Mercy pulled herself up and peered over the wall. The compound was shrouded in shadows. Soft candlelight spilled out from the far building’s front windows. Barnes and Dimitri’s suspended forms shivered in the cold night air.
Do it—
Chapter 35
Stealth
Mercy hauled herself up and over the palisade. She landed on the walkway with a soft bump. She froze and listened. The wind rustled the trees outside the compound, her heart thumped in her chest.
So far so good. First, silence those dogs. The breeze is in my face, so I must be downwind of them, here’s hoping—
Mercy crawled along the walkway then dropped down to the ground. She listened to the sounds of the night and checked her silenced Glock 17. Wood smoke blew across the compound from the far building.
Warmth for the militia but none for the slaves. Figures—
Mercy moved closer to the open sided woodshed and crouched beside a hitching rail. The two dogs were chained to a post inside the woodshed. They were lying on the ground together, their flanks rising and falling with each breath.
Your job is to kill me, my job is to kill you. I’m sorry about this guys—
Mercy took aim with her silenced pistol and held her breath. She squeezed the trigger twice. One of the dogs let out a high pitched yelp then there was silence. Mercy released her breath and waited. The dogs did not move.
Good—
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
That’s the first step done. I’m still here… with over ten of those militia bastards—
Mercy moved towards Barnes and Dimitri in the woodshed. They remained still, their eyes swollen and shut.
OK, let’s get you down—
She went up to Barnes and whispered in his ear, “Barnes, it’s Mercy here. I’m going to lower you to the ground, use your arms to protect your head if you can.”
Barnes grunted without opening his eyes, his face was covered in dried blood. Mercy repeated her message to Dimitri, he opened his mouth trying but failing to speak.
Water, they’ll want water. It’ll have to wait, I’ve got to get them down first—
Mercy found the pulley system suspending the two men. She untied the rope from its cleat hook and started to lower them to the ground. They jerked as they descended, their combined weight too much for her, even with the pulley. They fell to the floor in a heap, their groans rising in the night air.
Fuck—
Mercy ran over to the two crumpled figures. She checked their breathing and cut the rope from their legs.
“Christ, I’m sorry guys, the rope slipped through my hands,” Mercy whispered, her voice desperate. She looked around and spotted a bucket beside the two dead dogs, “Hold on—”
The bucket was half full of water.
Water for the dogs but not for the prisoners—
Mercy brought the bucket over to Barnes and Dimitri then scooped up water in her hands. She encouraged them to drink. They remained silent, their breathing laboured. They were shivering and had difficulty moving their arms and legs. Mercy checked them over, ignoring the bruising, instead looking for deep lacerations and limb deformities.
No obvious broken bones, but there could be fractured ribs and internal injuries. Christ, they’re not gonna be able to move anywhere in a hurry. A hobble is the best they could manage. Dammit, it’s just me here, and they can’t move much, and I’ve not got the keys to the front gate. This is truly fucked up—
“Barnes, keep drinking. Here… I’ll leave you my rifle—” Mercy paused. “One second, the guard I shot… he had a shotgun… wait—”
Mercy crouched low and went over to the compound wall. She found the dead guard then searched nearby and found his Browning Citori 725 shotgun a few feet away. She found a pistol and ankle knife on his body. She brought the weapons back to Barnes and Dimitri.
Dimitri was drinking from the bucket, his lips were cracked and his tongue swollen.
Jesus—
“Dimitri, look at me,” Mercy said.
Dimitri glanced up, his eyes sunken and dull.
“Do you know how to use a shotgun?” Mercy asked, holding up the Browning.
Dimitri shook his head but pointed to the handgun and nodded.
“The pistol?” Mercy said. “OK, yes, good, you take the pistol and here, these magazines.” She handed him the weapon and ammunition.
