Mercy (The Last Army Book 1)

by Freeter, John

  “Seems like the pastor wants to expand his flock,” Martin said as Brother Tim’s voice came through the speaker. This time, instead of the theatrical eloquence he'd displayed back in town, he spoke in a clear and measured way.

  “I know that the burden placed upon you in this dark hour must feel greater than you can bear, but take comfort in the certainty that it is not yours alone to do so. Now that the Lord is testing our faith is the time for us to join together as brothers and sisters in Christ and endure our final trials together. Know that you have a home here, in our town of New Jerusalem.”

  Afterward, he began to give details of the town's location, using both regular directions and coordinates. The message then repeated itself.

  “Astounding, isn’t it? I can't believe they’ve managed to set up such a powerful broadcasting station so quickly. You can get their signal clearly throughout the island. Meanwhile, we’ve barely been able to scrounge up a hobbyist’s radio.” Mr. Raj looked with bitterness at his machine.

  “So, you still haven’t been able to build a second radio?” Martin placed the bucketful of venison by his feet. “Because I thought he had an agreement.”

  “No, not quite,” Mr. Raj said, opening the bucket and then eyeing its contents. “But I can still give you some news in exchange for this, if you’ll take it. Same as last time?”

  Martin sighed. He caught me staring at him, biting my lip. After almost a week at New Jerusalem—cut off from the rest of the world—finally getting some news would be amazing. Martin soon nodded with a reassuring smile.

  “All right, but I really need that radio, Pallav.”

  “You’ll be able to get reports from the situation in China soon.” Mr. Raj leaned over the desk to grab a rectangular bulletin board from behind it. His wife cleared the rest of the table, and Mr. Raj gently placed the board—about thirty by twenty inches in size—on the desk. A map of Long Island and the surrounding areas had been secured to the board, with colored pins stuck to it.

  A knot built up in my throat as I studied the map. A piece of red string ran through the middle of Nassau County, and everything to the west of that was a sea of red pins. Blue ones were stuck on the eastern area of the island except for a solitary blue pin over New Jerusalem—right next to the red string. A bunch of crosses had been drawn in black pen along the northern part of the island, each with a date and time scribbled next to it. At the center of each black cross was a hole, as if pins had been stuck in them and then removed.

  “The army’s been able to hold their perimeter.” Mr. Raj pointed at the red string. “But four more places were attacked last night.” His finger travelled eastward to Long Island’s northern shore, stopping at four black crosses in turn. “Very few survivors.”

  “Attacked? What, by those monsters?” I looked from Martin to Mr. Raj.

  “Thankfully no. Only New Jerusalem has been attacked by those things, as far as I know. All of this has been the work of the raiders.” Mr. Raj swept the tip of his finger across the black marks on the island’s northern shore.

  “Raiders? What raiders?” I asked.

  “From the mainland,” Mr. Raj said, indicating the red pins stuck along the shore west of Long Island. “It’s amazing how fast those bastards managed to organize themselves. They’ve been attacking pretty much since the day of the earthquake.”

  “You can’t be serious. How did you manage to get all of this information?” I held onto the desk to steady myself.

  “By using the news that's relayed every so often across different stations on the island,” Mrs. Raj said, walking up to her husband. “A few survivalist types had working transmitters shielded against the EMP—or whatever it was.” She added, glancing at Mr. Raj. “We hoped to hear of a safe escape route from the island, but no one’s heard back from anyone who’s tried to leave by boat. It’s obvious the raiders don’t want anyone leaving and have the coastline pretty heavily patrolled.”

  “What about the city? Have you heard anything from there?” I asked, automatically reaching for my necklace as I thought of my parents. Mr. Raj and his wife exchanged a timid look.

  “Nothing good,” Mr. Raj said, frowning. “Apparently, raiders have taken over the city, as well.”

  I grabbed Mrs. Raj’s arm. “Taken over the city? But what about the monsters?”

  “They’re still there, but… we don’t know why they don’t attack the raiders.” Mrs. Raj lowered her gaze to the map.

