“Sure, that makes sense. We’ll go over the maps later. It’s always good to have a Plan B,” Mercy said.
And a Plan C, and D—
An hour later they were gathered around their selection of maps.
“We’ll still get to Lake Mathews but because of the fires we’ll need to avoid the San Bernardino National Forest to the north, and Mount San Jacinto State Park to the south,” Travis said, jabbing his finger at the largest map on the table.
“Which means we’ll need to keep on the I-10 to Banning and… Beaumont. Then it’s Moreno Valley. There’s more chance of meeting tropes and alphas in the built up areas… and other idiots like Tin Man are more likely along the main drag. It is what it is, we’ll just have to be alert,” Mercy said, her voice flat.
“The correct term is stay frosty, Dawes. Ain’t that right Barnes?” Rose said, lightening the mood.
Mercy looked up, stony faced. “Yeah Rose, we’ll just have to stay uber-frosty.”
Forest fires, tropes, alphas, bandits. It just gets better and better—
Chapter 31
Interstate-10
Rose screamed. Mercy opened her eyes, she switched on her flashlight, and shone it at her friend. Rose’s skin was glistening with sweat, she rolled over and moaned, her hands pushing at phantoms.
Another nightmare. Jesus, girl—
Mercy stood up and went over to Rose. She sat down and spoke softly. “Hey Rose, it’s OK babe, you’re safe. You’re just having a bad dream. We’re here, we’re all here, it’s just a nightmare. It’s all OK, try and relax. I’m here, there’s nothing to worry about. Shush now, shush, relax.”
Just keep talking, don’t touch her, she’ll freak out—
Flynn rolled over and stared, bleary eyed at Mercy, “Need a hand babe?”
Mercy turned towards him, “No, it’s all good. Go to sleep.”
Flynn nodded and lay back with a yawn. Mercy looked at Rose.
Why is she having nightmares? Are they the same as mine? Is it the biotech or that Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Barnes was talking about?
Mercy reached out to touch Rose’s hand then pulled away at the last minute.
She might freak out if I touch her—
Mercy leant forwards and kept her voice calm, “Damned if I know why we’re having nightmares Rose. But we are, you need to walk away from it girl. Find your way out of the maze, it’s easy, you can do it. That’s it, there you go, there you go, you’re nearly there.”
Rose quietened, her body relaxed, and her breathing returned to normal. Mercy looked around the room. The others were asleep.
No one else woke up. We’re all attuned to each other. They would’ve woken up if it was a different sound. They’ve heard Rose cry in her sleep so many times before it’s become normal—
Mercy sat back against the wall.
Goddammit, we should be living; going to gigs, partying, dating… all that good shit. Instead, because of this bloody virus we’re here in Nowheresville, USA. Trying to get to the Pacific Coast through epic forest fires, no doubt interspersed with tropes, and bad guys. Yup, it’s like we’re players in some twisted game—
Someone gasped in a dark corner of the room then a series of loud snores punctured the air, drilling through Mercy’s thoughts.
Oh great. You’ve got to be kidding me. Barnes’s machine gun snoring act. Really? This is turning out to be one hell of a night—
Mercy shook her head.
“I give up. Who needs sleep anyway? It’s overrated. Just close your eyes and rest. Sleep is a bonus,” Mercy muttered to herself. She tilted her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
“Wakey, wakey. Peace offering,” Rose said, waving a mug of coffee under Mercy’s nose. “I hear you rescued me again last night. Talked me down from the ceiling. I’m sorry to be such a pain.”
Mercy blinked and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “It’s OK Rose. I do it for the coffee. It’s good to be served breakfast in bed every so often. God knows, Flynn doesn’t bring me hot java in the morning.”
Rose grunted, “True, but to be fair he’s on watch now, so that would be a dereliction of duty if he were down here shooting the breeze with you over a hot cup of Joe.”
Mercy took a sip of the coffee and looked at her watch; 6:40 am. “What’s our start time today?”