“Barnes you get the rifle and the shotgun. Listen guys, stay here don’t move, it’s just me in here. I’m all on my own. This is not going to be easy. I’m going to have to figure something out. Finish the water and lie low, check your weapons and be ready. I’m going to have a look around—”
Mercy crept over to the camper van and listened to the sounds coming from the guards’ building. The cooking smell had dissipated and all was quiet. She checked her watch; 12:07 am.
OK guys, time to settle down for the night—
She was about to move when the door to the building opened and an armed man stepped out. He stretched then belched then wandered over to the nearest palisade ladder. Mercy watched him from her concealed spot.
Changing of the guard—
He stopped at the top of the ladder, lit a cigarette then called out, “Drake… I’m on, you can turn in now—”
Shit, he’s calling to the other guard. Should I answer? No, just leave it… he doesn’t seem too bothered. There’s at least two ladders down from the wall so it’s not as if they have to meet each other to hand over—
Mercy waited until the militia man had passed from view on the walkway behind the guard house, then she crept forwards to the side of the porch, listening. Candlelight spilled out from inside the house.
Keep it quiet, get a closer look through the window—
Mercy crept up the steps onto the porch and picked her way through fallen chairs and around an outdoor table. A barbeque with a small propane tank stood beside the front right window. She checked its pressure gauge.
It’s reading full, that could come in useful—
She peered through the window’s frayed insect mesh. A table and chairs were visible. A man was sitting on a winged chair in front of a wood stove. A shotgun lay across his lap and a liquor bottle stood on the floorboards at his feet.
He looks asleep. This window’s open, it’s just the insect screen… maybe I could pry it off with my knife and lift the gas bottle through. There’s probably more than ten guys in this building. I’ll need maximum chaos, maximum mayhem. What else is out here—?
Mercy crept over to the far side of the porch and found a discarded toilet bowl, a tool box and a roll of barbed wire.
OK, the wire I can use for a grenade trap—
Footsteps on floorboards.
Shit—
Mercy pulled back into the shadows. The front door opened and a man stepped out reaching for his fly. He stopped on the top step and unzipped his trousers.
A chair scraped inside and a slurred voice rang out, “Barnabas, close the fucking door for Chrissakes—”
The man swore and turned around. His eyes widened as he registered Mercy crouching in the shadows. She squeezed the silenced Glock’s trigger once, her round entered the man’s chest shredding his heart. He crumpled to the ground and sprawled down the steps.
Shit, shit, shit—
Mercy held her Glock 17 at the ready and stepped over to the open front door. The man at the wood stove was reaching for the liquor bottle, his back to her. She raised her pistol and took aim.
No, I’m not ready yet—
She closed the door and listened.
Nothing—
Mercy looked out across the compound, towards the wall.
The guard up on the palisade? We’re good… hopefully his eyes are on the outside—
She cut a length of barbed wire, using wire cutters from the tool box. She set up a trip wire attached to a grenade in front of the door.
They’ll come out from the front and back of the building when t
he shit hits the fan—
Mercy returned to the propane tank and the window. Using her knife she cut the frayed insect screen away from the open window. Next she turned off the gas valve and removed the tank from the grill. She looked through the window, checking on the militia man inside. He was snoring softly in his chair, the whiskey bottle in his hand.
Good, stay exactly like that for a couple minutes longer—
Mercy removed the regulator and lifted the propane cylinder through the window, placing it on the floor inside. She reached in and opened the valve then pulled herself back outside.
Maximum chaos, that’s the only way out of here—
She started counting, aware of the propane cylinder’s soft hiss inside the room.
Twenty four, twenty five—
Mercy stood up, pulled the pin from her second grenade and lobbed it in through the open window. She threw herself over the side of the porch, landing behind an old sofa and a discarded mattress. A second later a huge explosion ripped through the building. Sheets of flame burst through the windows. The front door was ripped from its hinges and thrown half way across the compound.
Christ—
Mercy ducked low and let the flaming debris settle around her. Her ears rang, she reached up to touch them. Her right hand came away glistening with blood.
