Salt water splashed Mercy’s face as they crossed the Narrows, Kenny had timed it right, there was just enough light to navigate by. They could not see Macdonald Bridge in the distance, they barely made out the dark hulk of Georges Island to the north. Kenny’s face was a mask of concentration, his body leaning forwards, his eyes narrowed. They were nearing the piers, Kenny steered the rib towards the nearest one and a few minutes later they pulled up alongside a large ship. He tied the rib to the ship’s low hanging mooring ropes.
“Right everyone climb up the nets there,” Kenny pointed to the meshwork of cargo nets draped down the side of the ship.
“There’s gotta be an easier way than this. What about Murphy?” Tawny protested.
“Nope, this is the best way; tropes aren’t that good with cargo nets, they just tend to fall. Quit complaining, we’re up against the clock,” Kenny retorted. “I’ve already thought about the dog.” He slipped off his webbing and wrapped Murphy in it securing a rope to the locked buckle. “We’ll haul him up.”
They pulled themselves up the cargo nets and onto the ship’s deck. Kenny and Mercy leant over the side and pulled on the rope lifting Murphy up from the rib. Kenny pointed at Crimson, “It’s over to Lady C now, this is her side of the city,” he dropped back and took up the rear with Mercy. Murphy brushed against Mercy’s legs and licked her hand.
Crimson took them across the deck and along the port side to a narrow gangway leading to the pier. She stopped and listened before leading them down the gangway to a covered awning. Crimson looked right and left then approached the glass doors of the terminal building. She peered through the doors, then pressed her ears against the glass. She frowned. “I don’t like it, something’s different, we’ll try the museum instead.” Crimson backed away and walked along the pier to the next building.
Murphy growled, he was staring at the terminal doors his hackles raised and teeth bared, he took a step towards the doors his growling louder. “Murphy, come on boy, it’s not our fight, not this time,” Mercy said, her voice soothing. She ruffled his head, he backed away from the door the spell broken.
Crimson brought them to a service entrance at the back of the Canadian Museum of Immigration. She put her fingers to her lips then opened the door a crack, she hesitated listening and smelling the air. “OK, this is better, I’ve used this route before. It’s a museum, lots of exhibits, posters, mannequins, so don’t get spooked. I’ll use the red filter on my torch. Watch out for broken glass—”
Crimson switched on her head torch, its red beam lighting up the corridor ahead. She stepped into the building followed by the others, the corridor led to stairs which Crimson ignored, instead she went to a set of doors and opened them stepping through into a public exhibition area. Display cases, wall sized photographs of people from a distant age stared back at them. Crimson moved fast, weaving her way through the halls until they emerged into a foyer at the front of the building. She extinguished her light and went to the front doors and looked through the glass to the street outside. She nodded, “We’re good, follow me and keep it tight.”
Crimson pushed the doors open and led them out onto the street, she moved fast and with an economy of movement Mercy recognised, Crimson knew what she was doing. The next thirty minutes passed in a blur, Mercy tried to memorise landmarks, buildings, street names; Terminal Road, South Street, Cornwallis Park, Barrington Street. They passed a green area on the left surrounded by railings, the unmistakable stench of rotting flesh filled the air. Mercy tapped Kenny on the shoulder and pointed at the huge earthen mounds behind the railings, a bulldozer stood off to one side its bucket raised in the air, still full of soil.
“That’s the Old Burying Ground, an old graveyard, they dug it up and used it as a mass grave during the Fall. Don’t remember it smelling that bad before though, that’s new,” Kenny whispered.
Mercy kept her eyes on the graveyard and tried to ignore the stench of death. It brought back memories of Manhattan in the days and weeks after the Fall; the same smell of decay and death, the smell of danger. Crimson pushed on and turned left at a junction into Sackville Street. Many of the buildings were burnt out, the devastation extensive. Abandoned cars and trucks clogged the road, many with bullet holes. Mercy looked to the left and saw a sign: THE NEPTUNE THEATRE. Crimson turned right into Argyle Street and made her way to a tall steel and glass building.
