Dark Mercy
The Survival Chronicles VI
by Fergal F. Nally
Copyright © Fergal F. Nally 2020
“Death is the reward for the drab pain that is life—” President Mitchell, Commander-in-Chief, New State Army.
“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.” — Sun Tzu: The Art of War
“Life is neither good or evil, but only a place for good and evil—” Marcus Aurelius
The moral right of Fergal F. Nally to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act, 1988.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Cover design: Beetiful Book Covers
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1 Shallow Grave
Chapter 2 Contact
Chapter 3 Hot Dog
Chapter 4 Damocles
Chapter 5 Outside
Chapter 6 Fire Station
Chapter 7 Burning Reapers
Chapter 8 Flood
Chapter 9 Hunter Killers
Chapter 10 Maryland State House
Chapter 11 Deep End
Chapter 12 Exfil
Chapter 13 Abrams
Chapter 14 Panic Room
Chapter 15 Hellfire
Chapter 16 Execution
Chapter 17 The Kindred
Chapter 18 Shafted
Chapter 19 Blood and Whisky
Chapter 20 The Crows
Chapter 21 Ascent
Chapter 22 Deep Red
Chapter 23 Ambush
Chapter 24 Flyover
Chapter 25 Executioner’s Prayer
Chapter 26 Strafe
Chapter 27 City Limits
Chapter 28 Anacostia River
Chapter 29 Cold Sweat
Chapter 30 Subterranean
Chapter 31 Tryst
Chapter 32 Union
Chapter 33 Recon
Chapter 34 Stadium-Armory
Chapter 35 Oblivion
About the Author
Chapter 1
Shallow Grave
The cold gripped Mercy’s chest like a vice. A secondary explosion ripped through the burning gunboat twenty yards away. Mercy’s eyelids fluttered, her mouth gaped as the shockwave passed through the water. Her eyes snapped open, her mind screamed at her to resist the urge to breathe in. She pulled the inflation toggle on her lifejacket. Nothing happened. Adrenaline surged through her system. She kicked out against the current and swam upwards.
She reached the surface and gasped, her body gorging on fresh air. Cold wind struck her and she shuddered. Her heart gave a few erratic thumps before reverting to a regular rhythm. Flames danced on the water to her right, the smell of oil registered dully in her consciousness. Men shouted to one another in the distance. Fifty yards away two searchlights probed the darkness.
Mercy blinked, allowing her eyes to focus. Her breathing was shallow and rapid but the air was working its magic on her oxygen-starved brain. The two remaining NSA gunboats were pulling survivors from the burning wreckage. There was no sign of the RIB.
Pace sacrificed himself for us… for me. He destroyed one of their boats—
Mercy glanced to her left. A thin strip of land was visible in the distance.
Shit, where’s Flynn, Rose and the others?
Mercy thrashed in the water, trying to see through the dancing flames. She called out, “Flynn? Rose? Where are you? I’m over here. Flynn? Rose?”
Nothing.
A man’s distant scream, the growl of diesel engines, the sudden brightness of a searchlight, sweeping the flaming water. Mercy’s eyes fell on her Hi Vis lifejacket.
Piece of shit. Didn’t inflate and now it’s going to get me caught or killed. Get away—
Mercy turned towards land and started swimming. The current pulled her, dragging her away from the NSA gunboats and flames. The shore grew nearer, a dock loomed out of the dim light. She used her remaining strength and reached it a minute later, she found a metal ladder on the side of the dock. She clung to its cold metal, pressing her cheek against the bottom rung.
Made it. Jesus, made it—
She started shivering, her muscles stiffened.
Cramp, move… get out, quick—
Mercy pulled herself up the ladder, fighting her stiffening body.
Hide, hide—
She glanced back; one of the gunboats had broken away from the wreckage and was training its searchlight on the shore a quarter of a mile away.
Shit, these NSA bastards don’t give up—
A wave of nausea washed over her. She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to be sick. A few seconds later she blinked and noticed the dock struts behind the ladder.
Hide, in there, it’s better than being spotted on top—
Mercy clambered around the ladder and managed to pull herself into the metal struts beneath the walkway. Her eyes followed the gunboat as it worked its way slowly up the shore towards her, its searchlight probing the coastline.
They’re looking for bodies washed up on the beach. If I stay here I should be OK—
A popping sound erupted behind, making her turn. She peered up, through the cracks in the walkway, her eyes dazzled by a bright flare hanging in the sky.
Shit, what now—?
The growl of outboard engines made her turn. A lone RIB was approaching the dock from further up the bay.
Christ, just what I need, more NSA. No searchlight but still, with flares this close they’ll see me. Get out, get away—
Mercy reached for the ladder and climbed up onto the dock. She crouched low and ran towards the shore. She stopped, yards from the entrance gate. A shape on the sand below caught her eye.
A body. A lifejacket, like mine, except it’s inflated. It’s got to be—
The RIB was closer, a hundred yards away, men’s silhouettes clearly visible. Pop. Another flare burst to life sending bright light from overhead.
Dammit, I’ve got to see who it is—
Mercy jumped down to the sand and ran over to the prone figure. She knelt beside the body and gasped.
