The Survival Chronicles (Book 2): Angel of Mercy

by Nally, Fergal F.

  “Thanks,” Mercy said and put the coat on. She went back to the dining table, sat down and waited for Roberts. Their plates and cutlery were still there, she put her hand on the table and palmed the nearest knife, slipping it up the parka’s sleeve.

  “I see you’re ready,” Roberts’s voice came from behind making her jump.

  “Yeah, ready for nothing,” she said, her voice deadpan.

  “A hot shower puts the world to rights,” Roberts said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  Mercy froze, it was all wrong, these men, their guns, their uniforms, their Colonel, it was rotten to the core. But the whole world was rotten, and she was at its corrupt centre. The only person she wanted to touch her was Flynn. This was the only way to find him again, the NSA held all the cards.

  “Yeah, and the hot food helps too,” she replied.

  “We’re good to go, chopper’s cranking up now, we got full tanks, next stop Sable Island. Come on, let’s go,” Roberts stood back from the table. She noticed he was armed, a Remington combat shotgun slung over his shoulder.

  She nodded at the Remington. “I thought where we were going was part of the Safe Zone, a quarantine area.”

  Roberts took her by the elbow and marched her towards the waiting Sikorsky, its rotors gathering speed. “Can’t be too careful these days, even in your own back yard.”

  Mercy gave him a sidelong glance, his hair was still wet from the shower, a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face and soaked into his shirt collar. He had the same army issue parka as her. She walked alongside him and fixed her eyes on the helicopter.

  “What’s our flight time?” she shouted over the engine roar. The rain had eased, but the clouds still looked threatening.

  “Well, this is the same storm that held us back in Montauk, we flanked it on the way up here. It’s working its way out to sea again, the pilots have fixed a route to take us around it, so two to three hours depending on conditions.”

  “They can’t fly above the storm?”

  Roberts shook his head. “No, chopper’s maximum ceiling is twelve thousand feet. This storm’s way bigger, that’s why we’re going around it.”

  They reached the helicopter’s side door, a crew member leaned out and pulled Mercy aboard. Mercy saw the name STONE on his jacket. He placed a harness around her waist and attached it to the security line, he produced a yellow life jacket and signalled for her to put it on. She gave him a look.

  “Just a precaution,” he shouted above the engine noise.

  Mercy donned the jacket and Stone checked it over. He leant in and shouted, indicating its various features, “Gas canister for self-inflation, light, whistle, buddy line—”

  Mercy took it all in, nodding her head.

  Why are we flying at all? If there’s a storm out there, why would we even want to go near it? Her internal dialogue kicked off.

  The Sikorsky lifted into the leaden sky, it felt heavy, as if it did not want to leave. Mercy looked out the side window as the helicopter banked above the airfield, she saw fires burning in the distance, a burst of tracer rounds near a cluster of buildings caught her eye. The virus was advancing, the New State Army was on the defensive.

  Roberts was withdrawn, he made no attempt to engage in conversation, instead he folded his arms and closed his eyes. The rest of the crew seemed tense and uncommunicative. Mercy lay back against the cabin wall and closed her eyes, she put her hands into the parka’s deep pockets, transferring the table knife. At least she was warm enough, she drifted off to sleep.

  A loud bang woke her. An electronic alarm sounded in the helicopter, sparks flew out of an electrical panel near Roberts. He jerked back. “What the hell was that?”

  Stone was working on another panel with Connors. “We’ve been hit, lightning, some of the circuits are fried, we’re working on it.”

  The helicopter lurched and bucked without warning. A wave of nausea welled up through Mercy as the Sikorsky lost height, she clung to the safety line and stared at the crewmen.

  OK, so they don’t hand out parachutes, they hand out life jackets. So we’re going to crash in the sea. Mercy’s mind remained calm, rational, she would deal with it just as she dealt with everything: without fear. She glanced at Roberts, he looked pale, dark rings under his eyes.

  Stone held a hand up to his flight helmet and nodded before replying into his microphone. “Roger that skipper, understood. Will prepare for emergency evacuation.”