Crimson turned to face the others. “This is the back of the Nova Centre, it’s tall enough to see over the Citadel, it’s burnt out but the fire stairs are still good, we’ll get some altitude and spy on the NSA compound. Follow me and watch where you put your feet, if anything smells bad we’ll have to try somewhere else.”
She left the road and crossed the sidewalk to the building, the lower glass panels had been blown out by the fire, they entered the ground floor stepping over shards of melted glass. Crimson used her head torch to find the emergency stairs, the stairwell was covered in a fine layer of ash and dust. Mercy pulled her shirt up to cover her mouth, Rose did the same. Their footsteps echoed as they ascended the building.
Crimson stopped at the twelfth floor. “This should be good, I’ve been to the eighth floor before but the view’s not the best. Let’s have a look, watch where you put your feet, the floor and ceiling have fallen away in places.”
Alarm bells rang in Mercy’s head on hearing Crimson’s words. She had been in similar buildings in Manhattan that were death traps, but then again the whole of New York City was a death trap, it was all relative, and they did need to see the Citadel, and in order to see the Citadel they needed altitude.
Get on with it, the girl knows what she’s doing, just step where everyone else steps— Mercy gritted her teeth, she looked down, Murphy was at her side, her canine shadow.
Crimson brought them down a long corridor. A cold breeze blew through the tower’s open sides, stars glittered in the sky, a light drizzle wafted in adding to the feeling of exposure. Crimson looked at her watch. “OK people, it’s near enough midnight, dawn’s at 4:30 am. Hunker down, it’s going to be a long night.”
Mercy could not believe it, they had left the oil terminal at 7 pm, five hours ago, at least they had arrived safe. She had to hand it to Crimson and Kenny, they knew their city. They sat against a concrete wall and huddled together for warmth. Murphy wriggled his way into her lap and was asleep in seconds. Mercy looked at the others, the wall was safe but it sucked the warmth from her body. None of them was going to get any sleep so there was no need to post a guard. She looked out on the darkened room, her eyes focused on a drip coming from the ceiling. She remembered the maps they had studied back at the oil terminal.
I’m half a kilometre from Flynn. Half a kilometre—
Chapter 21 Collapse
Morning broke shrouded in mist. Heavy rain had fallen overnight and a large pool of water lay on the floor. Grey light seeped into the building, Mercy’s muscles were stiff, her spine felt as if it had bonded with the concrete wall. The only one who had slept was Murphy, she envied him that.
What would you say if you could speak Murphy? What have you seen? What horrors? And yet you’re still able to love—
Mercy stirred, stretching her arms and legs, her joints clicked. She reached for her water container and took a gulp. Crimson yawned then pulled her hair back tying it in a ponytail. Kenny rubbed his eyes, Tawny and Rose stood up and went to the far side of the room working the knots out of their legs.
“Bone cold… concrete cold,” Mercy said in a hushed voice to Crimson.
“Yeah, it’s cold, I’ll give you that,” Crimson replied. “Let’s see what we can see, you got those binoculars?”
Mercy delved into her pack and produced the binoculars. They crouched by the broken window and looked over the city to Citadel Hill. Mercy pressed the binoculars to her eyes taking in every detail; the fort’s striking star shape, its ditch and the fenced compound outside the walls.
“Christ, it’s big. The compound is huge, it’s lik
e a mini town; they’ve got cultivation, corn, vegetables, pigs, goats—” Mercy became silent, taking it all in. She broadened her search sweeping the binoculars out from the Citadel to the city beyond. She stiffened, “What’s that over there, beyond the race track?” She pointed to a series of large mounds in the distance.
Crimson looked through the binoculars. “That’s the Emera Oval, a skating track and behind— that’s some of the mass graves. People who died, or were killed in the Fall. There’s thousands of dead buried in those pits, there’s another one over on Quinpool Road,” she pointed off to the left.
Mercy took the binoculars and looked to the west, she sucked air in between her teeth. “That one’s even bigger,” she adjusted the focus. “Is that mist? Or is the ground—”
“Steaming?” Kenny finished for her. He crouched beside Mercy looking out over Citadel Hill and The Halifax Commons. “Yeah, I noticed that yesterday, it’s the same at the Old Burying Ground. Steaming— it’s been two years since the Fall, those bodies should’ve rotted away a long time ago.”
