The Survival Chronicles (Book 6): Dark Mercy

by Nally, Fergal F.

  What was that—?

  Mercy peered through the window at the monochrome world outside. The thumping sound came from everywhere and nowhere.

  Get the scope—

  Mercy took Barnes’s rifle and went outside. She switched on the night vision scope and scanned the forest.

  Nothing—

  She went to the back of the shack and scanned the slope above.

  Nothing—

  She stretched her arms.

  It’s nothing dammit. Rose’s just got you rattled. Settle down. Chill out. Your imagination’s running riot—

  Mercy returned to the shack and closed the door. Rain pattered on the roof. Thunder rolled in the distance.

  Another night in the woods. Another night in hell. Go with it—

  The next morning was cold. A pale watery light seeped into the shack. Mercy opened her eyes and focused on the figure in the chair beside the window.

  “Anything Rose—?” Mercy said, her voice flat.

  Rose shook her head, “Nada. The only noise was your rumbling stomach and Barnes’s breathing. I keep telling myself we’re living the dream but it gets harder every day to keep the illusion going—”

  Mercy scratched her arm, “A simple no would’ve done Rose—”

  Rose puckered her lips, “I’ve always preferred a complicated no—”

  Mercy shook her head, “Stop, it’s too early for this shit. Where’s my coffee? I need a coffee—”

  “Yeah and I need bacon,” Rose said, yawning.

  Barnes stirred in the corner, “Don’t talk about food, it’s a slippery slope, it’ll bring you down—”

  “Well I found a few rosehips yesterday, so we’ve got rosehip tea,” Rose gestured at her stash on the floor. “Look on the bright side; they’re full of vitamin C.”

  They made their preparations and set out half an hour later. Barnes took a compass bearing and set off in a north westerly direction.

  “We should find Route 50 in the next hour or so. Stay alert. Whoever did that shit back on the road could still be around—” Barnes said. He set off, taking the lead.

  They reached a narrow defile and picked their way down to a bubbling stream at the bottom. Barnes crossed the stream and moved on. Mercy followed, stepping on stones to cross over. She jumped to dry ground on the far side of the stream. A shout behind made her turn. Without warning the long grass around her seemed to explode upwards.

  Mercy was swept off her feet and wrenched up in the air by a giant cargo net attached to the tree above. A line of robed figures materialised out of the long grass. Mercy swore. Gunfire erupted in front and behind. Barnes and Rose were shooting at the advancing figures. Mercy struggled against the cargo net, her eyes wide. Two masked men appeared out of the trees and approached her. Mercy reached down for her pistol.

  She felt a sharp sting on the back of her neck. Pain.

  Oh—

  Mercy’s vision clouded. The gunfire and shouting receded. More figures encircled the cargo net.

  Why are they all wearing masks—?

  Darkness claimed her.

  Chapter 17

  The Kindred

  Pain. Stiffness. Light. Mercy’s eyelids fluttered. Thirst. She blinked.

  Water—

  Her eyes opened and focused on a stain on the ceiling above.

  It’s not a room, it’s a… tent. Where am I—?

  Slowly her other senses kicked in. Sounds registered. Voices, shouts, screams. A sharp snapping sound. Whimpering. A breeze ruffled the tent canvas bringing with it the stench of humanity. Sewage, urine, sweat, unwashed flesh.

  Flies, so many flies. What is this place—?

  Mercy tried to move. Her arms and legs were tied to the four corners of a metal bed. She turned her head to examine her restraints.

  Rope and duct tape, shit—

  Mercy struggled against her bonds then gave up. She glanced at the rest of the room. Rows of beds filled the space.

  Twelve beds including mine, what’s going on here—?

  The tent flap moved aside and a young woman walked through the entrance. Mercy stiffened and scanned the stranger for weapons. The woman approached Mercy and knelt down placing a canteen of water on the ground. Her face was dirty, her jaw swollen, an ugly bruise surrounded her right eye. Her clothes were stained with old blood.

