They moved to the overgrown building and concealed themselves in the ivy and bushes running along its outer wall. Then Mercy heard it, through the rain, through her racing heart. The dirty growl of a diesel engine. Somewhere nearby.
It’s close, heading this way. A truck or—
The Cyclone SWAT armoured vehicle lumbered into view at the edge of the plaza.
“Down,” Cronin said.
They dropped to the ground. Mercy felt the vibrations of the Ford V8-6.7 litre turbocharged engine through the ground.
That’s one ugly monster—
The Cyclone crawled into the centre of the plaza and stopped, engine idling. Its roof tower gave the occupants a 360 degree, elevated view over the plaza.
“Nobody move,” hissed Cronin.
Mercy watched the Cyclone through the ivy and long grass. They had managed to pull their kayaks into cover. The Cyclone sat, unmoving in the plaza.
“What are they doing?” Erickson whispered.
Cronin slowly raised a fist and shook it. Mercy understood.
They’re listening… they’ve got some sort of surveillance tech on board. The storm is covering us though, the wind is so bloody loud I can hardly hear myself think—
Mercy checked her watch twenty minutes later, her neck and legs were stiff.
It’s so cold. We’ve gotta do something soon, we’ll die out here—
A shuffling noise followed by groaning came from the shattered window above Mercy’s left shoulder.
What the hell? Tropes… can they smell the SEALs?
Cronin tilted his head.
He’s heard it too—
The shuffling intensified, broken glass crunched in the room beyond.
Shit, they’re coming to the window—
A tap on Mercy’s shoulder. She turned, Pace put a finger to his lips and beckoned for her to follow. They crawled back, along the wall to an ivy-clogged section. Tawny’s legs were disappearing through a broken window, McShane and Hicks went next. Mercy followed and found herself in a large, empty room. The paint on the ceiling was peeling, the room was damp and mould covered the walls. A set of smashed double doors lay at one end.
A communal area? No furniture, no other exit apart from the windows and those broken doors—
“Guard the doors, a man on each window, the rest here by me,” Cronin ordered.
Shit, we’re vulnerable, exposed, NSA militia outside and god knows how many tropes inside—
Mercy took out her combat knife and the SIG P226. There was just enough light in the room to see through the door into the corridor beyond. Nothing moved. Something registered on Mercy’s consciousness.
The truck’s engine, it’s stopped—
Erickson jerked his head away from the window, “Two hostiles just exited the vehicle, armed with M4s.” He pulled a small mirror from his pocket and held it up to the windowsill. “They’re doing a sweep of the plaza, they’re… moving to the far side, starting there—”
“Shit,” Cronin said. “We’ll need to—”
Before he could finish, a noise came from the corridor.
Something’s coming—
Two dogs charged through the door and hurled themselves at Cronin and Mercy. Four more hounds followed, splitting up to attack the rest of the party. The lead dog leapt at Cronin, its mouth foaming, its jaws wide. Cronin raised his knife arm to shield his neck and fired point-blank with his silenced SIG P226. His rounds missed and the dog’s teeth clamped down on his knife arm.
Mercy staggered back as the second dog hurled itself at her neck. She leant sideways and brought her knife up in a vicious arc, slicing through the dog’s stomach as its teeth snapped inches from her face. The dog yelped and crashed to the floor. Mercy bent down to finish it off, thrusting her blade deep into its chest. The dog twitched, then lay still.
The lead dog wrenched Cronin’s arm, its teeth clamping down on the Kevlar sleeves. Cronin held the hound at arm’s length, pressed the SIG to its ribcage and squeezed the trigger twice. The dog shuddered, released his arm and fell to the floor, its ribcage a bloody mess. Cronin stamped on its skull, crushing bone and brain.
The others in the room ended their dance with death in seconds. Luck and training saw the six hounds dispatched with little noise. Mercy’s eyes fell to the animal at her feet.
Rabies? Or the virus? Who knows? Close call—
“Regroup,” Cronin hissed. “Eyes out. Erickson, report.”