Should’ve covered my ears, goddammit—
The screams started, she looked up and saw four men pile out of the front door, their clothes on fire. The lead man tripped on the barbed wire and the second grenade went off, sending shrapnel into flesh and bone. Mercy looked up, more muffled screams came from the rear of the building. Movement caught her eye on the far side of the compound, she turned to look. A man and woman were emerging from the caravan near the prisoners’ building.
Shit, I should’ve known there’d be someone in there. They’ve got guns—
Another two men came stumbling out of the burning building and staggered down the porch steps onto the ground outside. They rolled in the dirt desperately trying to put out their burning clothes. The couple from the caravan ran over to them, the man took off his jacket and used it to smother the flames on one of the writhing men.
Mercy stepped up, her Glock 17 raised. The woman saw her and brought her rifle up. Mercy fired twice, her first round entered the woman’s stomach, the second round shattered her right shoulder. A sharp pain slammed into Mercy’s side and she collapsed to the ground, dropping her pistol. She struggled to breathe, she looked up, her vision blurred.
A heavily tattooed woman stood over Mercy with a baseball bat. She grinned, her gold teeth glinting in the flames from the burning house. The camper van’s door was open.
Shit, I forgot about the camper van—
The woman spat in Mercy’s face. “Been a busy little bitch, ain’t ya?” She hefted the baseball bat and kicked Mercy’s Glock away, “I’m gonna bust you wide open and feed your skinny ass to the dogs—”
Mercy coughed, flecks of blood coming to her lips. Searing pain ripped through her chest.
Busted ribs, thanks lady. But you ain’t got no dogs left—
The absurdity of the woman’s threat triggered something in Mercy, she started laughing in spite of the pain from her ribs.
The woman frowned and poked Mercy with the baseball bat. “What you laughing at you stupid bitch—?”
Mercy retched on the ground, she pulled a ragged breath into her bruised lungs. Something familiar stirred deep inside her, the pain receded and her mind cleared.
The biotech’s kicking in—
Mercy looked up at the woman, “Sorry lady, your dogs are dead. I wasted them—”
Where’s my gun? Dammit, I dropped it—
The woman screamed and raised the baseball bat high over her head. Mercy ducked, her eyes searching the ground for her pistol.
It’s not there. Do something, anything—
Mercy grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it at the woman’s face as the baseball bat hurtled towards her skull.
A burst of semi-automatic gunfire rang out nearby.
Take me—
Chapter 36
Wish
The woman dropped the baseball bat and sank to her knees, a surprised look on her face. Her eyes widened and she reached down to her chest. Her fingers came away covered in blood. She looked at Mercy, her mouth gaping. She tried to speak but instead red froth flecked her lips. She collapsed on top of Mercy, a death rattle in her throat.
More gunfire at the palisade. Movement beside Mercy. A fleeting glimpse of Barnes beside her. Gunfire over her and a scream. A warm glow inside, a sudden rush of energy. Strength returning to her limbs.
The biotech—
Mercy gasped and sat up, pushing the dead woman off her. She turned to see Barnes lowering his rifle, the caravan militia man was down and not moving.
Barnes went to Mercy, “Nice work Dawes. Inflict maximum chaos on the enemy, it usually works. The rest of the militia bastards at the bridge will have heard that explosion. They’ll see the fire and come running. What’s our exfil plan?”
Mercy pulled the radio from her belt and pressed the transmit button, “Brody, this is Mercy here, recommend strike now, repeat… recommend strike now. We have control of the compound but will need assistance as bridge guard likely on its way to our position, over—”
Mercy waited for an answer but was met with static. She looked at Barnes, concern on her face. She repeated her transmission and was again met with static. She threw the radio to the ground in disgust. “Bloody thing’s broken, must’ve damaged it when I fell—”
Dimitri hobbled over from the woodshed wearing a sheepskin coat. He carried the pistol Mercy had given him. “I nailed the other bastard on the wall, got us a couple of coats.” He handed a bloodied parka to Barnes.
