Fear Mercy

by Fergal F. Nally

Cronin stopped paddling and held up a hand. Mercy strained to see over his shoulder. A low footbridge stretched across the channel. Mercy took in the wooded shore on either side; raised ground lay ahead on the right.

  Looks like flood defences, a levee or something. Makes sense, this area would be prone to floods in the hurricane season—

  McShane and Erickson started paddling again, Cronin followed. They were able to pass under the footbridge by leaning forwards. They continued, keeping close to the levee on the right. Mercy squinted, in the distance, a hut on stilts sat in the middle of the channel.

  What the hell is that?

  Cronin half-turned and began to speak, “Pull over, we need to scope out that building—”

  His words were cut short.

  Ten yards away the levee seemed to bulge, then with a noise it burst, discharging thousands of tonnes of water into the narrow channel. Mercy’s eyes widened in horror. Hundreds of trope bodies sluiced through the breach. In a heartbeat they were surrounded by thrashing tropes in the turbulent water.

  Chapter 8

  Water Fight

  Mercy’s world shrunk to Cronin and their kayak.

  “Motherfucker,” Cronin swore. He paddled away from the breech and managed to turn the kayak around.

  The narrow footbridge stretched out before them.

  Just paddle, help him out, don’t screw up—

  Mercy followed Cronin’s lead and concentrated on her paddling. Most of the tropes were thrashing aimlessly in the churning water. They passed close to an unmoving body, Mercy registered its rotted uniform.

  Police, fire department maybe—

  Cronin’s paddle struck water near the trope’s head. Without warning the trope reached out and grabbed his paddle. It tried to wrestle it from him. Mercy leant forwards and struck the trope’s skull with her paddle blade.

  Fire department uniform—

  Something struck the kayak underneath, Mercy felt herself falling to the right. Slimy hands appeared on the kayak to her left.

  They’re tipping us over. Shit—

  Mercy released the paddle, it vanished, its leash tugging at the kayak’s pad eye. She managed to grab the Ka-Bar from her webbing as the kayak capsized. Her wet-exit training kicked in, she reached down and released the rubber spray skirt. She kicked out of the kayak into the murky water and swam for the surface. She burst from the water and gasped a lungful of air.

  Fuck—

  Cronin was fighting two tropes in the water a few feet away. Mercy threw herself at the trope on his back, striking out with her knife. Her Ka-Bar scraped across the trope’s shoulder blade then pierced its lung. It released Cronin and turned to face Mercy.

  Biotech only gives me first strike advantage, you can see me now, bastard—

  Mercy pulled away from the trope, it disappeared beneath the surface.

  Shit, shit—

  Mercy thrashed in the water. Cronin was fighting for his life.

  Where the fuck is it?

  The water in front of Mercy exploded, the trope’s decayed face lunged at her. Mercy brought her hand up to protect her face. The trope bit down on the Ka-Bar in her hand, its teeth snapping on the hardened steel. Its dead eyes rolled in their sockets.

  Fucker, get away from me—

  Mercy twisted the Ka-Bar in the trope’s mouth breaking more of its teeth. The trope’s fingers reached up and raked her neck. The Ka-Bar slid deeper into the trope’s mouth, jerking forward. Mercy saw her chance and thrust the blade up, through the roof of the trope’s mouth into its brain. It jerked once, nostrils flaring, its fingers stopped moving, it sank under the water.

  Mercy’s mind went blank. She looked around, tropes were appearing in the water nearby, more arms and faces breaking the surface, coming towards her.

  Like sharks—

  “Dawes, up here, grab the rope,” Cronin’s voice.

  Something splashed beside Mercy’s head, she reached out and clutched the rope. Cronin on the footbridge, pulling her out of the water, pulling her away from the dead faces. Her foot touched one of the bridge’s pillars, she broke from her fugue. Cronin hauled on the rope. She scrambled up the side barrier as a dozen trope hands reached out of the water.

  They’re after Cronin, take your time, do it, do it—

  Cronin reached out and pulled her over the barrier. They fell back onto the wooden walkway. Mercy dropped her knife and clutched Cronin, relief flooding through her.

  “Thank you,” Mercy managed, her breath ragged.