Erickson checked the plaza with his mirror. “Hostiles, continuing circuit in plaza, they’re checking the long grass with fixed bayonets. ETA our position two minutes.”
Shit, always keep your eye on the exit—
Mercy’s eyes flicked to the windows and the broken set of doors.
She leaned in to Cronin, “We need another way out of here, let me and Rose check out the corridor, we’ve got the biotech—”
Cronin nodded, “Make it quick, we’re in deep here.”
Mercy holstered her pistol, took out her torch and kept her knife ready. Rose pulled out her two silenced Glock 22 pistols and stood behind Mercy.
Be my shadow Rose—
Mercy stared into the darkness at the end of the corridor.
There’s a world of shit ahead, a world of shit behind, fuck it, just move—
Mercy walked down the corridor allowing a narrow beam of the torch light between her fingers. The corridor led to a communal hallway, a series of carpeted steps led down to an entrance foyer. Mercy moved her torch beam methodically over the area. Broken glass glinted, an emergency exit sign reflected off to the left, down a neighbouring corridor.
That’s it—
Glass crunched ahead. Mercy tensed and bit her lip, she swung the beam towards the noise. Rose inhaled sharply behind her.
Twelve tropes stood clustered in the darkest recess of the foyer; some naked, some in rags, most with their eyes closed. A few had eyes and mouths open, their tongues protruding, tasting the air.
Alert. Waiting.
Chapter 7
Back Door
This is good, I can make it work—
Mercy rotated her hand in the air. Rose stepped back. A glass shard snapped under her boot. Two tropes opened their eyes, their nostrils flaring.
Shit—
Mercy tensed. Nothing happened, the tropes settled and huddled closer together in the dark corner.
OK, watch for glass—
Mercy shone the torch at the floor in front of Rose and followed her friend. They returned to the function room. Rose paused at the door and held her hand up. Unfamiliar voices came from outside. Mercy froze and reached for her pistol. Rose crouched beside the broken doors, her Glock 22s at the ready.
A man’s voice, “Wait… wait a minute, those scuff marks on the window, they weren’t there yesterday—”
Another man’s voice, “You sure?”
“Yeah, maybe those kids are hiding in there, call it in—”
Static, a radio crackling, “Suspected new activity on our position, request backup.”
The first voice again, “I’ll take a look—”
“I’m coming with you—”
A crunch then a bang followed by scuffling and muffled shouts. Then silence.
Rose poked her head around the door. Two militia men lay sprawled on the floor, pools of blood collecting around their cut throats.
Cronin rose from the shadows, “Good job Erickson, Pace. You heard; their buddies are coming, drag those dogs over here, make it look as if the dogs attacked them. It might buy us some time.” Cronin turned to the door, “Dawes, I hope you’ve got an exit strategy.”
Mercy entered the room and briefed Cronin on her findings. “Me and Rose will show you the way, there’s a side corridor off the foyer, it leads to a fire escape. Make for that, don’t stand on any broken glass, there’s a pod of twitchy tropes on the far side of the foyer. Me and Rose will watch your flank—”
Cronin nodded, “Got it.”
“Lieutenant,
four militia coming this way from the APC,” McShane warned from the window.
Cronin looked at Mercy and Rose, “You two, first. Everyone else on me. Silenced weapons, shoot only if necessary. Move out.”
Mercy took them through the broken doors and down the corridor, her shielded torchlight bobbing on the floorboards.
Shit, this is high risk. Don’t think, just get it done—
They reached the raised area above the foyer, Mercy pointed out the emergency exit corridor to Cronin. Rose moved out to Mercy’s right. A shout came from the function room behind, followed by more shouts then echoing footsteps.
Cronin made for the side corridor followed by his men. The voices in the function room grew louder, footsteps filled the corridor behind Mercy. The cluster of tropes bristled for a microsecond then exploded into movement. Four tropes broke off and moved towards Cronin and his men, the other eight tropes ran up the steps towards the function room corridor.
