The Beast went to a corner table and poured himself a whisky. He turned and stared at Mercy, “Thirsty work, this business.” He drained his glass and approached her. “A man needs his comforts, his little respites from the grind of daily life. Booze, cigars and some female company restores a man’s spirits. You and me bitch, we’re going to get to know each other real well tonight—”
Mercy glanced around the room, searching for an angle.
Something. Anything. Find it. Two shuttered windows in the back wall. A table, chairs, two side rooms, an office and a bedroom. No point talking to him. He’s in control, he won’t listen, it’s a game to him. The shiv, I might get a chance if he continues drinking and we’re alone. Breathe—
The Beast shrugged, “Quiet one, ain’t ya? Well that’s good, I like that. I might get you to scream a little, later. After all, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” He looked at his men, “Take her in.”
The two guards dragged Mercy into the bedroom and held her down on the bed. They tore her clothes off and handcuffed her arms and legs to the bed frame. Mercy closed her eyes, her heart sank.
Breathe, breathe—
One of the guards found the makeshift shiv in her trouser pocket. He laughed and showed it to the Beast who was standing in the doorway.
The Beast “I knew you were a fighter when I saw you brought in the other day. Not like the rest of them out there, they’ve given up. You can see death in their eyes, it’s not very arousing, but you, you’re a fighter, a challenge. You still have life in you, that… pleases me—”
The Beast entered the room carrying a lit cigar and a glass of whisky. A hockey goalkeeper mask was perched on his head. “Nice… nice body, bitch. You keep in shape.” He laughed and waved his men away, they left the room and closed the door. “Look on the bright side, you don’t get to work in the mine tonight. See this as a night off. Tonight, you and me, we’ll have some fun.”
He sat on the bed beside Mercy and stared at her battered body. He reached out and touched the shallow cut on her midriff. “Here, let me kiss that better.” He poured whisky onto the wound making Mercy flinch. He leant forwards and licked the spirit off her skin. “Mmmm, nothing like the taste of blood and whisky; sweet and sour—”
Mercy turned her head away and gritted her teeth, the pain from her wound lancing through her.
Keep it together. Don’t engage. Withdraw—
She lay still and inhaled the fragrant cigar smoke.
The Beast put down his drink and climbed onto the bed, straddling Mercy. “No, no, no, we don’t want you falling asleep just yet, we want fun, we want to hear you scream. We want to taste your pain, your fear.”
What’s with the “we” you bastard—?
The Beast leant forwards pawing Mercy’s skin. He grasped her by the neck, blew cigar smoke in her face and moaned. “I want your pain, I need your pain. Sing to me little bird.” He pulled his face mask down and pressed against Mercy’s cheek. “Can’t have you biting me in the throes of passion can we?” Mercy looked through the clear polycarbonate mask into his eyes.
I’m going to kill you. For what you’ve done to those people outside and for what you’re about to do—
The Beast smiled and closed his eyes inhaling deeply. He frowned, his eyes snapping open. “I don’t smell it. I don’t smell your fear. I guess I’ll need to try harder.” He took the cigar from his lips and pushed the lighted end onto Mercy’s neck. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Pain surged through Mercy’s brain, she heard a loud noise and realised it was her own scream.
“Oh, now that’s better darlin’, let’s try that again… and again… and again.” He stubbed his cigar three more times on Mercy’s neck.
Mercy’s screams filled the room. The Beast hit her repeatedly across the face, his laughter punctuating her screams. She felt his hands tighten around her neck, gripping her, strangling her.
Mercy’s vision blurred, then darkness took her.
Consciousness. Awareness. Endless light. Stillness. Emptiness.
A feeling of movement, of gathering speed. Hurtling towards the brightest of stars. Breathless exhilaration.
Mercy opened her eyes and looked down at a solitary girl on the bed below. A transparent shadow was moving over her. Mercy stared and wondered.
Who is that girl? So damaged. So much scar tissue. Why isn’t she breathing?
Mercy looked around.
Where am I?
