring up with every breath—and he had a shotgu
n hanging from his shoulder. At that range, he wouldn’t even have to aim.

  I peeled my left hand off my gun and lowered it against my thigh, keeping the iron sights lined up at Danny. Mark grasped the leather sling attached to Danny’s shotgun and spoke right into his ear. A few endless seconds passed, and Mark finally slid the shotgun off Danny’s shoulder, onto the bloodied ground, and kicked it away. Danny kept his eyes fixed on me, scowling. Mark took a deep breath.

  “Okay,” Danny said. “Now you—”

  I ran. I just turned back and ran away as fast as I could. I had no idea where I was going; I just wanted to get away from them, away from Tommy’s lifeless body, away from everything.

  “Rebecca!” Mark shouted, but I didn’t look back. I ducked low as I ran, zigzagging between the cars left on the road, my hand still clutching the gun. My heart pounded against my chest, anticipating a barrage of gunfire to fall upon me.

  I turned a corner, but no one had fired at me yet. Wrecked houses went by in a blur, the wind stinging my sore, teary eyes. The cold, leaden sensation in my legs melted away with every block I left behind, muscles burning from the strain of my breathless flight. Mark’s screams rang out around me, but his words were barely a distorted whisper carried by the wind. I kept on running eastward, my back to the sun.

  Soon, I cleared the town and ran into a forested area. My blouse stuck to my body, drenched in sweat. Every unsteady stride I took shot painful stings through my body, but I only holstered the gun and ran even faster. Leaves rustled around me, birds and squirrels fleeing from my frantic wheezing. My stomach hurt as if nails had been driven through it. Fuzzy black dots flashed before my eyes. My head felt light as I ran under the thickening woodland canopy. Finally, I collapsed in the shade, scraping my hands on the rough forest ground.