  Stone shouted to Roberts above the engine noise. “Bird’s been hit, lightning strike, captain’s holding her but he’s had to divert to our nearest asset. We’re headed to the North Victory Gas Platform, he’s aiming to land there. I’ll get the emergency gear ready in case we don’t make it—”

  Roberts nodded and looked across at Mercy. She stared back at him, he sidled over to her. “You heard that, right?”

  Mercy nodded, “Yeah, not good.”

  “North Victory’s a sea rig, part of the gas programme, except it’s not used for gas production any more. It’s not far from Sable Island forty, fifty miles maybe. We’ll be transferred to Sable once the storm’s passed.”

  Mercy held Roberts’s eye. “What’s the rig used for now?”

  Roberts looked away, he kept silent.

  Sometimes it’s what people don’t say—

  The next hour passed in tense activity. Stone and Connors produced escape gear and dealt with the damaged electrical panel isolating it from the main system. They checked Mercy’s lifejacket and spoke to Roberts through their headsets. Mercy heard Roberts’s side of the conversation:

  “It was repurposed for containment—”

  “It’s not secure enough, the experiments—”

  “I realise that, well let’s hope the storm burns itself out pretty quick—”

  “Understood—”

  Roberts looked out the side window, his face was lit by a flash of lightning, his jaw muscles were clenched. The helicopter was being buffeted less, the crew were more relaxed. Stone went forwards to speak to the captain and returned smiling.

  “Twenty minutes to landing.” Stone gave Mercy the thumbs up and slapped Connors on the back. “We’ll get this bird fixed up in no time. I’ve been on North Victory before, it’s good, they’ve even got a pool table.”

  “So long as they’ve got cold beer—” Connors answered.

  Thirty minutes later the Sikorsky set down on the gas platform’s helipad. The storm rumbled in the distance but they were down, they had made it. The crew looked relieved but Roberts appeared detached, unconcerned. Stone opened the side door as the rotors slowed. The engine noise receded and Mercy stepped onto the helipad behind Roberts. It was dark, a cold wind cut through her despite the layers of clothes. The sound and smell of the sea invaded her senses.

  Six men in high visibility jackets and hard hats appeared from a cage lift on the left of the helipad and walked towards the helicopter. One man split away from the others and approached Roberts, the rest descended on the helicopter and started talking to the crew.

  Roberts turned around and signalled to Mercy. She approached the two men, “This is Lieutenant Cross, he’ll take you to your quarters. You’ll be debriefed in the morning after you’ve had some rest. Go with him, he’ll look after you.”

  “What about you?” Mercy asked, she noticed his eyes were bloodshot. “You don’t look too good, you feeling OK?”

  “Fine, fine, just tired. It’s been a long couple of days—” Roberts said, he turned back to the helicopter.

  Mercy watched him walk away and turned to the lieutenant. “The name’s Mercy Dawes but you’ll know that. Like he said, it’s been a long couple of days.”

  Cross smiled. “Oh, I know who you are. Some of your friends have passed through here already. You’re the famous Mercy Dawes, ground zero survivor. You’re Storax Sedan for the phage virus, our Trojan Horse. Some people are calling you the new Messiah, but I think that’s a little far-fetched. Follow me.”

 
Mercy watched him walk towards the cage lift. She noticed he carried a side arm.

  Storax Sedan? Trojan Horse? Messiah? What the hell? Mercy stood still, her mind spinning with questions.

  Chapter 9 North Victory Platform

  The cage lift descended, clunking and rattling to the floor below the helipad. It jerked to a halt in front of a steel door. Lieutenant Cross lifted the cage door. A yellow corridor stretched ahead. Two armed NSA men were waiting for them.

  “The walls are colour coded,” Cross said. Yellow’s for the outside world, hence the helipad. Green is for crew quarters and recreational facilities. Blue is for sea access, where they used to drill and pump the gas, medical facilities are white, you get the idea.”

  Mercy absorbed the information. “Yeah, sure, makes sense. Where are you taking me?”

