The Survival Chronicles (Book 1}: Mercy Kill

by Nally, Fergal F.

  Keep moving, one step ahead. Always—

  Flynn tapped her on the back. “Think we’ve shaken them off for the moment, but they’ll flank us on the western side, we’re pretty close to the shore. We should get out of here.”

  Smart, Mercy thought. “Yeah, let’s go, rub some mud on your face, anything to hide us.”

  They pulled themselves out of the reeds and onto the island.

  Bugs, bugs everywhere… this many bugs mean death, yeah, there it is, right there—

  Mercy froze. She held her hand up, fist closed, every nerve on edge. The stink of rotting flesh filled the air. She stepped forwards pushing the grass aside, knife in hand. The stench came in wafts, thick, cloying, a mixture of blood and faeces.

  Rustling, followed by a splash ahead, she crouched and listened. Nothing. She edged forwards. The grass thinned, then she saw bodies, half eaten, rotting and crawling with flies. She saw tracks on the ground, indicating the passage of a heavy animal.

  Flynn pressed up behind her. “Shit Mercy, we’re on Gator fucking Island—”

  Mercy stared ahead, the bodies were a mixture of animal and trope, she couldn’t see any human remains. Humans were a scarce commodity after all. Her inner dialogue continued: This is a good place to hide out, tropes wouldn’t dare come here— yeah right.

  How many gators were there? They’d just swam across their back yard— they had to leave the island. The hairs on Mercy’s neck rose, something was wrong. A noise came from behind. Flynn pushed her forwards.

  “Run—” Flynn shouted.

  Mercy didn’t need encouragement. She stood and sprinted through the bloody remains, flies exploded around her. She slipped on something rotten and sprawled on all fours, vomit welled at the back of her throat. Her head spun, a skull grinned between her hands, its broken teeth mocking her. She glanced back and wished she hadn’t.

  Crawling out of the long grass where they had just been was a large alligator. Something was wrong with it, its skin was diseased, suppurating ulcers blistered across its hide— it stopped. Pond weed hung across its body and between its teeth. Its eyes were milky white.

  It was blind.

  Her life was hanging. This would take seconds. Where was Flynn?

  A rock flew through the air landing on the alligator’s left, it turned, jaws wide and tore at the grass.

  “Now—” Flynn appeared and grabbed Mercy’s arm pulling her away from the clearing. She followed stumbling through the grass and reeds and splashed into the water.

  The shore wasn’t far, fifteen, twenty feet away, the water waist high. They could do it. Flynn pushed ahead, Mercy followed, she swore, she had dropped the knife. She glanced back and saw the gator emerge from the reeds. Mercy felt no fear just purpose, she pushed through the water and made it to the north shore.

  Water splashed behind them. They ran on through the grass and didn’t stop for a full five minutes. The ground rose and they burst into a clearing at the top. They collapsed in a heap, breathless. Relief flooded through them, they had just cheated death. Flynn started shaking and he pulled a face, his laughter spilled into the air. “That was close, thought you were a goner there Mercy girl.”

  Mercy looked at him and hit him on the arm, “Stop laughing, they’re out there, they’re always out there, they’ll find us.” Flynn’s smile was infectious, she felt herself respond, she smiled back at him. It felt strange to be sharing a joke with someone. It had been so long since she had laughed.

  “There you go Mercy girl, you look good when you smile, your whole face lights up. That wasn’t so bad was it?” Flynn’s eyes met hers.

  Mercy felt confused. Being with Flynn was fun, but dangerous, she had let her armour down, she never let her armour down. It felt different, she felt vulnerable, uncomfortable.

  Sun broke through the clouds, its light shone through the leaves illuminating them in living green. So much life amidst so much death. What was it all for? Why was she even here? Why were they still fighting for life?

  Flynn’s smile died. His eyes hardened. “Oh shit—”

  Chapter 6 West Side

  Mercy knew by Flynn’s eyes— they’d been found.