Fay? Fay—
Fay’s eyes were closed, her lips tinged blue. Fay took a shallow breath and lifted her right hand from the sand.
Mercy leaned in, “Fay, it’s me, Mercy. You’re OK. We need to get you off this beach, come on, let’s go girl.”
The RIB sounded close. Mercy swung around, her heart sank. It was in the shallows, she counted six NSA soldiers on board. Two men stood at the prow, their assault rifles raised.
No. Goddammit—
Mercy froze, staring at the craft. Without warning the RIB’s engines roared and it reversed back out into the bay. The soldier in the front lost his balance and toppled into the surf. The RIB withdrew to deeper water leaving the soldier stranded on the beach.
What the hell—?
Men shouted on the RIB from twenty yards out. The soldier looked away from Mercy and stared at the trees lining the shore
. Mercy followed his gaze; a large group of tropes had appeared along the shoreline. They were advancing towards the stranded soldier. Mercy frowned.
There must be fifty tropes at least, the engine noise and flares are attracting them—
She turned to Fay, “Come on girl, time to get outta here—”
Automatic weapons’ fire erupted behind. The men on the RIB targeted the tropes closest to the stranded soldier. Mercy helped Fay to her feet and assisted her across the sand. They reached the grass covered dunes and collapsed in a narrow dip.
This isn’t going to work. Fay’s in shock, she’s probably hypothermic. Shit, think, think—
The gunfire from the RIB intensified. Men’s shouts carried on the wind. Mercy checked her watch, its face was smashed. She grabbed Fay’s wrist and took her friend’s watch.
3:47 am. I’m supposed to meet Barnes at 5:00 am. Christ, I don’t even know where we are—
Fay mumbled something and began shivering.
Cover her with sand, it’ll get her out of the wind. It’s dry here, it’ll give her some shelter and hide her scent from the tropes. Do it, then find Barnes—
Mercy dug a shallow pit in the sand then removed Fay’s lifejacket. She rolled Fay into the pit, scooped up handfuls of sand and covered her friend up to the neck. Mercy placed her own failed lifejacket around Fay’s face and took Fay’s inflated one.
“Don’t worry Fay. Stay here, rest. I’ll go find Barnes and come back for you. Stay put and you’ll be safe. Don’t leave here, promise me. Do not leave—” Mercy’s voice faltered.
Fay stared blankly at Mercy, mumbled something and nodded.
“OK then, good, good girl Fay. Rest and I’ll be back—”
Mercy stood and turned inland, she picked her way through the dunes and reached a road. A small store and car park stood off to the left. A sign in the car park caught her eye. She approached it, keeping an eye on the building. The dock stretched out beyond the sign. The gunfire was abating from the RIB, the surf crashed along the beach. She wiped the sign with her sleeve.
A tourist map: YOU ARE HERE—
Mercy took in the information: OYSTER HARBOR. SHORE DRIVE.
OK… so I want to get to 2110 Douglass Avenue, Highland Beach to meet with Barnes—
She traced her finger on the map, searching the roads. Nothing. She widened her search and whispered a small cry of victory.
Yes… hell yeah. There you are; Douglass Avenue—
She glanced around, finding her bearings.
Right, that’s north, northwest. If I head in that direction and keep just in from the shore I should find the road—
Mercy took a last glance at the map and took off, into the night.
Chapter 2
Contact
Mercy came to a narrow water channel that marked the creek’s entry into the bay. She walked inland and reached the end of the path. Oyster Creek stretched out before her.
Shit, gonna get wet again—
Mercy pulled on Fay’s lifejacket and tightened the straps. The channel was silted up in places, a series of planks had been laid across its narrowest point. They took her weight and she walked across, surprised at how shallow the water was. She reached the opposite side with only her feet and ankles wet.
She removed Fay’s lifejacket, deflated it and packed it away under her webbing. She ploughed on, through trees and dense undergrowth. A large building loomed beyond the trees and she stopped, listening. The wind rustled leaves in the higher branches, a strangled cry broke the spell making her flinch.
Could be a fox… or an owl, hell if I know. Keep moving—
Mercy broke from cover and approached the building. She caught a glimpse of a road ahead. She advanced cautiously, emerging into a car park. A sail boat on a trailer stood forlornly on the far side.
A branch snapped behind, she swung around, her hand reaching for the SIG Sauer P226 strapped to her thigh. An emaciated trope staggered towards her, reaching out. Its fingers clawed the air, its jaw opened and closed slowly.
Jesus, you’re in a bad way lady. How long have you been rotting out here?
The trope’s stench reached Mercy from thirty feet away. Mercy wrinkled her nose and spat on the ground.
So… why are you following me? I’ve got the biotech… I should be invisible to you—
Mercy stepped back and watched in fascination as the undead woman lurched towards her.
OK, this isn’t good. It sees me. So… the biotech’s not working? Leave her, she’s slow, not worth the risk. Just get out of here, figure it out later—
Mercy turned to the road and walked away from the staggering trope. A few minutes later it was far behind. Mercy watched as the numbers on the roadside mail boxes neared 2110. Soft rain fell, adding a chill to the air. She trudged on, over the potholed tarmac.