  “To your quarters, the helicopter needs fixing and we need to wait out the storm. So at least a day’s stop over for you I reckon.” Cross ushered her into the corridor, the two guards took up the rear.

  “You said some of my friends passed through here… who was here and when?”

  Cross looked over his shoulder at Mercy. “You got the VIP treatment and came by helicopter, they came by supply boat. They stopped here for a while and then went on to the facility on Sable Island a week ago.”

  A week ago— how long have I been out of it? Mercy asked herself.

  They walked down a maze of corridors and descended a series of stairs crossing a blue, then a green area. They passed crew members at intervals, Mercy noticed they were all carrying side arms, this was a military facility and an important one. She tried to memorize the route, but it was impossible. CCTV cameras were placed at intervals along the corridors, a large number of the doors had keypad locks or swipe card locks. They passed a staircase which led down to a red area.

  “What’s the red zone down there?” Mercy asked Cross.

  “Restricted,” Cross replied, closing down her question.

  They continued through the green area and arrived at a door. Cross produced an ID card and swiped it through the reader. Mercy heard a click, Cross opened the door.

  “All yours, this one’s en-suite too. There’s some food and water on the table—”

  Mercy looked at the room. “You still haven’t answered my question, which of my friends passed through here?”

  Cross shrugged, “Kids mostly, the ones you were picked up with at the wall. Don’t know too much about that side of things, not my area. But they’re safe enough on Sable Island, which is where you’ll be soon enough, so don’t worry.”

  Mercy stared at him. “Lieutenant Cross am I being kept prisoner here? What’s going on?”

  Cross frowned. “That’s above my pay grade Dawes. I like to think we’re keeping you safe, you’re an asset we need to protect so I’m following orders. You’ll get a formal debrief in the morning, until then I suggest you rest.” He took her arm and pushed her into the room. “Oh and don’t do anything rash, we’ve got you covered,” his eyes flicked to the ceiling.

  Mercy looked up and saw the CCTV camera, its red LED flashing. “Good to know,” she said, her voice flat.

  He closed the door, the lock clicked. She waited a few seconds then tried the handle, it was locked. She looked around the room, it was difficult to believe she was at sea, the whole rig was solid, unmoving, a vast structure. She went over to the table and examined the food and bottled water. What if they had laced the food with drugs? She could not trust them, but she had to admit they had gone to a lot of trouble to extricate her from the mainland.

  And they held all the aces, they had her friends and Flynn. She would go along with it and find out more. She was hungry, she sat down and had some crackers and cheese washed down by bottled water. She needed to keep her strength up if she was to be any use to the others when she eventually found them.

  Mercy couldn’t see any cameras in the bathroom but that did not reassure her. She took a shower using the shampoo and toiletries they had provided. When she was finished she got dressed, lay on the bed and closed her eyes. Sleep took her in minutes. She dreamt she was back at the orphanage. She knew it was a dream but it felt real, she was with Amy and Carrie, she had returned from the hospital and was trying to explain her diagnosis to them.

  “So what’s the condition called again?” Carrie asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

  Mercy sighed and repeated the words. “Urbach-Wiethe disease, I think.”

  “Doesn’t sound too good,” Amy said. “How does it affect you then? You got superpowers or something?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Mercy said.

  “Let’s look it up,” Carrie said, her face morphed into Flynn’s face.

  Flynn had a laptop in his hands and was peering at the screen. “Here, it says, Urbach-Wiethe disease is a rare genetic disorder, blah blah, discovered in 1929, only a few hundred cases reported to date worldwide, blah blah blah, it’s not life threatening, it’s difficult to study the disease due to its low incidence, some individuals are reported to show no fear—” Flynn’s voice slowed as he read the last words.