Mercy’s eyes returned to the figure on the bed. She felt uneasy then recognition flooded through her.
Oh my—
Confusion welled up inside her.
That’s me. Down there on that bed. That’s… me—
The fog in her thoughts lifted a little. Blurred faces came to her through the light. She peered at them, trying to make out their features. A thin, opaque barrier seemed to come between them.
Why can’t I see you? You feel… familiar, you feel… like family—
One face pressed against the barrier more than the others. Mercy reached out and touched the indentation it made. A voice rushed into her head. A familiar voice, from a long time ago.
Go back Mercy. Go back. There is work still to be done—
Mercy pulled her hand back, her brow furrowed. A name returned to her from the past. From the orphanage in New York.
Amy—? Is that you Amy—?
The light intensified. A feeling of tumbling, head over heels.
Helter skelter—
Falling. Speed. Pain. Nausea.
Darkness.
Pain. Pain everywhere. Mercy’s eyelids flickered. She was on her side, back on her camp bed in the slave compound. It was dark outside.
My neck, my stomach, my—
Mercy groaned. Her mind spun as her confusion lifted. The sharp blade of memory struck, she gasped, curled into a ball and hugged herself.
No, no, no, that bastard—
Mercy kept still, a cold anger burning deep within.
Voices. “No… leave her, she’s not for this shift.”
Mercy shook. She swore. The pain came in waves. She closed her eyes.
I want to die. Take me now. Why does it have to be this way? Why does it have to be this hard?
A solitary tear slid down her bloodstained face. Her mind went blank, her breathing settled as she stared at the roof of the tent above her. Hours passed and somewhere along the way the darkness returned.
Daylight. Pain. Noise. People, shouting. Pain.
Footsteps. Movement beside her.
“Mercy, my god, are you OK? What did he do to you?”
Amber—
Mercy curled up tighter.
He took everything, all I had—
“Mercy, hey, talk to me, it’s Amber. Here, have some water—”
I want to die—
“Mercy, you’ve got to drink at least—” Amber persisted.
“Leave me alone—” Mercy said, her voice barely a whisper.
“That bastard. That piece of shit—” Amber paused. Then, “Hold on I’ll be back—”
Mercy opened her eyes. Amber had left a cup of water on the floor. Mercy stared blankly at the cup.
I’m empty. I’ve nothing left. Everything. Everything’s gone—
The tent flaps opened. Three figures approached Mercy’s bed. Mercy closed her eyes.
Go away—
“I thought I told you to leave me alone—” Mercy said.
Amber knelt beside the bed, “Mercy, this is Willow and Jay. They were part of the new intake last night. You were forced to fight one of their crew; Tori, the blonde girl. That’s a thing the Beast does, he makes people fight to the death, dehumanises them, breaks them. The good news is: Tori’s alive, she made it. You didn’t kill her.”
A male voice, “Yeah, you made it look good. He lost interest in Tori and focused on you. Tori owes you her life, she’ll be OK, she’s pretty beat up but she’s tough. So you see… we owe you—”
Mercy stared at the cup o
f water on the floor. Her mind processed the words. Her breathing deepened and she blinked. The pain receded a little. She reached down, her hand shaking. She lifted the cup from the ground. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed and took a sip of water.
Blood and whisky—
Mercy looked up at Amber and nodded. Her eyes fell on Willow and Jay and her face hardened, “I’m going to escape from here. Then I’m going to get my shit together. Then I’m coming back here to send that fucker to hell. Are you with me—?”
Jay looked at Willow then back at Mercy. “We’re all with you. We want that bastard dead too, he captured and killed people from our crew a couple of weeks ago. We’re all that’s left; me, Willow and the others you saw last night.”
Amber nodded, “I’m in too—”
Mercy looked down at her boots. She shuddered.
Christ, they even dressed me again—
“It has to be tonight, on our shift, we’ll make a break for it, we’re not getting any stronger—” Mercy spoke to the floor.
Jay sat on the camp bed opposite, “What did you have in mind?”