  Cronin was covered in pondweed, his face smeared with trope blood. He nodded, “That was one hell of a clusterfuck, but we made it. That one attacked you… I thought you were trope-proof with that NSA biotech—”

  Mercy rolled off Cronin and stood up, checking her hands. The reinforced gloves had stood up to the trope attack. “Seems as if I only get one chance to get by their radar, as soon as I attack them I lose my advantage, they can see me—”

  Shit, my M16’s gone, my pack… Jesus, the sat phone too—

  Mercy glanced back at the channel, hundreds of tropes now filled the open water.

  I’m not going back in there for it—

  “So… right now, that lot out there are really coming for me and my men and not you guys,” Cronin bent down and started securing a black rope.

  “Well most of us. Flynn’s not got the biotech but me, Tawny and Rose have. Hey, you’ve got the kayak’s mooring rope—”

  “Yeah, managed to retrieve it from the water before the kayak went down. We may be able to salvage it with some help.”

  “You bit anywhere?” Mercy eyed Cronin, concern on her face.

  “No, I’m good, close call though, that trope you wasted was getting ready to chow down on my neck. Thanks to you too—”

  Footsteps on the bridge made them turn. Hicks ran up to them his face drawn, eyes wild. “Come this way, some of us made it to the levee—”

  Mercy followed Cronin and Hicks back across the bridge. A whining sound broke through the wind and rain. Mercy stopped and turned to face the far shore. Mist curled around the distant bulrushes, dense forest cloaked the land beyond.

  What the hell is that?

  “Hey, Lieutenant, did you hear that?” Mercy called out.

  Cronin turned and pulled a face, “Only thing I hear is this storm.” He turned back to his men on the levee. Mercy stared at the far shore a few seconds more but the ghostly keening had subsided.

  That’s some weird shit right there, maybe it was my imagination—

  Mercy followed Cronin and climbed the levee. Six SEALs, Tawny and Flynn stood at the top. They had managed to save four of the kayaks and their packs.

  “Where’s Rose?” Mercy shouted, looking around.

  “And Ramirez—” Cronin added. “Shit, they didn’t make it, did they Hicks?”

  Hicks shook his head and waved at the survivors. “This is it, sir.”

  “Cuts, scratches, one mild concussion, LT,” McShane briefed Cronin.

  Cronin nodded, “Did anyone see what happened to Rose and Ramirez?”

  He was met with silence and blank looks.

  “Shit,” Cronin rubbed the back of his head. “OK, get your gear together, I want us ready to move out in fifteen. Pace, Erickson with me, we’ve got a kayak to haul out of the water—”

  Mercy ignored the others, she scanned the channel for Rose and Ramirez. There was no trace of them.

  “We searched the shoreline around the levee and under the bridge,” Flynn touched Mercy’s shoulder.

  “A big fat nothing. It’s like they just vanished,” Tawny added.

  “Yeah, well it was full on there for a while. Pretty savage—” Flynn broke off, a frown on his face.

  A distant droning sound came from somewhere beyond the far shore.

  “What the hell is that—?” Tawny asked.

  “I’ve no idea,” Mercy said, “I heard it a few minutes ago on the bridge, it could be something to do with Rose. I’m going over there to ch
eck it out. Are you guys coming?”

  “Damn right,” Tawny pronounced.

  They followed Cronin, Pace and Erickson onto the footbridge. The SEALs stopped where the kayak had sunk. Pace was untying the mooring rope lashed to the footbridge.

  “Reckon, I know where you’re going,” Cronin said to Mercy. “Here, take Pace with you as back up. Watch your backs, I heard that noise this time. Doesn’t sound like anything the militia would use, probably some other group holed up over there. Could be that’s where Rose and Ramirez have got to. You scout ahead, be careful, we’ll follow once we’ve sorted this out.”

  Mercy nodded and passed Cronin, making her way to the opposite shore. The footbridge was slippery, its wooden walkway broken in places. They climbed over the bad sections and made it to the far shore ten minutes later. The bridge led them to a duckboard path which extended through the bulrushes.

  “You guys ready?” Mercy asked.