  The woman brushed aside her matted hair, “Don’t try and escape. Don’t struggle, there’s no point. My name is Amber. I’ve been assigned to… induct you. There’s a lot to take in, but be thankful you’re alive, not everyone comes around after the dope sting. Here, have some water, you’ll be thirsty—”

  Dope sting? That’ll be the knock out dart they hit me with—

  Amber lifted the canteen to Mercy’s lips. Mercy searched Amber’s eyes and saw no sign of treachery. She took a sip, then a longer pull, her throat tightened and she coughed.

  “Easy, take it slowly. Here… try again—” Amber held the canteen to Mercy’s lips a second time.

  Mercy cleared her throat and allowed a small amount of the metallic tasting water into her mouth.

  “Better, better,” Amber said, her voice encouraging. “So, you’ll have questions and I’ll try and answer them but first I need you to promise you won’t kick up a fuss or do any stupid shit or they’ll kill you… and me—”

  Mercy scowled, then her face relaxed.

  What’s the point in protesting? Don’t shoot the messenger, right?

  Mercy nodded and croaked, “OK, I won’t do anything stupid, but can you untie my arms and legs, the rope’s cutting into my skin—”

  Amber nodded, “Yes I will, but listen first.”

  Mercy felt her head clearing.

  Amber continued, “This is a slave camp. Forced labour. A mine. Woodmore mine. The Kindred run the place, their leader is a bastard called Brother Bastion. We call him the Beast. He kills people—” Amber paused and looked down. “They force us underground to dig out a mineral called vivianite. Twice a week NSA soldiers come from DC to collect it. They work us hard; twelve hour shifts. I’ve seen people die from exhaustion, days after they arrive. The Kindred don’t care, we’re just meat to them—”

  An image returned to Mercy, “Why do they wear masks?”

  Amber shook her head, “Don’t know. They stink too… a different type of stink. Some of the others were talking, they reckon the Kindred have some kind of disease like maybe leprosy or radiation sickness. The government used nukes in Atlantic City and Philly in the early days, the fallout was bad there—”

  “So… what? They’ve got ulcers? Sores on their skin?” Mercy asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve been close enough to see the skin under their sleeves. It’s raw, red raw. I think some of them are on drugs, maybe for pain. It’s difficult to tell—”

  “So, what’s this mineral for? This… what was it?” Mercy asked.

  “Vivianite,” Amber answered. “No one knows, someone said it was used for healing in the days before the Fall—”

  “Healing—?” Mercy echoed.

  Amber nodded. “So, you ready for me to cut you free? You won’t do anything stupid will you?”

  Mercy shook her head, “No, I promise.”

  Amber untied Mercy. Mercy rubbed the rope marks on her skin and took another mouthful of water.

  “So how many slaves are kept here?” Mercy asked.

  Amber sighed, “About sixty. People don’t last more than a week or so. They feed us crap and we get just about enough water. I’ve been here three days and I’m getting weak.” She adjusted the belt around her waist, “If you can think of a way out, I’ll help you. But be careful who you talk to, there are snitches who’d betray you for a crust of bread. I’ve seen it happen—”

  Mercy nodded, “Did you…? Was I brought in alone?”

  Amber looked puzzled, “Yes, you were the only one brought in last night. Why? Were you with family? Friends?”

  Trust no one—

  Mercy shook her head, “No, j
ust me. They caught me in some kind of man trap, a giant net—”

  “Where are you from then? What’s your name?” Amber blurted out.

  “Oh, I’m from New Jersey, been wandering, surviving mostly by myself since the Fall. I joined a few groups along the way but… wherever there’s people, there’s always trouble.” The lies tumbled easily from Mercy’s mouth. “So I ended up leaving that shit behind, being doing OK alone, until now. What about you? You have people?”

  Amber chewed her lip, “My folks died in the looting. I’m from Baltimore, the place descended into chaos within days of the surge in infection rates… it was carnage, then the power went down. I had just left the city when it really kicked off, on a sort of work trip… horses. I love horses. My mother was raised on a ranch out west, we were going to move back there as a family. I was on a riding retreat south of Harrisburg with some friends, we were in the country when the grid went down. The ranch owners had food and guns… we survived. I made the stupid mistake of trying to find my family. I returned to Baltimore after a while and well, you know… did what we all had to do. I never found my family and then the tropes started to really fill the streets. They were coming from outside the city, hundreds, thousands of them. I didn’t know it then but they were passing through, like a plague, heading to DC—”

  Mercy frowned.