Mercy continued to look at her boots.
Don’t tell them about your biotech—
“This place, it’s impossible to escape from above ground. We have to escape below ground, in the mine. There are lots of shafts and passageways we can duck into—” Mercy replied.
Amber sighed, “Yes, but there’s flooding in a lot of the shafts and many of the passageways have collapsed. Walls and ceilings have caved in, it’s an old mine and the remaining viable passages have been trapped with chained tropes as a deterrent.”
Mercy let Amber finish, “I’ve seen a promising tunnel near the seam we were working on the other day. I heard tropes in there, but I reckon if go in first I can deal with them one by one. There’ll be hammers, chisels, pickaxes we can take. We’ll need light though; candles, a storm lantern, torch, anything—”
“What about the leg irons? We won’t be able to run—” Willow said.
“I know.” Mercy replied. “Use string to lift the excess chain up to your belt so you don’t trip. We’ll just have to escape the best we can. The passage is narrow, so it’ll be one person at a time. I’ll go first and deal with the tropes. Amber you can be behind me with a light. Jay and Willow your people will have to fight a rear action to buy me and Amber time to deal with the tropes—”
Jay nodded, “There’s me, Willow, Tori, Alexander and Jordan. We’ll sort out the rear.”
“You all need to make sure you get into the right work detail. The gangmaster divides the slaves into two work details once the lift reaches the bottom. Keep close to me and we’ll all end up in the same group,” Mercy added.
“Got it,” Jay said, “I’ll tell the others.”
Amber looked up, inspiration etched on her face. “Boots. You could trade some boots for matches and candles from the kitchen. The kitchen slaves bring over the food in an hour or so. They might have access to candles and matches. I could talk to one of the guys, I’m on speaking terms with them—”
Mercy snapped her fingers, “Nice. Good idea Amber. I know where we can get a pair of boots. Jay, Willow come with me. Amber, see if your contact is willing to trade. Meet you back here—”
“One thing,” Amber said.
“What—?” Mercy asked.
“Well, if any of us gets injured or bit by a trope, what are we gonna do? We can’t afford to save someone who’s badly injured, not down there, it’d be impossible—” Amber’s voice trailed off.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.
Jay rubbed his arm, “Well, there’s an understanding in my crew, if anyone gets bit… they get a bullet, end of. Keeps things humane and simple, we all cover each other, no question. Yes Amber, I take your point about the mine, if someone’s badly injured we’ll have to leave them behind, makes sense—”
Silence.
Mercy stood up, “Agreed then. It is what it is. Come on then, we’ve got a pair of boots to find.”
Mercy spotted the man. She pointed him out to Jay and Willow. They waited. Twenty minutes later the man walked across the slave compound to the toilet block. They gave him two minutes then followed him inside. Willow kept watch at the door and Jay ejected a youth who was finishing his business.
The man was squatting over a hole in the ground at the far end of the block, his trousers around his ankles. He looked up in surprise as Mercy and Jay approached him.
“Give me your boots,” Mercy demanded, her voice cold. “You made an enemy when you took my food. You owe me and I’ve come to collect. My food for your boots, seems fair to me, under the circumstances.”
“Fuck off asshole,” the man rose to his feet, pulling up his trousers.
Jay stepped forwards and punched the man in the face, sending him sprawling backwards into the latrine pit. The man’s legs protruded from the hole in the ground. Mercy bent down and undid his laces.
“There’s only one asshole in here and it ain’t me,” Mercy said, removing the man’s boots.
Jay curled his lip and edged forwards over the pit. He did a big snort and spat some green phlegm onto the man’s face. “If you stir any shit up over this me and my crew will rip you a new asshole. Got it bitch?”
The man held a filthy hand up over his bloody, broken nose. He nodded. Mercy put the boots under her arm and walked away.
Blood and whisky. Blood and shit. The human race… about sums it up—
They met Amber back at the tent.
“What can they give us?” Mercy asked, handing the boots over.
