Jesus, if I can smell it off him the tropes sure as hell will too— wait, how can I smell his fear?
Mercy’s thoughts were a jumble of sights, sounds and smells. Her senses were heightened, she saw things differently; details in the road and buildings, light and shade were altered, even in the oppressive rain. Her mind darted, processing the environment; burnt out cars, dark alleyways, empty weather-beaten buildings. Every place held a fascination, an escape, an advantage.
It feels different, no— it’s just the adrenaline, but what if it’s something they’ve done to me? As if in answer pain gripped her stomach, a wave of nausea washed over her, and then was gone as quickly as it had come.
Roberts slowed, weaving the bike through abandoned cars. Mercy looked behind, there was no sign of pursuit, the wind direction had changed, the smell of burning rubber came to them through the rain. Mercy spotted a sign; South Edgemere Street, the street was almost gridlocked with rusting cars. The cars were empty, some burnt out, most of their windows were smashed. Mercy was calm, her eyes explored the scene, her mind hungry for information.
Roberts brought the bike to a halt. The rain had eased a little, Mercy shivered in the cool breeze, goose bumps prickling her skin. She looked up the street, smoke billowed in the distance. She squeezed Roberts’s shoulder and pointed, he nodded. The bike’s engine idled, sounding louder than it should be. Mercy imagined tropes homing in on the sound. Gunshots rang out ahead; pistol shots and automatic weapons fire.
“Hold on,” Mercy said. Before Roberts could object she had jumped off the bike and was climbing onto the bonnet, then the roof of the nearest car. From her vantage point she saw movement a quarter of a mile ahead on one side of a lake. Dark shapes were converging on a house on the shore. Muzzle flashes twinkled from the ground floor windows. A loud explosion rent the air as a fragmentation grenade detonated in front of the house.
Mercy climbed down from the car. “I think some of your buddies are in trouble up ahead, looks as if the tropes have found them.”
“They’re screwed,” Roberts said. “Probably trying to make it to the airfield like us. We need to get off this road, get away from here,” he looked around frowning. Fort Pond lay to the west, he looked right, they could take South Edin Street then Fairview Avenue east. If he could make it to the golf course they could cut cross country and avoid the tropes. They’d join West Lake Drive and make it to the docks.
The plan gelled in his mind, he turned the bike towards South Edin Street, gunfire continued in the distance.
Poor bastards, Roberts thought, they’re trope food for sure.
Once they were on the smaller roads the going was easier; less cars and obstructions. Painted quarantine symbols decorated the houses along the street. She remembered the desperate attempts of the Manhattan Public Health Department in the early days of the outbreak. Attempts to gather information, to quarantine whole neighbourhoods, then the Centre for Disease Control and the National Guard had become involved. Her flashbacks felt real, vivid, old pain returned, old sorrow haunting her.
Some of the houses looked untouched, Mercy tried to imagine families behind the front doors; kids watching TV, Sunday dinners, sprinklers in the gardens. Then she saw the headless torso. Roberts swerved nearly hitting it, the bike screeched to a halt, its engine stalling. Roberts dismounted and crouched beside the torso. It wore the same shirt as him, New State Army. The ground was bloodstained where the man’s arms and legs had been.
“He’s been pulled apart,” Roberts said. “Butchered by those things, this is new behaviour—” Roberts leaned forwards and touched the torso’s shirt. Mercy saw a name tag.
“Hendricks… I knew him,” Roberts said, his eyes glazed over, “radio operator, a good man. Wife, two kids up north, back in the Safe Zone— fuck, they’ve even taken his dog tags.” Roberts turned to look at Mercy. “See this,” he indicated the torso, “this is why we need to get you out of here, we need to make it to the extraction point. You are important, you are the key to stopping them—” Roberts shut down, his face hardened. He searched the torso’s shirt pockets and took out a photo of a woman and two young children.
Mercy looked at Roberts. Safe Zone? What Safe Zone? Up north? Another piece of the jigsaw puzzle, for every piece there were more questions. More gunshots and a large explosion echoed in the distance.