“But no one’s had a look, have they?” Mercy asked.
“No, well, why would you?” Crimson replied.
Rose and Tawny joined them by the window.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Rose whispered.
Mercy trained the binoculars on the Citadel. “OK, so remember this; main gate, two 50 calibre machine guns,” she swept the binoculars along the Citadel walls, “ also 50 cals at each point of the star, and what look like… six mortar positions within the fort itself. There’s a small building surrounded by blast walls in the south east corner, probably an armoury, a long building set close to the back wall, probably a barracks, another small building in the north west corner, no blast walls though, not sure about that one, possibly infirmary or officers’ quarters. Outside the walls in the compound there’s tents, shacks, huts, camp fires, livestock. There could be a thousand people in the compound alone—”
She put the binoculars down and saw Kenny was writing everything she had said. “Here give me the binos, Denton will want a detailed map of this,” he said.
Mercy handed him the binoculars, she felt her calf tighten and lay on the floor to stretch her leg. Crimson looked at her. “Cramp,” Mercy said. The pain burned up her leg, she felt the knot yield, the pain began to subside. She lay on her back to recover and stared at the ceiling, her eyes were drawn to the spot where the drip had been the night before; the walls and ceiling were blackened from the fire. Large cracks ran across the ceiling, the fire had been fierce in this part of the building.
Mercy turned onto her stomach and saw that Kenny had done a sketch map of the citadel and compound, he gave it to her to check. “Good job,” Mercy said, impressed.
“We’ll stay here for the morning, watch the fort, see if we can get an idea on NSA numbers and routine—” Crimson said, then paused. “Any one hear that?”
“What?” Rose asked.
“That,” Kenny said, pointing upwards.
Mercy tilted her head. “Yeah, got it. Sounds like a chopper, incoming, get down.” A distant thumping grew louder, it came from behind the tower then moved to the side. A large military NSA helicopter flew close to the building its engine noise reverberating through the floor and walls. The pilot and co-pilot were visible, their flight helmet visors down, she watched as they flew the chopper towards Citadel Hill and landed within the walls of the fort. Mercy grabbed the binoculars and stared at the chopper, four men emerged from the long building.
The pilot cut the engine and the rotors started to slow, the helicopter’s side door opened and three uniformed men jumped out. Mercy skipped from face to face, then an older man with white hair stepped down from the helicopter. The other men saluted and escorted him towards the building. He was lean and powerful looking, Mercy noticed he walked with a slight limp.
“Looks like an important guy,” Mercy said, taking the binoculars from her face. “Older guy, white hair, limp—”
Crimson’s face paled. “That’s him, that’s Colonel Randel. That’s the bastard that’s running the show.”
Mercy looked at Crimson and felt the tension in the air. “Jesus, if Denton had that sniper rifle up here with his Special Forces guy. That would’ve been the moment—”
“Yeah, but he’s not here, we are,” Rose said. “Well if the important guy’s around, we’re on the money. Flynn, Stevie and Dakota must be in there.”
“Rose’s right, that’s the most secure building in Halifax. More secure than the Shearwater base and it’s where their labs are. There’s a large underground section, so yeah, I reckon that’s where your friends will be,” Kenny said.
“Maximum security,” Crimson added.
Murphy let out a whimper, a noise came from the ceiling. Mercy turned and looked at Murphy, his coat was covered in dust, she raised her eyes to the ceiling, daylight had appeared through a large hole. The cracks had widened and bits of the ceiling were coming away.
A foot, then a leg materialized through the ceiling, adrenaline erupted in Mercy, “Tropes… above, they’re coming through the ceiling, run.”
“Run,” Crimson yelled, “follow me, back to the stairs.” She lurched up skirting the falling debris. A trope fell to the ground beside her and launched itself at her legs. Mercy dared not shoot for fear of hitting Crimson, she whipped out her bayonet and thrust it through the back of the trope’s skull, the point exited from the thing’s left eye. The trope fell, twitching, its teeth snapping at the air.