  Three tropes stood at the edge of the clearing, watching them. Rags and plastic sheeting protected their skin and eyes from the daylight. One of them wore a torn Stars and Stripes flag, the moment stretched, surreal. The tropes looked wary and hung back, waiting. Mercy looked around, she had lost all sense of direction. Where were they? Near the zoo? Or the ice rink? She tensed, ready to run.

  The undergrowth behind the three tropes stirred, a large figure appeared; another trope wearing darkened goggles, a battered Yankees baseball cap and a torn great coat. Mercy froze, fascinated and horrified. She’d never seen a trope so large, it took in the clearing, its gaze locking onto her, then Flynn. It licked its lips, its long sinuous tongue flicking the air.

  This was new, startling, the tropes were evolving. Baseball Cap stepped into the clearing and raised its arms, more tropes appeared out of the undergrowth. Mercy took a deep breath, remaining calm.

  “Fuck—” Flynn swore.

  Baseball Cap leant forwards sniffing the air, its muscles rippling. Saliva dripped from its mouth, hunger emanating from every fibre of its being. It raised its head and let out a scream, the skin of its face blistering from the short exposure to the sun, it didn’t seem to care. It charged at Mercy.

  Mercy rolled over and jumped up. Flynn was on his own, their best chance was to separate. Baseball Cap seemed interested in her, she ran across the clearing and made it to the trees, the ground shook as the huge trope pounded after her. Mercy plunged through the trees, branches and leaves tearing at her skin and eyes. The hill crested and the ground fell away. She glimpsed colour and an overgrown Ferris wheel ahead; she was near the amusement park.

  Mercy heard shouts and screaming behind. Her foot caught a root, she stumbled and fell down the slope. Something hit her in the chest winding her. She lay gasping, her head spinning. More shouts, different; panicked, pain wracked.

  Heavy footsteps behind and a scream, full of blood lust. Mercy turned and looked up. Baseball Cap towered above her, she was close enough to see its teeth and smell its rancid breath. It brought one hand to its face lifting the goggles. The trope stared at her, Mercy saw hunger and madness in its eyes.

  She blinked, the moment passed. Baseball Cap threw itself on her reaching for her neck. She raised her arms to block the attack, its teeth bit into the magazines Flynn had taped to her forearms. Its jaws clamped down hard, it screamed in frustration when it realised her flesh was protected. Mercy tried to wriggle free.

  The trope released her arm. It paused for a moment restraining her, playing with her. Without warning a roar filled the air and a flash of golden fur swept before Mercy’s eyes. A lioness pulled Baseball Cap off Mercy’s chest flinging the trope to the ground tearing at its throat.

  Mercy stared transfixed. The lioness’s attack severed the trope’s major arteries, blood gushed from its neck. Baseball Cap’s arms grappled the big cat but they soon weakened and fell to the ground. The trope’s body twitched twice then went limp.

  The other screams and cries had stopped. A lion’s roar pierced the air reverberating through the trees. Mercy shivered with exhaustion, she looked at the lioness, feet away, still pinning the dead trope by the neck. The lioness growled and from the trees on Mercy’s right four cubs appeared and trotted up to their mother. The lioness gave a last shake of her head and released the trope, its blood soaking her fur.

  The big cat stepped back letting her cubs feast on the trope’s bloody neck. She let out a roar in answer to the lion’s call then turned to stare at Mercy. Their eyes locked, the lioness watched as Mercy stood. Mercy backed away maintaining eye contact with the mother, not looking at the cubs or their meal. She made it to a safe distance then turned and fled through the trees.

  Where was Flynn? They had agreed to meet up on West 52nd Street if separated. She hoped he’
d made it but the odds had not been good, it was a miracle she had escaped. The huge trope had been a surprise, clearly the leader.

  Mercy reflected on what she had witnessed, she had to get out of Manhattan, she didn’t stand a chance against this new breed of trope, but wasn’t the whole country infested with tropes? She remembered the public broadcasts on the days leading up to the Fall. Philadelphia, Baltimore, Detroit, Atlanta, San Francisco, Chicago, Seattle, L.A. — everywhere had the infection. She didn’t know about the rest of the world but others had told her Europe, Russia, Asia and China had all suffered the same fate. Air travel was to blame for spreading the pandemic. Once the haemorrhagic fever had become airborne it was only a matter of weeks before civilization collapsed.