Mercy hefted the knife in her right hand and chose her target; a strong looking, male trope. The four tropes ran at Cronin’s men, ignoring Mercy and Rose. Mercy stuck out her foot as the male trope passed, it sprawled to the floor. She jumped on its back and grabbed a handful of matted hair. She plunged her blade into the trope’s temple, it went limp beneath her.
Screams and shooting came from the function room. Mercy looked up to see the SEALs dealing with the three tropes that had made it past her and Rose. Rose reached down and helped Mercy up. The last of the SEALs were disappearing through the emergency exit, taking the dead tropes with them.
Rose patted Mercy on the shoulder, “Here, help me with this body, we don’t want to leave a trail behind us—”
The shooting reached a crescendo in the function room. Mercy and Rose dragged the dead trope to the emergency exit and threw it outside. The SEALs had moved into the courtyard beyond. McShane stepped out and waved at Mercy. Rose picked up a piece of wood from the ground and jammed it against the door.
“Come on Rose, let’s bail—” Mercy said.
McShane led them along the rear of the building and across an adjoining road to an alleyway. A back door led them into an empty shop. Mannequins in rotting clothes stood at the grimy, front window. Cronin was on the floor behind the door, peering out through the letter box. Mercy crouched against the wall behind him and watched.
Cronin waited a good five minutes, “Looks as if your ruse worked; they think the dogs and tropes were responsible for the attack on their men. They’ve removed their guys, there was so much blood in there… even I would’ve believed it.”
Mercy closed her eyes, her shoulders slumped. She could not banish the tension from her body, adrenaline still coursed through her veins.
Breathe, breathe, this one’s over, you’ve made it, you’ve made it—
The APC’s engine burst into life in the plaza. Mercy opened her eyes and listened as the militia pulled away. The engine came closer, her eyes widened. The armoured vehicle passed in front of the shop, the ground vibrated. It moved on, seconds later it was gone. Silence descended on the plaza.
Mercy checked her watch; 4:37pm.
Christ, we’ve been here for three hours and all this shit has happened—
A thought struck her.
“Did they find our kayaks?”
“No,” Cronin whispered.
Mercy started to move towards the back door.
“Wait,” Cronin hissed. “We wait—”
Wait? Why?
Mercy pulled at a strand of hair. She looked at Cronin; still on the ground, still watching through the letter box. She went to the grimy window and peered outside. The plaza was empty, rain and wind battered the glass. Rose came up beside her, they both stared out.
I get it—
Ten minutes passed, the long grass parted on the far side of the plaza. Two camouflaged militia men stepped out, one surveyed the plaza, the other spoke into a radio.
“Sweeper team,” Cronin said. “These bastards are well trained. We’ll wait them out.”
The two militia men disappeared down a side street.
Cronin sat up, “We’ve got to move, there’s a risk if we stay here. Let’s get the kayaks and get away from here.”
They retrieved the kayaks and left the plaza, keeping to the side streets and alleys.
West, west, west. Get us away from the built up areas—
Twenty minutes later the buildings thinned out, the ground became rough and boggy. Tall grasses and reeds bent in the wind. The rain had stopped, Mercy looked at the sky.
Could it be easing off?
It was cold, she was soaked.
Can’t stop. Keep moving, those that move survive—
She glanced back at her friends, they were fighting their own battles. Tawny and Flynn had paired up.
How did that happen? Perhaps it’s best, I’m distracted when Flynn is beside me. With Rose it’s different, Rose’s edge gives me an edge. She can read a situation. Instinct or intuition? What the hell’s the difference anyway? Rose knows what’s going through my head out here, it works with Rose. Back on the ship, it works with Flynn. Should I be worried? Who knows? Hell, we could be dead by the end of the day—
Mercy’s internal dialogue was interrupted by a change of surface underfoot. McShane and Erickson were taking them through windblown reeds and bulrushes.
Duckboards?
Mercy stuck her head around the edge of the kayak and looked beyond Cronin’s bobbing shoulders. A duckboard path stretched into the distance towards an area of higher, tree-covered ground. The path was heavily overgrown, its surface slippery, the wood cracked and broken in places. Deep boggy pools lay on either side.