  Flynn looked up at Mercy, his face changed back to Carrie’s face, Carrie’s voice returned. “You’ve not told Flynn about this have you? You’ve hidden it from him, how can he love you if you’ve kept it a secret? Your love is built on lies—”

  The dreamscape changed; Mercy stood on the North Victory’s helipad, the wind tearing at her hair, the ocean battering the rig’s giant legs two hundred feet below. Flynn was advancing on her pointing at her, his face contorted with rage, “You lied to me, I don’t love you, I can never love you. You will always be alone, you are a monster—”

  Mercy felt tears stinging her face. She backed away from Flynn and fell off the helipad down through the frigid air, to the icy waters below. She crashed into the waves, her breathing stopped and cold gripped her chest like a vice. Darkness descended.

  Mercy woke with a scream. She was sweating, her heart racing, her vision blurry. Sharp pain gripped her stomach, she felt sick, her eyes focused on the room, she struggled to remember where she was. It came back to her in a rush; the New State Army, the extraction from Montauk, the gas platform. The room seemed to close in on her and the nausea increased, she dragged herself from the bed, crawled to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. Her head cleared but she felt shaky. She dragged herself up, went to the sink and looked in the mirror.

  It was just a dream, a nightmare, that’s all, pull yourself together—

  Mercy stared in the mirror for a few minutes then splashed water on her face. Had they put something in the food? A metallic taste lingered in her mouth, was that a sign? Maybe a sedative, who knows? She rinsed her mouth and brushed her teeth. She went back to the bed and lay down, she had lost track of time. Her watch was gone and there was no outside window.

  Ride the storm, forget about the storm outside, ride this one, keep your shit together, for the others, for Flynn. It’ll work out, you’ll figure it out, you’ll tell Flynn the truth and he’ll be fine with it. You know this, hold on to it— Mercy lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. Tomorrow’s another day—

  A click, a hiss from the door. Mercy opened her eyes, Lieutenant Cross leaned in the doorway, a smile on his face. Two armed guards stood behind him.

  “Good morning, welcome to another day in paradise Ms Dawes,” Cross said, his voice bright.

  “Yeah, I’m living the dream,” Mercy replied.

  “I’ve come to take you to your debriefing, you’ll meet one of the techs, quite high up this one. All will become clear. You ready?”

  Mercy rose from the bed. “Not got much choice have I?”

  They walked along the green corridor, the guards bringing up the rear. There were no windows, at least none Mercy could see. “How do you power this place?” she asked.

  Cross turned a corner and waited beside a staircase. “A mixture of solar, wind and wave power, with back-up generators. This place is strong, it ca
n withstand everything the sea and weather can throw at it, a fortress against the elements.”

  Mercy looked down the stairs and saw the red walls. “So I get to enter the restricted zone today. Is this where you kept my friends? What did you really do to them? To me?”

  “All in good time, Dawes. Follow me, not long now,” Cross retorted.

  They went down the steps into the red zone. A thrumming vibration came from somewhere far below. Mercy looked up and down the corridor and saw more cameras and electronic doors. Some of the doors had yellow warning symbols and the word BIOHAZARD emblazoned on them.

  A woman in a white lab coat approached, she was carrying a cage covered in a sheet, she opened a door with her swipe card. Mercy caught a glimpse of a brightly lit room beyond. Rows of cages holding rats and monkeys lined one wall, the door closed before Mercy could see more. So this was a research vessel; the NSA were working on a fix for the phage virus or a way to stop it in its tracks.

  Cross stopped beside a steel door and swiped his card. The door opened and he stood aside ushering her in. He followed instructing the guards to stay outside. The room boasted a table and two chairs, Mercy noticed they were welded to the floor.

  Was Flynn here, what about the others?

  Cross leaned against the wall and gestured for Mercy to sit. She sat and waited, a few minutes passed. Cross said nothing. Mercy closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, the door opened, someone stepped into the room. Mercy kept staring ahead, she was surprised to see the lab coated woman sit down opposite her. The woman was in her mid-forties with glasses perched on top her head, she had blonde shoulder length hair and an open, pleasant face.

  The woman leant across the table extending a hand to Mercy. “Good morning Ms Dawes. May I call you Mercy?”

  Mercy stared at her, the woman had rings under her eyes, nicotine stains on her fingers and her shirt collar was frayed. Small drops of blood stained her sleeves.