Roberts snapped back to the present. “Those men have bought us some time, and it looks as if the tropes have already passed through here so we’ll keep going this way.” He jumped back on the bike and they turned into Fairfield Drive. The houses were fewer, the area was heavily wooded. The road was almost totally overgrown with weeds and long grass. Roberts rode to the end of the road stopping in front of a driveway.
“On foot from here,” he said, his voice flat.
They got off the bike and pushed it into the long grass. Mercy approved, it was wise to hide their tracks. She reloaded her revolver. Roberts had clearly encountered the new breed of trope before, it was best to avoid them, engagement was a last resort. The driveway extended ahead of them, the air was chill, the rain had stopped. Mercy looked at the early afternoon sky, the wind was still strong. She was no longer hungry, she felt strong, her fatigue had gone.
I should be totally wasted, what’s happening to me?
Roberts pushed his way down the driveway. Knotweed and ivy blocked the way, he froze and raised a fist. Rustling came from ahead, Mercy gripped her revolver. A glimpse of brown through the green, four legs, three pairs of dark eyes; Muntjac deer. Mercy let her breath out. The deer stared at them for a second then crossed the driveway into the trees on the right.
Life goes on the same as before… for some, Mercy reflected. Her eyes hardened, but not for us.
Roberts moved up the driveway, they came to a large building, its windows boarded, yellow paint numbers and symbols on the front door. Roberts skirted the house and went to the back garden; a swimming pool stretched out behind the double garage. Nature had taken over, the pool was full of long grass and moss. Poppies and wild flowers lined the pool edge. Mercy smiled on seeing the flowers, their colour and beauty temporarily distracting her.
They continued through the garden and climbed over a low fence. The terrain was overgrown but different, Mercy realised they were on a golf course. She looked ahead, the long grass offered plenty of cover, a stand of trees lay in the distance. They pushed their way through the grass.
A few seconds later the hairs on Mercy’s neck stood up. She turned and looked back at the house, the upper floor windows were not boarded. A skeletal woman was pressed up against one of the windows, staring at her, pawing at the glass, teeth bared.
So, they’ve got skinnies here in Montauk, Mercy thought.
The dead woman had probably been trapped in the house since the Fall. Mercy felt sorry for her, death no longer held the promise of peace, only unending torment. Nature had really been screwed, it was wrong, crazy. The minds who had unleashed this hell, this cull as Roberts called it, were truly unhinged. They needed to be taken down. Cold anger broke through Mercy’s disengagement, her numbness began to fade.
They made it to the trees. Roberts stopped and took a drink of water from his canteen, he handed it to Mercy. She took a mouthful and passed it back.
“How are you feeling? You holding up?” he asked.
“I’ve been better,” Mercy replied. “You never answered my question… about my friends, where are they?”
Roberts held her gaze for a moment then looked away. “I don’t know, the biotech people have them, for the programme. You guys came out of the Manhattan Quarantine Zone, you survived the city for two years, so they’ve probably found a use for your friends. You’re the important one though, with your genetic immunity. You’ll be debriefed when we get to base, Colonel Randel has plans for you. It’ll be good, you may even get to see the Safe Zone.”
Mercy looked up, it was quiet, the birdsong had stopped. “We’ve got to move Roberts,” she said.
/> Keep moving, move, move, move— Mercy’s mantra urged her on.
Roberts nodded, they walked through the trees, there was less light under the canopy, they concentrated on their footing. After twenty yards they came to a small clearing. Roberts stopped and stared ahead, Mercy followed his gaze, amongst the chaos of leaves and branches she saw a vertical line that did not fit. Then another, and another, she counted six and frowned.
Roberts eased forwards and the puzzle came into sharp focus. The first hanging body was a young girl about twelve years old wearing a floral print dress, her feet bare. Mercy’s eyes flicked to the five other bodies, they were badly decomposed but still had recognisable features, the trees had afforded them some protection from the elements. Mercy felt nothing, she had seen things before, things that had made her cry, things that haunted her still, but she had no tears left. Roberts cursed under his breath and walked around the clearing, skirting the bodies.