They piled after Crimson tropes falling all around them. Mercy glanced to her right, at least thirty tropes were on the floor with more dropping from above. They looked fresh and strong, like the ones she had encountered in the early days after the Fall.
What’s going on?
Crimson was fifteen feet away. Mercy turned to see Kenny on the ground, a trope on his back snapping at his jacket. Murphy appeared from nowhere, teeth bared, he barrelled into the trope’s side. It went flying, knocking two others to the ground, Murphy plunged into the fray protecting Kenny. Mercy helped Kenny to his feet and glanced over his shoulder; Tawny and Rose were fighting back to back, Tawny slashing with her sword and Rose with her combat knife.
Why aren’t they shooting the bastards? Mercy frowned, then blinked. They don’t want to alert the NSA—
“Well, we’ve not got much choice have we?” Mercy said to herself, raising her AR-15. She opened up on the tropes emptying a full magazine into those attacking Tawny and Rose. The tropes fell, their blood spattering the concrete walls.
“Come on, get out,” Mercy shouted.
Tawny made a wide sweep with her sword decapitating a trope at her feet, she grabbed Rose and rushed past Mercy. Mercy inserted a new magazine and fired on the remaining tropes, some were trapped under debris but others were staggering towards her. Mercy looked at the ceiling, the cracks were widening, trope legs visible through the gaps. A rending sound tore through the air and a huge section of ceiling crashed down. Mercy backed away and made it to the corridor leading to the stairwell. She looked ahead, Rose held Murphy by his collar at the stair doors. Murphy was straining to reach Mercy.
“Go, go, go. I’m coming, don’t wait for me—” Mercy shouted.
Rose’s eyes widened and she brought up her pistol. “Down, NOW,” she called out.
Mercy threw herself to the ground keeping her eyes on Rose, a sharp pain exploded in her skull then something hit her leg.
Rose released Murphy and brought her Glock 17 up aiming in Mercy’s direction. She fired six times. Dead weight trapped Mercy’s legs and she couldn’t move. Murphy ran to her and jumped over her head, teeth flashing. Mercy kept her eyes locked on Rose and waved her away.
“Go Rose, go, get away,” Mercy shouted.
Rose hesitated, then ran towards Mercy.
A wave of nausea washed over Mercy, swirling pain swam through her stomach, she struggled for consciousness. The floor moved and cracks opened around her. Murphy
was flung to the ground beside her, eviscerated, his tongue lolling, his eyes dead.
Without warning the floor shook and crashed to the level below. Mercy fell in amongst the dust and debris. Something struck her head and her consciousness ebbed away. Darkness claimed her.
Searing pain, wetness on her face, the smell of the grave. Mercy’s senses relayed the information from her bruised and battered body to her brain.
Keep still, don’t move, breathe—
Mercy listened, a high pitched ringing played in her right ear, she heard a sound like retching off to her left. A cold sensation struck her cheek and ran down her neck, she opened her eyes and looked at the trope’s face two inches away. The trope lay on top of her, saliva and pus draining from its mouth and nose onto her cheek. Their eyes locked, its scarred irises focusing on her. She had never been so close to a trope. It kept staring at her, breathing on her, bleeding on her.
Why isn’t it biting? Where’s the blood lust? It’s just staring— unless, what they told me back on the gas platform… was true—
Mercy blinked, expecting the trope to respond, it lay unmoving on top of her. She twisted her head and saw the floor had collapsed and she had fallen, together with other tropes, through to the level below. Crushed trope bodies were everywhere, protruding from debris and twisted metal. She could see the emergency stairs intact, off to her right, its doorway twenty feet away. Her heart sank, standing between her and the doorway she counted eight tropes, swaying gently. Dust motes floated in the air like snow, the morning light had strengthened.
I’m alive, I’m breathing, they must know I’m here but they’re not attacking. I’ve got to get out, at least try—
Mercy took a deep breath and tested her arms and legs, nothing broken. She freed her arms from the rubble and pushed the trope away, a large metal fragment protruded from its back. The trope had shielded her from the debris. It made feeble crawling movements in the dust trying to pull itself up but it still did not attack her.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 2): Angel of Mercy Page 18