Barnes grunted his thanks and pulled on the parka. He grimaced, in obvious pain. The flames consuming the guard house were burning fiercely, sending sparks high into the air.
“I need to check the front gate, the bridge militia could be here in minutes if they’re on horseback,” Mercy said, standing up. “You guys go over to the prisoners’ block, see if you can free them.” Her legs wobbled as she stepped past Barnes. She took a deep breath and her head cleared a little. She walked over to the front gate and spotted its two padlocked bolts.
Slug rounds would take those out easy. We’d best make sure they don’t get close enough to blast the locks off—
Mercy turned to shout to Barnes. She stopped, staring at the narrow gap between the guard house and the compound wall. Three armed militia men were in the gap with a fourth emerging from an open window at the rear of the building. The lead man looked up and saw Mercy, their eyes locked.
Mercy reached down to her webbing, her fingers closed around her last grenade. The man brought up his rifle. Mercy pulled the pin, the man squeezed his trigger. The rifle’s muzzle flashed as she threw the grenade into the group of men. Rounds whizzed past her on the left as she flung herself right.
Oh—
Her body hit the ground forcing the breath from her lungs.
Two, three—
The grenade exploded in the confined space between the house and the wall. Mercy rolled, knocking into a charred militia corpse in front of the porch steps. Her eyes focused on the body, she saw the Colt Python .357 Magnum in its hand and pried it free. A single scream came from the side of the house and a man wielding a machete staggered out, his clothes and hair smoking. Mercy took aim and fired the Colt Python, her round going wild.
Shit. Barnes, Dimitri some backup about now would be good—
Mercy glanced around. Barnes was over on the other side of the compound beside the prisoners’ block.
Sonofabitch, they’re too far away—
Mercy swung back to face her attacker, the man was three feet away, the machete raised above his head.
Mercy pointed the revolver at his chest and fired twice. The man’s body jerked as the magnum rounds ripped through his bo
dy, bursting his guts and shattering his spine. He sank to the ground and swayed on his knees, the machete slipped from his bloody fingers. Mercy used her feet to push herself away.
Fuck. This. Shit. No more. No fucking more—
Mercy sat up, her head spinning.
How many bullets left?
Her fingers found the revolver’s cylinder release latch and she pushed the cylinder out.
One round left—
She closed the cylinder and staggered to her feet, her breathing laboured. She moved towards the prisoner block and a single shot rang out from the camper van’s door. Mercy’s head snapped up, her finger poised on the Colt’s trigger.
Shooter in the doorway—
A man staggered out from the camper van. He was wearing militia uniform with shoulder markings. He straightened up and waved his pistol at Mercy.
An officer—
“You… bitch, who are you? How did you—?” the man roared, his voice slurred.
Drunk—
Mercy brought her gun up and took aim, “The name’s Dawes, you loser.” She squeezed the trigger, her last round slammed into the door frame beside the man’s head.
The militia officer stared at her, unflinching. He licked his lips, “That all you got left bitch? Well, wrap your head around this—”
He fired twice, Mercy felt a searing pain in her right shoulder. She dropped her gun and fell to the ground.
Oh—
A single shot rang out from across the compound and the officer’s skull burst open. He crumpled to the ground, his body twitching for a few seconds. Mercy turned to see Barnes standing beside the prisoner’s block, he lowered his assault rifle.
I’m hit—
Mercy brought her hand up to her right shoulder. Her fingers came away slick with blood. She tried to move her arm and winced.
I’m hit, arm’s useless—
She looked down at her shoulder. Her sleeve was shredded, she explored the wound with her fingers.
Hurts like hell… but it looks superficial. Pressure, put pressure on it—
Mercy looked around and reached down to take the bandana from the dead militia woman. She pressed it onto her wound and held it there. She turned to see Barnes wave from the prisoner block.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 7): Hard Mercy Page 21