Rose stood up, “Travis wants to be on the trail in forty minutes, so shake a leg girl.”
Mercy sighed and took another sip of coffee.
Fifty minutes later they were moving west along Interstate-10. Breakfast had been a sombre affair. Travis reported that the distant fires had worsened during the night. Jade pointed out that the flames would be more visible at night. Travis remained concerned and his low mood was contagious. Mercy stared at the western horizon.
This isn’t going to be pretty. Some of the forest fires they used to show on TV were bad enough… and that was just the TV. This’ll be in the flesh—
They pushed on. The road was unforgiving. Names came and went: Whitewater, Cabazon, and Owl. Annalise spotted a sign for the Pacific Crest Trail west of Whitewater. She became animated, telling the others about the time she and her friend Big Bear, had completed a section of the trail three years earlier.
“So did you and Big Bear see any real bears?” Tawny asked.
Annalise smiled, “We went through part of Yosemite National Park, near a place called Lyell Canyon. We stopped to filter water and have a break. A black bear appeared out of nowhere and went for Big Bear’s backpack. Turns out he had some peanut butter in there and the bear smelled it from god knows how far away. Bears are supposed to have the best sense of smell in the animal kingdom. So we just backed away and let him at it. There was a campground fairly close so we were able to regroup there—”
“Awesome… not,” Flynn said.
“Why is it the best memories are always the most extreme ones?” Jade commented.
“Life and death situations focus the mind,” Annalise replied. “It can be confusing if your buddy’s name is Big Bear and you’re dealing with a real big bear. The moral of the story is to pick a trail name nothing to do with the trail. That way there’s no room for confusion.”
“Same applies for the military,” Barnes said. “Knew a guy once nicknamed Bone. He had to change that pretty quick. The Bone is also slang for an air force heavy bomber… you can’t afford to have any misunderstandings in the heat of battle.”
Jade pulled a face, “I’m not even going to ask how he got the nickname Bone.”
“Yeah, that’s a whole other story,” Barnes replied.
The day wore on. The towns of Banning and Beaumont came and went. Mercy rubbed her neck and stretched her back.
Jesus, another forty kilometre day. Travis is really going for it—
The wind direction changed towards evening and the air became noticeably smoky. The smoke haze enveloping the mountains of the San Bernardino National Forest began to drift south, interfering with visibility. The air was hot and dry. Grey ash fell from the sky, covering houses and long abandoned cars. Mercy reached into her pack and pulled out a spare T-shirt which she wrapped around her nose and mouth.
I don’t like this, it’s getting pretty murky here. Are we gonna stop or push through this murk? Where the hell are we anyway?
Mercy encouraged her horse on, through the smoke. The bay mare was trembling and sweating.
“Hey Travis,” Mercy yelled. “What’s the plan? Maybe we should go south and pull away from the fires—”
Travis turned to speak. His outline was indistinct in the haze.
Jesus, I can hardly see him. This is getting worse—
“We’re just west of Beaumont. I’m trying to get us onto Route 60. It’ll take us over the hills into Moreno Valley, then we’re practically at Lake Mathews.”
Movement caught Mercy’s eye. She looked down. A wave of black fur raced up to, then broke against, the horses’ legs. The horses reared, their eyes bulging and nostri
ls flaring. Mercy felt herself slipping.
Oh—
Mercy’s bay mare reared against the tide of rats pulsating along the road. Mercy toppled from her saddle and crashed onto the seething mass of vermin below. She landed on her back, her pack cushioning the impact. Air rushed from her lungs, she brought her hands up to protect her face from the swarming rats. They ran across her legs and chest, their panic palpable. The mare trampled the asphalt nearby.
Get away, move dammit—
Mercy rolled to the left, she looked through her fingers.
Crash barrier. Get to the crash barrier—
Her breath returned. She took a lungful of smoky air which triggered a bout of coughing. Her eyes were streaming and her heart pounding.
Move, move, move—
She crawled against the rising tide of rats, their bodies pressed into her arms and legs. She fought the urge to vomit and tried to ignore the claws running across her hands.