  “Could someone be controlling them or something?” I looked at Martin. “Remember how those monsters quit chasing after us right at the edge of the city?”

  “It sounds likely,” Martin said, nodding, his voice hoarse.

  “I’m telling you, it’s the aliens,” Mr. Raj whispered to his wife. She didn’t bother to contradict him.

  Chapter 29

  The sun melted behind the sea of pine trees to the west as we neared Martin’s cabin. We hadn’t spoken a word since we'd left the Indian settlement, my mind still reeling from what I’d learned there. I'd expected bad news from the outside world, but raiders, working side by side with demons? My stomach twisted into a knot as I imagined what this bizarre turn of events meant for my parents. Part of me wished I’d stayed in New Jerusalem, happy in my ignorance.

  It was too late for that, of course. Not only had I found out just how bad things were out there, but I’d killed a local kid during my ill-fated expedition with New Jerusalem’s scavengers. I pondered the worst-case scenario that awaited me back in town. Only God knew what would pass for law in our apocalyptical world. The familiar concept of “innocent until proven guilty” might’ve been abandoned for Old Testament justice. Witch burning could be making a comeback for all I knew.

  “If you’re pushing on to New Jerusalem, I’d be happy to go with you, Rebecca,” Martin said, looking at my face—which was plastered with sweat despite the air’s chilliness. “It’s getting dark soon, and… well, you’ve seen the map. It’s not exactly safe out here.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” I wiped my face with my sleeve.

  “To be honest, though… maybe you shouldn’t go back. There are safer places to the east, along the southern shore. At least those areas haven’t been attacked yet. I’ve got an extra room in the cabin; you could spend the night, and tomorrow I’ll take you there. What do you think?” The edge of his lips twitched into a smile despite his wrinkled brow.

  I rubbed my thumb’s cuticle against the rough grip of my gun—returned to me by the Indian guards—as I considered Martin’s offer. Silly fantasies flashed into my mind of the two of us living in his charming little cabin like exiles forced to live on the fringes of society. I looked into Martin’s large, dark eyes. They sparkled as the sun’s golden rays struck them, turning almost hazel… the color of Karla’s eyes.

  “Thanks for the offer, Martin, but I’ve got something important I need to deal with in town.”

  I couldn’t leave Karla behind. The fallout of Tommy’s murder was bound to reach her, being so close to me during our time in New Jerusalem. Besides, I might be able to persuade her to leave town once I explained just how messed up things were and how vulnerable New Jerusalem really was.

  “I might drop by for a visit some other time, though,” I said, giving Martin a sideways glance.

  “I’ll hold you to that.” A smile spread across his ruggedly handsome face.

  ***

  A full moon hung high in the sky by the time we reached New Jerusalem. Apart from the drumming of our boots on the pavement and the wind blowing through the trees, a few scattered gunshots could be heard along the way, coming from the west. The town was too silent for the distant firing to be due to a demonic attack, and its dark streets were deserted, so I wondered if the raiders were making a move on the military’s perimeter—maybe testing its strength.

  Fuzzy beams of yellow light swept the ground around the outskirts of New Jerusalem. The militia must’ve set up a night watch around town after the previous night’s attack.


  “I’m heading back now, Rebecca,” Martin said, halting his march.

  “Oh, okay. Hey, thanks a bunch for, you know… escorting me.” I looked into his eyes. Soothing as the sight was, my gut felt no less empty and cold with dread at my return to New Jerusalem. “By the way, could you hold onto this for me?” My hand shook as I handed Martin my gun. “The guy I shot… well, it was one of the local kids. I’m pretty sure they won’t let me keep it.”

  “I see. Sure, I’ll keep it safe for you.” Martin took my gun and looked in the direction of the town for a few seconds and then back at me. “It’s not too late, you know. We can still go back.”

  I sighed, closing my eyes, and shook my head. “No. My friend—Karla—she’s still in there, and… well, I’ve got to make sure she’s okay.” I tried to smile.