  “Yeah, if anyone’s got Rose and Ramirez, time is crucial. The more time that passes the less chance we’ve got of finding them,” Tawny said.

  Pace stepped forwards, “I’ll take point. Remember, keep eyes on our flank and behind—”

  Mercy pulled out her knife and the SIG P226. “Got it, let’s go Pace, we’re right behind you.”

  Rose hang in there babe, we’re coming for you—

  A haunting drone waxed and waned as if in answer to Mercy’s thoughts, somewhere deep in the trees.

  Fucking swamps, I hate them. I’ll take the city any time over this shit—

  Mercy switched the SIG’s safety off and chambered a round.

  Chapter 9

  Fay

  Twenty minutes later Pace raised a fist in the air and stopped. It was treacherous terrain; boggy ground, tree roots and thorns.

  Jesus, even the plants are out to hold us back—

  Wind shrieked in the trees, rain pummelled Mercy’s skin.

  Ignore it, it means nothing, suck it up. What’s Pace looking at anyway?

  Mercy leaned to one side.

  Shit… a kayak, one of ours. Rose and Ramirez were here—

  The kayak was empty, the soft ground littered with footprints.

  Mercy stared at the tracks, processing the evidence.

  Yeah, there was a struggle here alright—

  Pace crept ahead and scanned the area, he seemed satisfied and waved them forwards. Mercy bent down to examine the kayak, she ran her fingers along its front section and pulled her hand away.

  Blood—

  “Pace, blood, it’s fresh, they’re not long gone, we need to follow them. How’s your tracking?” Mercy whispered.

  “Good enough, let’s go,” Pace answered, his eyes dark.

  Pace moved with the efficiency of a hunter, Mercy followed, her eyes darting right and left. The tracks were initially clear but the trail became indistinct after ten minutes, the heavy rain was washing the footprints away. Water ran off Mercy’s cap and dripped from her nose. Her boots squelched, she narrowed her eyes.

  This wind keeps changing direction, difficult to know which way to—

  Pace stopped mid-stride, Mercy almost bumped into him. He looked down, his body hunched.

  “What is it?” Mercy asked, her voice taut.

  “My bootlace, it’s caught in something. Might be nothing, but it don’t feel like nothing. Check it out for me, I don’t want to move, it could be a booby trap—”

  Mercy waved the others back and bent to examine the ground at Pace’s feet. She found a wire, four inches off the ground. Pace’s bootlace was tangled in the wire.

  Shit, shit, shit—

  Mercy followed the wire, it disappeared into a pile of leaves and re-emerged, running alongside a creeper into the nearest tree.

  No grenade? What then?

  She stepped over the wire and explored the ground ahead.

  Nothing—

  Mercy looked up at the tree, from her new angle she saw a spiked log suspended high in the air.

  Jesus, that’s as big as a person, those spikes are meant to kill—

  She waved the others further back and returned to Pace.

  “It’s a log, high up, you can’t see it from here, it’s about forty feet above. Your boot is pressed against a tripwire, you should be OK just backing off but I’m not sure—”

  “Probably best for me to dive right,” Pace replied. “I’ve got this… get yourself and the others clear and I’ll roll right.”

  Mercy nodded and backed away. Pace waited until Mercy was a safe distance then he threw himself right and rolled. The wire broke free, branches jerked in the tree above, an eight foot spiked log swung down from above, cutting through the air where Pace had stood moments before.

  “Bastards,” Tawny whispered.

  “Shit,” Flynn spat.

  Mercy gave the log a wide berth and went to check on Pace. She found him uninjured, in the long grass.

  “Close call,” Pace heaved himself up.

  “Too close,” Mercy echoed.

  “These people are no amateurs, let’s go find Ramirez and Rose,” Pace said.

  “What about Cronin and the others?” Mercy looked at her watch, they had already been gone thirty minutes.

  “They’ll find us,” Pace said, “if not, we’ll find them.”

  “Correct answer,” Mercy replied, “if we turn back now the tracks will disappear in this rain.”

  “Let’s go,” Pace stepped out of the undergrowth and started following the remaining muddy footprints.

  The trail took them through dense undergrowth and murky forest. Daylight was anaemic in the dark grip of the trees. Mercy checked her watch; 8:16pm.