Jesus—
The crash barrier appeared in front of her. She grabbed it with both hands and hauled herself over to the other side. Shouts rose through the smoke. She recognised Travis’s and Barnes’s calls.
They’re trying to calm the horses. There’s less rats back here—
Mercy looked up. Three indistinct figures were battling to control their horses further down the road. Her eyes stung with the thick smoke.
Wind direction’s changed. It’s getting worse—
Mercy raised a hand, “Hey, I’m over here—”
A scream pierced the air and was followed by a burst of automatic weapons fire.
Jade?
Mercy rubbed her eyes and squinted through the cloying wall of smoke.
What the fuck—?
A ragged phalanx of tropes emerged from the smoke and converged on the horses. Mercy watched in horror as muzzle flashes lit up the smoky scene, thirty yards away.
Rats and tropes. The fire’s driving them this way. Christ—
Mercy reached for her rifle then stopped.
I can’t shoot blindly, I could hit someone. Think, think, dammit—
The voices and sounds of struggle grew more distant. Mercy looked around. Scores more tropes were arriving on the road, moving towards her.
I’m cut off from the others. Get away from here—
Mercy blinked and stared down the road on her right. The rats were disappearing into a shallow, tree lined gulley.
Follow the rats—
She took one last look at the gathering trope mob. Her eyes widened. A tall, female trope stopped in its tracks and snapped its head up. It turned to face Mercy, its milky eyes staring directly at her. The dead trope bared its teeth and let out a low guttural snarl.
Oh my god. An alpha—
As one, the other tropes lifted their heads and swung in Mercy’s direction.
A queen, goddammit. She’s seen me—
Mercy turned and ran.
Chapter 32
Cat and Mouse
The gully was treacherous. Rocks and tree roots made the going tough.
Jesus. Ankle breaking ground. Well, if it’s bad for me it’ll be bad for them—
Mercy kept her eyes on the ground, avoiding the temptation to look back. Shrieks and grunts closed in behind her.
Don’t look back. Not on this ground. Dammit, I’m breaking one of my own rules. I need to look up, but I can’t—
The monologue continued in Mercy’s head as she picked her way down the gully. The smoke was just as thick as up on the road. She cursed as her vision blurred with tears and sweat.
Goddammit, I can’t see a thing—
She pushed on and clambered over a string of slime covered boulders. She blinked in surprise as a low stone wall materialised out of the haze in front of her. She vaulted blindly over the wall and landed on asphalt.
A road? No, a… carpark—
A guttural shriek cut through the air feet behind her. She ducked and threw herself forwards, running across the carpark. Rusting vehicles lay scattered on all sides. Slapping footsteps followed her as she weaved through the cars. She feinted left then flung herself right, across the hood of a Toyota Camry. Something brushed her left shoulder. Mercy’s eyes searched the lot ahead, tracking a path through the last few vehicles. Trope screeches reached out for her through the smoke.
They’re everywhere. That bitch is guiding them. This is how they hunt. This is how it works—
Mercy’s eyes streamed, her heart raced, and her body shook. Warmth blossomed in her stomach and a new energy infused her muscles. Her mind became clear and her senses heightened. A large industrial building loomed out of the smoke ahead. She looked up. A sign over the front of the building caught her eye; JACKSON’S MEAT PROCESSING.
Got to get in there, find cover—
Mercy headed for the entrance.
Please be open, please—
The door lock had been blasted by a shotgun. She threw the door open, entered a dark foyer, and ran across the tiled floor. Her boots crunched on broken glass. Loose ceiling cabling brushed against her as she passed. She reached out, feeling her way, passing deeper into the building. The alpha and its followers crashed through the entrance doors behind.
Don’t get cornered, don’t get cornered. It can’t end here, not when I’m so close—
Mercy reached down and pulled out her torch, switching it on. Its weak beam flickered, sending an anaemic sliver of light across the rear of the foyer.