Mercy followed him passing close to the young girl, she noticed the girl’s feet, her nails were long and curled. Mercy remembered reading somewhere that nails continued to grow for a time after death. A breeze pushed through the leaves, branches creaked above. The girl’s toes moved, Mercy stared at them, was it her imagination? A trick of the light? She looked at the girl’s face; sunken cheeks, desiccated skin drawn back from yellowed teeth. The girl’s eyes flicked open staring at Mercy.
Mercy took a step back raising her revolver. The girl’s fingers twitched, clawing at the air, her shoulder jerked, her jaw clenched, but the rope around her neck held. Mercy wanted to end it for the girl, there was a story here in this glade. This group, this family had come to this end together, perhaps thinking they would have peace from the infection. Desperation had led them. Determination and ruthlessness had given them the courage to complete the grisly task. Except it had not been enough to defeat the virus. The virus still lived in their worn and battered bodies, the virus possessed their remains, haunting their bones.
Mercy turned and left the girl. Skinnies were worse than tropes in some ways, their humanity had not been totally obliterated, at least externally. She pushed on after Roberts and did not look back. The rest of the golf course passed in a haze of weeds and rough ground. They avoided the clubhouse on their right, instead following the remains of a long straight section until they came to a road with a sign marked: FAIRWAY GREEN.
Roberts checked the road and gave Mercy the all clear. She stepped out of the bushes and joined him, wind tore through the treetops. Mercy realised Roberts was talking to her.
“What did you say?” she said pointing to her ears and shaking her head.
He leaned in towards her. “Storm’s getting worse, that was just a lull back there. We might need to find shelter when we get to the docks.”
Mercy nodded, thinking of the skinny back at the house. She looked up at the sky, the clouds had darkened even further. “Yeah,” she said.
They continued on foot joining a long avenue that took them east to West Lake Drive. Roberts pointed at a body of water on their right, “Lake Montauk, the airstrip is on the far side. Best place to cross is at the docks.”
Mercy looked across the water to the distant shore, she wondered how many people had taken their boats and escaped to the small islands off the mainland only to run out of supplies or come down with the infection. She wondered if they would find any boats at the docks at all. They kept to the centre of the road, guns ready. Twenty minutes later they arrived at a series of slip roads.
Roberts pointed to the right. “This one takes us to Star Island and the marina, we should be able to find a boat there.” He strode on.
Mercy watched as he walked away, the sky and the clouds pressed in on her, she stared but did not see. Instead, a flashback coursed through her mind; bright lights, a room, stark, clinical. Flynn lying on a gurney beside her, men in hazmat suits hovering over Flynn, ignoring her. The images slowed as she remembered a man lifting a dish off a metallic table, straw coloured fluid filled the dish, she saw into it for the briefest moment. Something dark and fleshy moved in the dish.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Roberts shouted, his face inches from hers, his eyes agitated. “We’ve got to keep moving, why’ve you stopped? Pull yourself together.”
Mercy blinked. “OK, OK, I just got— distracted. Some bad memories that’s all. Let’s go.”
Roberts stared at her a little longer. “OK then, keep close.”
He turned around and started walking.
Mercy took one step, then another and with each step her sense of dread increased. Each step was taking her closer to finding Flynn and answers to questions she did not want to know.
Chapter 5 Star Island
The road took them across a narrow strip of land to Star Island. A sandy inlet lay to the right and a marina on the left. The marina was empty, apart from a few sunken boats, their masts rising above the water. Mercy remembered the boats the army had scuttled at the Chelsea Piers in Manhattan. There was a story here too, the pandemic had struck in the summer months, Montauk would have been full of tourists. The infection would have caused chaos, the same as everywhere else.
Wind tore at the surface of the water, white waves stretched into the bay. They continued down Star Island Road, a car park and yacht club appeared on the right and a gas station on the left. Roberts was slowing, they had been on the move for hours.