  Martin smiled back, his gesture equally unconvincing. “I understand.” His face suddenly turned serious. “Listen, Rebecca, if they ask where you’ve been, just tell them you got lost, okay? It’d be best if you didn’t mention me or what happened at the airport.”

  “Sure, yeah. Don’t worry—I won’t make any trouble for you.” I stared at my boots.

  “I’m more concerned about you spreading tales of the scary Indian guards who are sitting on top of a million gallons of jet fuel.” Martin snickered. “You’ve seen their weaponry. Raiding their camp would be a cakewalk.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” I took a step toward him. Another deep sigh left my chest. “Well, I’ll see you later, then.”

  “See you soon.” Martin held out his hand for a handshake.

  I didn’t take it, closing the gap between us in a stride and wrapping my arms around him instead. His hands caressed my back, but his touch felt light—restrained. The smell of deer blood had worn off but had been replaced by the dizzying smell of stale sweat. I could only imagine what I smelled like, so I didn’t comment on it.

  “Thanks again.” I took a step back.

  “My pleasure. It was fun.” Martin disappeared into the night, and I turned back toward New Jerusalem. After taking in a lungful of the cold night air, I crossed myself and marched forward with my hands in the air, fearing one of the sentries would be a scared kid, eager to fire at anything that moved. A minute later, a guard’s flashlight swept over me.

  “Hey! You there, stop! Put your hands where I can see them!” the guard screamed, his voice young, almost whiny. Blinded by his flashlight, I raised my hands even higher. Two sets of feet stomped toward me. Once they reached me, the first guard finally lowered his flashlight. The skinny, pimple-faced guy’s appearance fit his voice.

  An older man stood beside him, about half a head taller. A greying beard had begun to sprout on his careworn face. He cradled an assault rifle under his arm, aimed at me. “Okay, you’re going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing out here.”

  The skinny guy raised his flashlight back to my face. It was like an interrogation scene from a police drama. I squeezed my eyes shut, and fortunately, the older man turned the light away.

  “My name’s Rebecca Stirling. I’m staying with some medical assistants in town. I went out this morning to look for supplies, but we had… problems, and I ended up getting lost.” I struggled to maintain eye contact with the man.

  The young guy leaned toward my interrogator’s ear, staring at me as he whispered. His pimpled skin looked deathly pale under the moon’s white light.

  The man nodded, his piercing brown eyes fixed on my face, and then glanced at my empty holster. “Where’s your firearm?”

  “I tossed it. After the… accident. I don’t remember where, exactly.” I slowly lowered my arms—which had begun to feel sore. The guards didn’t object.

  “We’ll need you to come with us, Rebecca.” The man stepped aside, clearing a space for me in between them.

  “Go where?” I asked, my feet firmly rooted on the ground. The guards knew who I was and probably what I’d done. Their cool demeanor only made me more anxious, like a helpless doe shivering in place as a pack of wolves circled around her, waiting for the right time to strike.

  “Town hall. Mayor Gleason would like to have a word with you.”

  I recalled the dark-suited man at the stage during the service for the victims of the demonic attack. The fact that the mayor was involved in the affair helped me breathe easier as the man surely would’ve been interested in maintaining the laws and regulations that had given him his authority. The odds of receiving a sound beating at the hands of an angry mob, followed by a shot on the back of the head, seemed a little more remote—as long as the guard wasn’t just lying to walk me into a trap, of course.

  Chapter 30

  We walked for about fifteen minutes through New Jerusalem’s deserted streets. The guards kept a few steps behind me, the pimpled-faced guy aiming the flashlight on the road, as they led me through the northern part of town—an area I hadn’t explored during my brief stay there. I strained to hear signs of people gathered nearby, but all I heard was our footsteps, my beating heart, and the faint, metallic clinking of the older guard’s assault rifle.

  I sighed as a colonial-style building came into view, featuring exposed red brick, a church-like tower, and Greek columns at the entrance. The guard hadn’t lied—they’d taken me to town hall.