  Mercy pondered why some animals were infected, but others were not, like birds and some of the zoo animals, like the lions. The police horses on Manhattan had all succumbed to the tropes in the days after the Fall. The animals who could hunt and fight back like the big cats had thrived. Nature had established a new order.

  She needed to find shelter, rest up and find a weapon. It was too dangerous to continue to West 52nd now, tropes were on the prowl and the big cats were hunting. Mercy remembered the Ferris wheel, she might find shelter in the amusement park. She battled her way through the undergrowth trying to be silent. Her foot struck something. She bent down to examine the ground and found a rusted sign its lettering; “Victorian Gardens at Wollman Rink” just visible in faded red and green paint.

  She’d found the amusement park.

  Swings and rides lay ahead tangled in impossible knots of ivy and knotweed. She glanced over her shoulder and with no evidence of pursuit she entered the overgrown amusement park. Two structures caught her eye, the centrepiece, a large circular swinger and off to the left a tower crowned with life sized plastic angels. She headed towards the tower, its peeling paint visible through the ivy.

  Mercy pulled at the ivy at the base of the tower, faded lettering appeared— Angel Ride Helter Skelter. If she could climb to the top she’d have a good vantage point and would be hidden from prying eyes. She tore at the ivy until she found the slide, it was still intact.

  Now she needed a weapon.

  Mercy looked around the graveyard of overgrown fair rides, they would have required maintenance. There had to be a supply of tools and oil hidden somewhere beneath the weeds. Something didn’t feel right, she turned around looking for anything out of place. With no threat visible, Mercy moved to the next ride, a partially obscured board had the word Kite emblazoned across it. The adjacent word Flyer just visible through the ivy.

  Come on Kite Flyer let’s see what you have to offer—

  Mercy cut a hole in the creepers surrounding the ride and stepped through into a different world. The space below the creepers was dark and cool, the smell of oil and musty earth filled the air. She gave her eyes time to adjust to the gloom, after a few minutes she made out various raised platforms, part of the ride. Her imagination soared, she pictured it in full flight, excited children shouting to their parents as the colourful kite flyer flew them around in the summer sun.

  She returned to reality and crouched to explore the space under the ivy canopy. Her foot knocked an old soda can across the floor, she cringed imagining the sound carrying all over Central Park. She waited, listening.

  Nothing.

  She needed that weapon, her eyes went to the central pillar. Mercy put her hand on its painted surface, blue and green stripes. She walked around the pillar examining it and the surrounding floor, a hatch lay to one side. Kneeling, she searched the hatch for a handle, her fingers found a recessed ring. She pulled on the ring and the hatch opened with a rusty squeak.

  A sound came from under the floor, Mercy recoiled. She looked through the opening and saw a box. What if there was an infected rat in there? She reached above her head and tore an opening in the ivy. Light spilled down.

  Excitement coursed through her, it was a tool box, some rags also and something else she couldn’t quite make out. She pulled at the ivy allowing extra light in then bent down bringing her face close to the opening. She reached in and grabbed the tool box with both hands. A scrabbling sound and a high pitched squeal came from somewhere under the floor.

  Sweat beaded her forehead running into her eyes. She pulled the box out and opened its simple latch. Tools gleamed out at her. A hammer, screwdrivers, a torch with spare batteries, duct tape, pliers, a Stanley knife and wire cutters. Relief swept over her, at least now she could defend herself. She picked up the hammer and the torch. To her surprise the torch worked, she pointed its light under the floor and saw something wrapped in oily rags.

  Nothing moved, maybe whatever it was had bolted or was lying low. She stretched her arm further into the space and grabbed the covered object. The rags fell away revealing a good sized pipe wrench, she allowed herself a smile.

  Mercy slipped the wrench under her belt and pocketed the Stanley knife. She kept the hammer, screwdriver, torch, batteries and duct tape. She took one last look under the floor then stood up. As she swung the torch away from the opening movement caught her eye, a small shape darted across her foot into the undergrowth. She didn’t see what it was, but at least it hadn’t attacked her. She left the Kite Flyer and checked her watch, 2 pm.