Lifts, fire extinguisher, offices, corridor—
She processed her options.
The corridor’s got to lead somewhere—
Mercy ran down the corridor, pulling out her pistol from its holster. A door lay open at the end of the corridor. Mercy’s muscles sang with strength as she ran, reaching the door seconds later. Her flickering torch revealed smeared blood on the floor and door surround. A warning rang through her consciousness.
Wait, what?
She hesitated at the doorway, frowning. Her nose wrinkled.
What’s that smell?
Footsteps in the corridor behind. A shriek of victory.
No choice, it’s too late—
Mercy threw herself into the room. A heartbeat later her torch died. She flailed to her right and crashed into a table and chairs.
Oh—
Her momentum took her over the table, and she sprawled to the floor on the other side. A loud roar tore through the dark, sending hairs up on Mercy’s neck.
Jesus Christ, what the hell was that—?
The sound of carnage followed. Savage roars were interspersed with howling shrieks. Mercy fumbled for her small, back-up torch. She switched it on and swung its beam out into the room.
Oh my god—
Her light revealed two big cats, their fangs and claws raking the tropes at the door. Mercy swore.
Tigers—
Mercy watched in horror as one of the big cats bit through the lead trope’s skull. Blood and brains burst out from the tiger’s mouth. More tropes pressed in through the doorway.
Get out, get the fuck out—
Mercy swung her torch beam across the room.
Where is it? Where is it? There’s gotta be a way out—
Her torch revealed three tiger cubs at the back of the room, their eyes reflecting her light. A half-eaten deer carcass lay off to one side.
OK, OK, OK—
Mercy turned the torch away from the cubs towards the other side of the room. The roars and screams continued to escalate as the frenzied battle continued, feet away. The table received a hard knock and something wet and warm splattered across Mercy’s face. Her torch beam caught a reflective strip. She squinted at the spot, her brow furrowed.
A fire door. Go, go, go—
Mercy crawled across the floor, her body pressed up against the wall. She reached the fire door seconds later and grabbed the door handle.
Please be open—
A feline yelp pierced the room as she yanked the door open. A second later the bl
oody body of one of the cubs slammed into the wall beside the fire door. Mercy flung herself through the opening into a new corridor. She shut the door and jammed her combat knife underneath it, ramming it in up to the hilt. A trope face pressed up against the door’s wired glass panel, its bloated tongue protruding through its open mouth.
Mercy jerked her hand back, reaching for her pistol. Something grabbed the trope from behind and shook it like a rag doll. Its body burst, splattering the glass with gore.
Now, now, now—
Mercy turned and pointed her torch down the corridor. A set of double doors lay at the end. She gripped her pistol and ran, reaching the double doors seconds later. She pushed them open, their rusty hinges squeaked loudly. A vast space opened up before her. Darkness swallowed her torch beam. Motes of dust swirled in the air, dancing in the flashlight’s beam. Machines and conveyor belts loomed out of the murk.
Factory floor. Meat processing on an industrial scale. There’ll be other exits, go on, find them—
She lurched forwards, her breath misting the air.
It’s colder in here. Doors are in walls, keep to the walls—
Mercy turned to the nearest wall and walked along it. Stainless steel work surfaces gleamed dully in her weak light. Rows of meat hooks hung from a high rail above her head. She came to an automated workstation and went around it. A reflective surface caught her eye on a nearby wall.
First aid station. Fire extinguisher and… a fire axe—
Mercy holstered her pistol and grabbed the fire axe from its wall mounting. In the distance a narrow strip of light cut across the floor
Daylight. Thank god—
Somewhere behind a door slammed and a heart-stopping shriek tore through the air. Recognition registered on Mercy’s face.
That’s her, that’s the same call as back on the road. She’s found me—
Mercy ran across the concrete floor towards the strip of daylight, her senses on fire. She vaulted over a waist-high conveyor belt, landing beside a steel table on the other side. A dull metallic sheen caught her eye.
The Survival Chronicles | Book 8 | Final Mercy Page 21