  Barnes mentioned something about this—

  “Like a migration or something—?”

  Amber nodded, “I guess, like those nature programmes you used to see on TV. A mass migration… they kept coming. I left Baltimore to escape them, came south and was captured by these bastards, they chased me down on horseback—”

  She seems plausible but keep your guard up—

  “Tell me about Woodmore mine,” Mercy stood up to stretch.

  “There’s two shifts, ours starts at 6pm. Then there’s the 6am shift. They take you down a shaft in a cage lift. They’ve got a generator for an air pump and lights in the mine. They’ve got a radio mast too. We’re taken to the seam, we dig the mineral out of the rock. They use whips and cattle prods on us, we have to work in leg irons. You get a water break every hour. You get one meal a day… a kind of broth, just before your shift—”

  “Has anyone tried to escape?” Mercy massaged the stiffness in her arms and legs.

  Amber pulled a face, “No. Well, there was one guy who shuffled off down a side passage. The gangmaster just laughed. We heard screams, they pulled his body out a few hours later. He was unrecognisable, his face was gone. They’ve laced the side passages with tropes chained to the walls so even if you escape the tropes will get you—”

  Interesting—

  “And up top? Anyone escaped from up here?” Mercy persisted.

  Amber shook her head, “Come on, have a look. I’ll show you around, see for yourself.” She stood up, “Just remember, keep away from the Beast. If he gets a fix on you… he’ll tear you apart—”

  Mercy held Amber’s gaze and saw the fear there.

  You’ve seen things—

  “Got it,” Mercy said.

  They stepped through the tent entrance. Mercy blinked in the sunlight. She held her hand up to shield her eyes.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me—

  They were in a fenced off compound, it was full of tents. Steep bluffs encircled the site, a dirt ramp wound its way up to a main gate on the surface two hundred feet above.

  Looks like it was an open cast mine at some point—

  Amber nodded at the surface perimeter, “They’ve got two fences up there, to keep us in and the tropes out. The inner fence is electrified. There’s guards up there with hunting rifles. The food tent is over there beside the latrines. The main shaft is just under that cliff over there. You can see the radio mast and generator by the ramp. That’s the kitchens and the Kindred’s barracks over there, beyond our fence—”

  Mercy took in the information. Her mind raced, searching for the solution, the way out. A group of ragged, barefoot men approached the compound gates carrying a large container. Two guards opened the gates and the men filed in.

  “That’s dinner, come on we’d best get fed. We’re going down the mine in an hour or so. You’re going to need energy,” Amber walked towards the food tent.

  “What’s that? In the distance—” Mercy pointed at a hole in the cliff face on the far side of the site, near the generator.

  Amber shook her head, “That’s where they take those that don’t make it. The bodies go in there, they’re not seen again—”

  Shit—

  They entered the food tent and joined the queue to be served. The same group of men were doling out the watery broth. The men themselves were thin and malnourished.

  Prisoners, a kitchen detail—

  Amber and Mercy took their broth and sat down at a bench. Mercy picked up her small, wooden spoon and stared at the foul smelling liquid.

  “Christ, what is this shit?”

  Amber shook her head, “Don’t think about it, don’t inhale, just swallow it. You’re going to need every bit of strength down there—”

  Mercy pulled a face, she took a mouthful of the broth and forced it down. A lump of gristle caught in her throat. She coughed and spat it out onto the table. The man opposite her snatched up the morsel, popped it into his mouth and started chewing it.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me—

  Mercy forced herself to eat the rest of her broth.

  Keep it together—

  They finished their meal and left the food hall. Diesel fumes filled the air. People were emerging from the mine shaft to the rear of the camp. The slaves looked emaciated, dishevelled, almost dead.