  We’ve burned an hour. Shit, have we lost them? Maybe they’ve double backed and pulled away. Maybe—

  Pace raised his hand and crouched down in a thick collection of wood ferns. Mercy moved towards him. Tawny and Flynn held back, watching the rear. Mercy blinked, her finger itchy on the SIG’s trigger.

  What’s that? A hunting cabin?

  An old clapboard cabin complete with stone chimney stood in a clearing. Candlelight flickered in one of the windows.

  Rose has to be in there—

  Mercy fought the urge to charge across the clearing and kick the door open. Pace waited, watching the cabin, calculating. Mercy kept still, waiting for the plan, the military answer to this problem.

  I can smell his sweat, or is it me—?

  Pace pulled back and signalled to the others. They regrouped fifty feet back.

  “We’re going in, we can’t afford to wait, we don’t know what’s happening in there—” Pace said, his voice flat.

  “Frontal assault is out,” Mercy said.

  “Agreed,” Pace answered. “We go in two on the left, two on the right, come in from the sides. Take down any hostiles, but weigh each shot, we’ve got two of our own in there—”

  “OK,” Tawny said, “check watches, fifteen minutes should give us enough time to get in close—”

  “Sounds good, we go in hard in fifteen then,” Mercy said.

  Mercy followed Pace through the undergrowth. He took them away from the cabin, then swung around, from the side. The cabin lay thirty feet away, shrouded in shadow. Pace checked his watch, his shoulders tense, he was about to move when the front door of the cabin opened.

  Mercy strained to see through the undergrowth. A hooded figure in a long coat stood on the porch and struck a match.

  What the fuck—?

  The figure lit a cigarette, inhaled then blew out the smoke.

  “OK fuckers, we know you’re out there, you’re on our turf now, we own this forest, we own your asses. We’ve got your kin, why don’t you come on out and we can talk like regular people used to, back in the day?”

  A girl’s voice—

  Conflicting thoughts coursed through Mercy’s head.

  Maybe? No… dammit, it’s always a trap. Nothing is ever as easy as just talking, not now, not never—

  The girl on the p
orch shrugged, flicking her cigarette onto the ground. “Have it your way losers.” She turned and vanished back inside the cabin.

  Pace caught Mercy’s eye and pointed at a side door. Mercy nodded. Pace led the way, they crept up to the building and took the first step to the door. Pace’s foot hovered over the second step.

  A voice shouted from inside the building, “Come on NSA bastards, we’re ready for you.”

  A red laser light danced across Pace’s shoulders. Mercy blinked, she acted in a heartbeat. She grabbed his webbing and pulled him back. Two bullets slammed into the step where they had been standing. The bushes rustled on their left. Mercy wheeled around and took aim. A small figure ran away through the trees.

  Shit, wait, they think we’re NSA—

  Mercy stood up, “We’re not NSA, we’re fighting those fuckers. Listen to me, we’re not the NSA.”

  Silence.

  The side door opened, a voice came from within, “Well you’d better come in then, hadn’t you?”

  Mercy looked at Pace, he shook his head.

  Rose is in there, I know it—

  Mercy lowered her gun and took a step forwards, “I’m coming in, don’t shoot.”

  The steps creaked as she reached for the door.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Mercy went through the door and entered a long, dark room. A hard-faced girl with a Winchester SXP Pump shotgun was kneeling on the floor to the right. The hooded girl from the porch was crouched beside the front door. A boy in his late teens was positioned behind an overturned table, a 44 Remington Magnum in each hand.

  This is a bad western movie—

  Mercy held out her hand. “Don’t shoot, I’m with friends, we’re not NSA, we’re with The Resistance. We’re fighting the NSA.”

  From across the room a male voice rang out, “Two more of the fuckers creeping up on us this side Fay.”

  The girl with the shotgun frowned. “You’d better call off your friends before this gets out of hand.”

  Mercy raised a hand, “OK, OK, just don’t shoot. We’ll talk OK?”

  The girl nodded and lowered her shotgun slightly.

  Mercy put her SIG in her thigh holster. “I’m going to cross the room, to the window and tell my friends to stand down. OK?”