2105… nearly there—
Mercy’s eyes darted left and right. A sense of unease crept over her.
What if Barnes has been compromised? What if this is a trap? No, stop being paranoid. Cronin said it was OK. Yeah, but look what happened to Cronin—
Mercy checked her watch; 4:28 am.
Half an hour to the rendezvous time. Find a spot, lie low, keep watch. It’s all you can do—
She entered the front garden of 2105. A choking sound grabbed her attention, she pulled her knife out and peered around the gate pillar. A badly decomposed trope lay impaled on a tree branch, its legs and arms flailing. The trope’s milky eyes rolled blindly in their sockets, its nostrils flared. It pulled against the branch trying to wrench itself free, its moans filling the air. Mercy stopped in her tracks, her brow furrowed.
Again? Why? How can this one see me too? What is it?
Mercy looked at her hands and arms.
Nothing—
She checked her legs and webbing.
Wait—
She frowned and pulled out Fay’s deflated lifejacket.
Could it be this? It’s got Fay’s scent on it, she was clammy, in shock, frightened—
Mercy stepped forwards and waved the lifejacket in front of the impaled trope. It thrashed wildly, its grimacing face becoming more animated.
Shit, so that’s it, mystery solved—
Mercy threw the lifejacket into the undergrowth behind the trope. It swivelled its head and turned its body. Its groans became louder and more prolonged.
We can’t have that, you’ll attract every trope in the vicinity—
Mercy stepped forwards and stabbed the trope in the temple, she twisted her blade. The trope went limp, a sighing breath left its purple-grey lips.
Rest in peace, motherfucker. Game over—
Mercy withdrew her knife and wiped it on the trope’s jacket. She made her way through the next few gardens using the trees and undergrowth for cover. She emerged from a clump of bushes at the rear of 2110 and looked up a long garden leading to the rear of the property. The rain had intensified, the sky was a dull grey. Mercy’s whole body ached, she massaged her neck, a headache was looming.
I need water, food and rest. I can’t think straight, and Fay. Jesus, poor Fay back there in the sand—
Mercy rubbed her forehead and slunk back under the trees.
What’s happened to Flynn, Rose, Tawny and Billy-Ray? Well… you saw Pace take three rounds at least, he’s gone. Billy-Ray? He was already wounded, he’ll not have made it. That leaves Flynn, Rose and Tawny. Oh god, oh god—
A strange sensation gripped Mercy.
Please let them be OK. They’re the only family I’ve got—
A wave of fatigue washed over her. She held onto a tree to steady herself.
Get your shit together. Get in position, closer to the house and wait for Barnes. He’ll make the first move—
Mercy worked her way along the side of the property to thick cover near the road. She dropped to the ground and peered through the bushes at the driveway. The rain intensified creating a cacophony of sound on the surrounding leaves.
How am I su
pposed to hear anyone through this racket?
She checked her watch.
Twenty minutes to go, it’ll be fine. Keep it together—
The drumming rain was hypnotic. Mercy blinked as raindrops splattered her face, she rested her head against a branch and closed her eyes.
Just for a minute… I’ll stay awake—
A twig snapped. Mercy blinked and stared out into the rain, her heart pounding.
Shit—
She jumped as something hard pressed against the back of her head.
A male voice growled behind her, “What was on your bucket list again?”
Barnes—?
Mercy’s mind raced, “Grand Canyon, Joshua Tree—”
“What was on my bucket list?” the voice demanded.
Mercy closed her eyes, “Route 66… Harley Davidson—”
The pressure disappeared from her head.
“You alone?” the voice asked.
Mercy nodded and turned around slowly. A figure in a sniper’s ghillie suit, holding a Glock 19, stared back at her. An oily smell filled the air.
“Yeah, I’m alone here,” Mercy replied, “but I’ve got a buddy back at the beach. She’s in shock, we need to get her. So, you’re… Barnes?”
“Correct,” Barnes said. He pulled back his hood and camouflaged face mask. Hard eyes glared out from under bushy eyebrows. A full beard reached his chest, his skin was weather-beaten and his voice deep and gravelly.
Mercy nodded, “So… I’m Mercy Dawes, we spoke—”
“That we did,” Barnes said. “Where’s Lieutenant Cronin?”
Mercy blinked and looked down. “He didn’t make it, he was killed by Hicks; another SEAL. Hicks was a NSA spy. The bastard betrayed us, gave our position to the NSA, they sent gunboats to intercept us. Pace got us close to shore, I was thrown free. Pace sacrificed himself, he rammed our RIB into one of their gunboats. It happened so fast, he’s dead too. I don’t know who else is alive, except for me and Fay—”
“Fay?” Barnes asked.
“Yeah, sorry, I’m not making much sense. Fay’s the one I mentioned, she’s back in the dunes where I left her. I came to find you. We need to go back and get her—”
Barnes shook his head. “We can’t, from what you say this area is compromised, there’ll be NSA drones overhead at sunup,” he looked at his watch, “in just over an hour. We’ve gotta bale, get back to the safe house.”
The Survival Chronicles (Book 6): Dark Mercy Page 1