  Christ—

  “Come on,” Amber said. “We need to get our leg irons. If they think we’re slacking they’ll beat us—”

  Amber brought Mercy over to a pile of manacles beside the camp gate. She selected a set for herself and Mercy. “Put them on quick. The guards work on a one-in, one-out basis, they keep an eye on the numbers that way. They’ll lock your chains when you pass through the gate.”

  Mercy joined a line of slaves as they queued for the gate. She allowed herself to be processed by the guards. Her leg irons were checked and locked. She shuffled to join the others outside. Men in robes and masks used cattle prods and whips on those who were not fast enough for their liking.

  Two Kindred on horseback watched from the side lines. Mercy took a surreptitious look at the men. The larger of the two was not wearing a mask. A full beard hid his chin, his eyes were cold and cruel. He wore a long leather coat and a bush hat. A pistol and whip were secured to his belt. He sat at ease in the saddle; a natural horseman. The second horseman wore a robe, his mask was red unlike the white masks of the other Kindred. He carried a machete at his waist, a shotgun and club were attached to his saddle.

  Bastards, showing who’s in control—

  A young boy stumbled and fell in the slow moving line of slaves. The boy lay in the mud, his breathing laboured. A woman behind bent down and tried to lift him up. The Beast frowned and spat on the ground. He dismounted and walked over to the boy giving the line of slaves a dirty look.

  “This kid has broken the rules, my rules. You are not allowed to rest outside the camp gates. Rules are important, they are the only things that separate us from animals, and we are not animals… are we? Order is what counts now, for too long there was disorder. We are now all part of New America, we are the Dominion’s servants. What I say goes, anyone who does not live by the rules dies by the rules—” The Beast paused and searched the downcast faces in the crowd. His eyes fell on Mercy, he stroked his beard.

  “You there, you came in this morning, you need to understand the rules.” The Beast nodded at one of his men. “Brother Regus bring her here—”

  A robed guard stepped away from the gate and approached Mercy. He grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her over to the Beast. Mercy averted her eyes and stared at the ground.

  “G
ive me your persuader,” the Beast asked the guard.

  The man handed over his cattle prod. The Beast held it in front of Mercy’s face and squeezed the trigger. A glow and crackle came from the end of the rod. “You are new, this is your first lesson. I’ll keep it simple. I want you to kill that boy now, with your bare hands. Do it—”

  What the fuck—?

  Mercy stepped back and shook her head, avoiding eye contact.

  The Beast rammed the cattle prod into Mercy’s neck and squeezed the trigger. Excruciating pain shot through her, she crumpled to the ground her muscles twitching. The Beast stepped over her and spat in her face. He placed the cattle prod on her chin then forced it into her mouth. Mercy gagged as it scraped across the roof of her mouth.

  My god—

  The Beast smiled. “I should crush you like an insect, but we need you to work the mine. So, I will take out my anger… on this boy instead. Watch and learn—”

  He pulled the prod out of her mouth and walked over to the unconscious boy. He kicked the woman kneeling beside the boy and put his boot on the boy’s head. He thrust the cattle prod against the boy’s throat and squeezed the trigger. The boy’s body arched, a gurgling sound came from his throat and his mouth gaped in shock. The Beast thrust the prod into the boy’s mouth and pressed down, squeezing the trigger repeatedly. The boy thrashed in the mud, his lips going blue.

  The Beast only withdrew the cattle prod when the boy had stopped moving. The woman behind screamed and tried to reach the boy. The Beast kicked her in the stomach and laughed. He turned to Mercy, “Now you understand the rules. Let’s try again.” He pointed at the woman, “Kill her with your bare hands… for her… insubordination—”

  Christ, you bastard—

  Mercy did not move, the blood from the roof of her mouth trickled down the back of her throat.

  The Beast shook his head, “I’m disappointed and bored with this shit. He pulled out his machete and took a swipe at the woman’s head, its keen blade sliced her skull in two. She slumped to the ground, blood oozing from her exposed brains. The Beast laughed out loud, “Two less slackers, two less mouths to feed—” he approached Mercy, bent down and wiped the machete in her hair. “Violence is how humans communicate, and I’ve just sent you a message, bitch. In my experience people only ever really respond to pain. Feel and learn—” he stepped back and pulled out his whip.