Amber looked pleased, “I can get three candles, some matches and string for our chains. That’s it, I tried for a few other things but they’re not gonna risk being busted for anything else.”
Mercy smiled, “We have light. It’s game on everyone—”
And I’m one step closer to killing you Brother Bastion—
Chapter 20
The Crows
“So your crew’s got a name?” Mercy asked Tori.
Tori’s neck was badly bruised, dried blood crusted her scalp. “We came from Baltimore, some of the kids were from a street gang called the Crows. They brought the name with them, it’s stuck even though most of them are long dead.” She shovelled another spoonful of broth into her mouth.
“Sorry again, about your neck,” Mercy said, frowning as she watched Tori try to swallow.
Tori shook her head, “I’m glad you took me down first because I would’ve killed you. I’ve met guys like that before. They just take things into their own hands if they don’t get what they want and that makes things ten times worse—”
“Yeah, fucking low tide for the gene pool if you ask me—” Mercy replied.
Tori smiled, then winced, “Don’t make me laugh, my whole face hurts—”
“So what’s the deal? Is Jay your leader?” Mercy asked.
Tori curled her lip, “We don’t do leader shit, we’re a… what’s that word? Collective, that’s it, we’re a collective. A collection of misfits, everyone’s equal, we put things to a vote. It gets us through the shit. Mostly anyway—”
Mercy finished her food and pushed her bowl away. Something had lodged in her teeth, she reached into her mouth, found the offending morsel and pulled it out. She examined it and looked away flicking the dead insect onto the floor.
“Another fucking roach, you’re beating me,” Tori smirked. “Smacks of favouritism if you ask me—”
Mercy stared at the table then lowered her voice, “Are you guys ready for this? The risks are high, people could get hurt, in fact I’m sure people will get hurt—”
Tori shrugged, “So, what? It’s better to go down fighting than be bled dry like this, for what? To let those roaches feed us up these roaches?” She indicated the row of cooked insects she had made on the table.
“Just sayin’… because once we make our move there’ll be no going back. If they capture us, they’ll kill us,
well, torture us then kill us—” Mercy said.
Tori finished her broth, “Fuck it, fuck them, fuck it all. Let’s do it—”
Mercy looked at the others around the table.
I wonder—? I wonder if I stare long enough, will I see who’s not going to make it?
A whistle blew outside.
“It’s time,” Mercy said. She stood up, not looking at the others. They headed to the slave compound gate and lined up to be processed. Mercy hoisted her excess leg iron chain with a length of cord. The guards processed the day shift against the returning night shift. Prisoners were counted using a register, leg irons were checked and locked. Twenty minutes later they were crammed inside the cage lift, descending into the pit.
Mercy pressed her face up against the cage, she partially closed her eyes and counted the seconds as the lift descended. They passed flickering light bulbs on the way down. The air grew muggy, the stench of stale sweat and worse filled her nostrils.
Humanity’s real smell; shit and piss. Civilization is a hot bath, the Romans got that one right—
Ten minutes later the lift reached the bottom of the shaft. The temperature was slightly better. The diesel pump three hundred feet above was delivering cool air from the outside. The cage gates opened and waiting guards shouted and prodded the slaves out into the open. Mercy veered to the left and pushed to the front of the slaves.
The guards started dividing the prisoners into two groups. Mercy kept left and stood nearest the string of bright storm lamps laid out on the ground. The gangmasters beat and prodded the slaves and shouted orders at the guards.
A guard shoved a storm lantern into Mercy’s hand and pointed down the left passage. “On your way to the face, make it quick—”
Mercy gripped the lantern and shuffled down the passageway. The other slaves followed in a line.
Crows stay close—
They reached a narrow part of the tunnel. Mercy stopped.
Recent rockfall, this whole section’s unstable—
“Get moving,” a voice bellowed from behind.
Mercy clambered up the rubble and squeezed her way through the gap. The others followed. A string of bulbs flickered in the passageway ahead.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 6): Dark Mercy Page 13