  Mercy couldn’t believe the time, her thirst was intense. She looked at the large circular structure in the centre of the park, thick ivy almost covered it, a section of white roof protruded above the greenery. She pushed her way through the tangle of weeds and grass and reached the central ride. It was imposing up close, all was quiet except for a lone cricket in the distance. She walked around the ride and squinted up, she noticed part of the white roof was bloodstained.

  Mercy’s muscles tensed, she gripped the hammer. A large mound of ivy greeted her as she reached the far side of the ride. She used her knife to remove leaves and a section of vine. After a few minutes she had uncovered part of a supersized vending machine. She pulled more of the vines away. Ten minutes later she had access to the front of the machine on its side. An image of a smiling girl holding a bottle of soda was emblazoned on the panel.

  Mercy removed the last of the ivy and crouched before the vending machine, its glass front was gone. She stared at the empty rows where drinks and snacks had once been, her shoulders sagged. She stood up and kicked the machine in frustration, the unmistakable sound of clinking glass came from within. She crouched and shook the machine, the clinking was louder.

  She took out the screwdriver and together with the hammer she managed to prise part of the side panel away. She peered in with the torch, six unbroken bottles of soda were jammed in the mechanism at the back. Her eyes widened. She looked around the fairground then prised more of the panel away. She reached in and grabbed the nearest bottle, popped its lid and drank. Sweet cherry soda filled her mouth, she emptied the bottle in three long gulps. Her head spun with the sugar rush, she retrieved the other bottles and put them in her pack.

  Fortune had smiled on her. Mercy couldn’t believe her luck, survivors had looted all public spaces in the days after the Fall, this was a real find. She had been out in the open too long, she decided not to push her luck and made for the helter skelter. She found its ramp and after some effort managed to climb to the top of its tower. She took in the view. The buildings surrounding Central Park looked on impassively.

  Where was Flynn? Had he made it? Would he wait for her? Mercy felt empty, she missed him. She had not spoken to anyone that way since the Fall, or come to think of it, in that way even before the Fall. Her conversations had always been stilted, perfunctory. No one had ever asked for her opinion or what she wanted.

  Flynn had. He had been interested in her, he’d looked into her eyes, smiled at her. They had connected.

  Stop it— that way lies weakness, and weakness leads to death. The voice within, the voice that kept her alive spoke, throwing cold water on her thoughts.

  Who was she kidding? Flynn was dead, ever
yone she came in contact with died— fact. At least she had gleaned some useful intelligence from him. She would stock up and rest at the safe house, then head to the river. She had to get across to Jersey and leave Manhattan before it was too late.

  She opened a second soda, bubbles fizzed up the bottle. She looked in wonder at the glass and the liquid inside, a time capsule from history, another life. She raised the bottle to her lips and took a long swallow. Her eyes drifted skyward, she nearly choked.

  A shadow swooped overhead towards the central ride. The vulture landed on top of the ride, a rabbit in its claws. Grace swallowed and looked on, fascinated, as the bird began devouring its prey; this was why birdsong was absent from the fairground, mystery solved.

  The vulture was not a threat to her. Mercy looked at her watch, 4 pm. She’d stay the night on the helter skelter. She looked at the plastic angels at the top of the tower. There was a first time for everything she reflected, the wings of an angel would serve as her bed for the night.

  The vulture left its perch thirty minutes later and did not return. Mercy was hungry but at least not thirsty. She had been hungry before, she could handle hunger. She looked out over Central Park and the city from the top of the tower. It seemed quiet, serene, it was difficult to conceive of the horrors that happened every day and night in this new world.

  Mercy managed to block the helter skelter’s slide using bits of wire and rubble from the fairground. She retreated to the top of the tower, sat back and closed her eyes, images of food invaded her mind. Minutes merged into hours, shadows lengthened, the sun went down behind the western buildings. The air grew chill and she started shivering. She gathered some hessian sacks from the slide and placed them behind the angel’s wings. She climbed over into the protection of the wings covering herself with the sacks.