  A white, wooden fence hastily erected in front of the building caught my eye. Its flimsiness suggested it wasn't meant for protection, and as we walked closer I noticed messages written in black pen across the boards. Nicknames, drawings, and addresses—all scribbled in distinct types of handwriting—accompanied each message. Refugees' prayers. I stopped in my tracks and swept my gaze around the board, looking for my mother’s neat handwriting or my dad’s careless scribble.

  “You can write something down if you want,” the pimple-faced guard said, aiming his flashlight at a thick black pen hanging from the fence by a piece of string.

  I took the marker, thinking of a new message for my parents, when a strange hesitation came over me—as if writing down their names would mean I’d never see them again. I dropped the marker.

  “Sorry, but… have you guys heard anything from the city?” I asked, the red pins covering it on Mr. Raj’s map still vivid in my mind.

  The older guard cleared his throat before the younger one could answer. “No, not really. We’re starting to get some information by radio, but things are still hazy over there.” The man rubbed his lower lip with the tip of his thumb. “I’m sure the city will be cleansed of those monsters soon, though.” The bleakness of reality showed clearly in the deepening wrinkles of his face.

  “Oh, good. Thanks.”

  We resumed walking to the town hall. Six guards had been posted by the entrance. The guards who’d brought me there explained the situation to their peers and left.

  One of the female guards at the town hall—a stocky woman wearing a frilly beige sweater with khaki cargo pants—marched up to me. “Lift your arms.” I’d barely done so when she patted me down—thoroughly. My face flushed. I wondered if this was the standard procedure for everyone visiting town hall or if they just were extra careful with me… the murderer. “Follow me,” she commanded.

  I marched after her, feeling my way through the twisting halls as only the moonlight streaming from the windows lit the building. My boots constantly banged against the various crates lining the walls, which were probably filled with supplies. The woman had no problem navigating the narrow corridors, and we soon got to a set of open double doors leading to a reception room at the back of the building.

  A warm orange glow came from inside, courtesy of the electric lamps scattered around the room—all of them connected to a small portable generator rumbling in the corner. The receptionist, a young brunette in her early thirties, stood behind an ornate wooden desk in the opposite corner, facing away from us, as she rummaged inside a filing cabinet. Although professionally cut, her dark skirt suit seemed a size too small.

  “In you go.” The guard stayed by t
he entrance, partly concealed in the shadows.

  I stepped into the room’s warm glow. Not wanting to disturb the receptionist, I took a peek inside the spacious office attached to the room, where the mayor was working behind a wall of stacked papers. Although just a few silver streaks tinged the man’s black hair, his face already showed some wrinkles, especially around his mouth as he dragged on a cigarette. I bit my lip when I noticed his black suit and tie. The mayor must’ve made an appearance at Tommy’s wake.

  “Can I help you?” the receptionist asked, startling me.

  “Uh, yeah. My name’s Rebecca Stirling. I was told the mayor wanted to see me.”

  She fluttered her long eyelashes as she glanced at the entrance, where the guard still stood, watching us.

  “Yes, of course.” The receptionist placed a light hand on my shoulder as she pointed to a cream-colored couch by the wall. “Please take a seat over there; I’ll see if the mayor’s ready for you.” She smiled politely as she walked to the office.

  A painful tingling shot through my body as I melted into the surprisingly comfortable couch—every single one of my joints was sore after marching across the island all day long. I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, wondering whether they’d bring in Mark and the other boys for the meeting. The fact that the boys hadn’t shot at me as I fled was slightly reassuring, but Danny wouldn’t let his brother’s death slide. If he managed to convince the others to testify against me, well… I’d certainly regret coming back to New Jerusalem.

  “So it was you, then. You killed Thomas,” the guard suddenly said, taking a few steps into the light. Her hand rested casually on the grip of her holstered gun. “He was a very sweet boy.”

  “It was an accident,” I said, struggling not to let my voice waver.

  She gave me a scoffing look. Fortunately, the receptionist returned before the guard could elaborate on her disbelief.