Beats walking through that muck—
They neared the higher ground, clusters of trees had found a toehold in the swampy area. Mercy glanced at a stand of alders in the distance. Cronin stopped and turned.
“Duckboard’s too broken up ahead, we need to get down into the reeds. McShane’s testing the depth,” Cronin’s eyes were alive, darting left and right.
Mercy lowered her end of the kayak and passed the message on to Pace and Rose behind. Her eyes returned to the distant alders, she frowned.
Something’s not—
“Everyone down, now,” Mercy warned, waving her hand at the others. She motioned at Pace, “Give me your binoculars.”
Pace reached into his webbing and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Mercy pressed them to her eyes and focused on the alders through the bulrushes.
Something… something, where? Where are you?
An initial sweep with the binoculars drew a blank. She adjusted the focus and slowly swept across the trees again. She froze and sucked air in between her teeth.
“There you are, I knew it. Nature abhors a straight line—”
Mercy shoved the binoculars at Cronin, “Group of alders thirty yards away, outer most one. Sniper in the lower branches, he’s alone, not wearing camouflage, you can see his rifle. He seems to be looking the other way—”
Cronin adjusted the focus on the binoculars and nodded, “Got him, yeah, he’s facing north. There must be another path coming out of town.”
Mercy scanned their route, “We can’t cross that ground ahead with the kayaks, there’s a chance he could see us if he looks this way.”
We’ll have to kill him—
“We need to neutralise the threat, you’re right, the kayaks will draw his attention.” Cronin waved McShane and Erickson over. “Flank him, make sure he’s alone. Take him out, we’ll stay here.”
McShane nodded and together with Erickson, slid into the bulrushes, the water rose to their chests. They were lost to sight in seconds. Mercy watched the group of alders for what seemed like an age,
What a godforsaken place to be put on duty. He has to have backup and somewhere to keep warm, a camp nearby—
A shot rang out, two crows flew from the alders. Cronin squinted through the binoculars.
“They’ve got him, his body’s
stuck in the branches. They’ll confirm the kill, dispose of the body and check for others. They’ll catch up, come on, let’s get a move on. Hicks, Ramirez… you get to carry two kayaks —”
Cronin and Mercy picked up their kayak and climbed down into the bulrushes. They pushed through the boggy ground and made it to dry land. They pulled their kayaks up under the trees and waited for McShane and Erickson. Thirty minutes later the two SEALs materialized from the boggy water.
“Got him, from behind. He was scoping another path, he was using an old birdwatching hide as a camp back in the trees. There were two bedrolls but no sign of the other guy, maybe he’s watching somewhere else. Anyway, we shoved his body under a log, he won’t be found anytime soon. Took this from him,” McShane held up a radio handset, “but it’s waterlogged—”
Cronin nodded, “Looks as if we might have pulled it off. Good job on spotting him Dawes.” Cronin checked his watch, “It’s 17:28, there’s a few hours of daylight left. Let’s get these kayaks to the water on the other side of this rise and get the hell out of here—”
They climbed the sloping ground, wind roared through the trees, they reached the top fifteen minutes later.
Christ, I can’t carry this thing anymore, it was never this hard back in the city—
Cronin grunted and half turned to Mercy, “Not much further, open water ahead.”
They hauled the six kayaks down to the shore. Roanoke Sound opened up before them. Its water looked cold and dark.
We’ll be out in the open, but the kayaks are black and we’ll have a low silhouette against the water. I hope the militia’s eyes are focused east, not west. We should be behind them now—
Mercy climbed into the kayak and took up her paddle. Cronin pushed off from the shore. McShane and Erickson were out front. The wind howled off the peninsula and ripped across the open expanse of water.
At least we’re not paddling into the wind—
Mercy dug deep and paddled hard behind Cronin, they hugged the shoreline and managed to progress north without being swept into the sound. Two hours later land jutted out before them. Woodland extended beyond the shore, a narrow channel became visible ahead. McShane and Erickson steered into the sheltered channel.
Fear Mercy Page 4