This is where mistakes are made, Mercy thought. People get careless, we need a break—
Boats on the left, up on stilts for repairs, more cars and yet another marina on the left. The road curved around, Roberts turned and waited for Mercy. “That’s the Coastguard Station, it’ll be a good place to wait out the storm, we’re close enough to the jetty at the end of the island. We’ll find something there to get us across to the other side. It’s possible to swim but there’s a tidal current— can you swim?”
“Yes, I can swim, a bit,” Mercy answered her mind returning to the swimming lessons at the Carmine Centre in Manhattan, not her favourite class but the orphanage had insisted that all the children learned to swim. Maybe it was worth it after all, she reflected.
Roberts opened the gate and they slipped through. He closed it and engaged the bolt.
He’s moving too fast, you gotta watch a place first, even if you’ve only left it for a few hours— Mercy held back, wary.
Roberts crept along the wall of the first Coastguard building and disappeared around the back. Mercy kept to open ground, rifle at the ready. She looked up at the first floor windows, waiting. Roberts reappeared seconds later and beckoned her forwards. She followed him to the rear of the building, he had forced a window open.
“After you,” Roberts said.
Mercy looked at him, he was nervous. The pressure was getting to him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He hesitated, a fraction too long. “Nothing, go on, get in there quick, before—”
Mercy saw no point in arguing, she climbed through the window, eyes searching the room. Desks, computers, papers and a radio in the corner. She crouched on the floor, listening. Nothing. Roberts clambered in after her and pulled the window shut, he stood to one side and peered out across the grass towards the fence.
Mercy watched him. “So what was that all about?”
Roberts held up his hand, he continued to stare out the window. Finally he seemed to relax, he slumped to the floor, his head held low. Mercy sat down, her back against a desk, she waited for him to speak.
“When we first came here we cleared tropes from Montauk town and the Point… mostly,” Roberts said. He stopped, took a breath and continued, “but we didn’t reach the islands; Gardiners Island and Plumb Island. There are survivors there. The infection hasn’t reached some of the islands—”
Mercy sensed his reticence. “OK… survivors, so that’s good, right?”
Roberts lifted his head and looked at her. “Infection hasn’t reached the islands but starvation has, they come ashore sometimes, to
scavenge, I saw one of their boats out there just now, on the landing, with their flag—”
Mercy raised an eyebrow and leant forwards. “They’re trouble, right?”
Roberts nodded. “The worst kind—”
Mercy knew. Starvation drove people to desperate measures, she had seen it in the city. She remembered reading somewhere that people would be prepared to kill for food if they missed six meals. She wondered how many days of starvation a person would endure before resorting to cannibalism.
“Cannibals?” Mercy asked.
Roberts nodded.
“So do you think they saw us?” Mercy asked.
“I don’t know, I don’t think so. They usually leave a couple of guys behind to guard their boat. I didn’t see anyone but that’s not to say they didn’t spot us. They usually come ashore with a raiding party, ten to fourteen people. They could be anywhere, they could be right behind us. They wiped out one of our patrols a few months back, we never found the bodies.” Roberts fell silent.
Mercy closed her eyes and pictured the route they had taken, she remembered the Coastguard buildings, she remembered hanging back, waiting for Roberts to reappear, she remembered looking at the first floor windows and—
“There’s a crow’s nest at the top of this building—” Mercy said.
Roberts looked at her, his face blank.
“We can spy on their boat from the top of this building, I noticed some kind of a lookout post on the roof. It’ll provide good cover and we can see what they’re doing.”
Roberts blinked, thinking. “Yeah, good idea, makes sense, I like it. We’ll have a 360 degree view up there, let’s do it.”
Mercy stood up. “You want to stay here? I can go up top?”
Roberts shook his head. “If we’re gonna do this, we do it together, there’s only two of us, we stand a better chance if we stick together.”
The Survival Chronicles (Book 2): Angel of Mercy Page 3