“Vince you’re a miracle worker, well done.” Mercy checked the bow, it too was perfect, silent killing was always better. She thought for a moment then put the Peacemakers in her pack.
No need to tell Tawny and the others, I’ll keep them as back up, she thought.
Mercy looked at Vince and wondered what other skills he possessed. “Come on wonder kid, time to leave. Take hold of my belt and follow me, same as before.”
“Good to go,” Vince replied.
~
Stevie and Rites had separated to cover more ground. They told the others it was another scavenger run, once they had discovered new supplies a crew could go out and retrieve them. A simple system, it worked. Except this time they were scouting for Flynn.
Stevie searched the city walls for Flynn’s tag mark, a chalk question mark with a horizontal line through it making a stylised letter F. Stevie found two old tags but nothing new. So far they had covered the area around the tower, upper 5th Avenue, the Rockefeller Centre and the Music Hall. They had kept away from Hell’s Kitchen, reasoning Flynn wouldn’t enter Angel territory.
Nothing, Flynn where are you? Stevie thought. It was getting dark. He’d head to the Hyatt on East 42nd Street and meet Rites there, they’d continue the search tomorrow. He wouldn’t give up on his brother, Flynn was out there somewhere.
Stevie looked at the buildings either side of 6th Avenue. He hadn’t seen a single pod of tropes all day and most of the cars were empty of skinnies. He looked around the street feeling uncomfortable, exposed. He gripped the Mossberg 12 Gauge shotgun; its flechette rounds would be adequate for most close quarter encounters.
The sky was a dark bruise, the air heavy. Long grass rustled in the breeze, in the distance deer grazed outside Steinway Hall, he walked towards them keeping to the middle of the street. His thoughts were on the boat, he had tested and fine-tuned the engine, it had taken weeks but he had done it. He had found fuel too, it would work, it had to.
The deer ran towards him.
He stopped and watched as the herd of twenty adults and their young sprinted towards him. His mind froze, left or right or— they were on him before he could move, the terrified beasts wove around him their bodies missing by inches. In a flash they were gone, lost to sight like ghosts.
What spooked them? Stevie thought.
He crouched on the road pulling out his binoculars. He saw movement near Steinway Hall, he zoomed in on the area.
Angels— shit, what are they doing here?
Stevie scanned the group, they hadn’t seen him, he started counting heads then stopped.
Flynn. Flynn, found you— euphoria washed over Stevie. What are you doing with the Angels? He watched the group, they had come from a side alley onto 6th Avenue and disturbed the deer. They were talking, pointing down the street, south. Stevie watched Flynn, he was talking to one of the Angels, but he was free, his hands were unbound and he was carrying an automatic rifle.
One of the other Angels put her hand on Flynn’s arm and spoke to him, he shrugged and nodded his head. Stevie bit his lip, confused. This was strange, the Angels were man killers, no man had ever worked with them and yet there was Flynn cooperating with them. Stevie pondered, should he show himself or should he hold back and watch things unfold?
The group moved down 6th Avenue in formation. Stevie decided to shadow the group, he’d need to move closer as the light was fading. He moved to the sidewalk and skulked along the front of the buildings.
He gained on the group as they turned left onto West 42nd Street. Bryant Park stretched off across the road its trees swaying in the wind, in the distance he heard thunder, the air felt oppressive. The group was in a hurry, the girl in charge kept checking her watch every few minutes.
Something’s going down, Stevie thought. He wished he had a walkie talkie to warn Rites. What if Rites runs into this lot?
Stevie ducked into a doorway when one of the Angels glanced back. Something reached out from the shadows and grabbed his leg, he stifled a scream and pulled away, a gnarled husk of a face appeared on the ground staring at him murder in its dead eyes. Its rotten teeth bit into his boots breaking on the leather.
“Get off me— eat this you bastard,” Stevie hissed, using the Mossberg’s stock to smash the thing’s skull. The skinny fell back into the doorway releasing its grip on Stevie’s leg. Stevie lay against the wall his heart pounding. After a few seconds he peered around the doorway. The Angels were gone, the street lay empty.
Shit, you idiot, you took your eye off the ball—
Stevie left the doorway and ran down West 42nd Street his mind ablaze.
~
“Think I saw something move back there guys,” one of Tawny’s crew said, her voice tense. “In the doorway on the right twenty yards away—”
“Not surprised Cat, it’s almost dark and there’s a storm coming in, the natives will be restless. What a night for the Preacher to start causing trouble,” Tawny said. “We’re not looking for a fight now, we’ve got to get to the subway station, that’s the priority. We’ll set up a perimeter there and let these guys do their thing,” she indicated Mercy, Flynn and Vince.
“Right boss, just giving you the heads up, we’re not alone,” Cat replied.
They moved off in a tighter group down West 42nd Street, the light was fading.
“I’d give a week’s supply of smokes for some night vision right about now,” Cat muttered.
Tawny gave her a look bringing an index finger to her lips. “Quiet, we’re on trope time now, keep the noise down, we don’t want any attention.”
They progressed down the street passing abandoned cars and vans. A few drops of rain landed on the broken tarmac then the floodgates opened and sheets of rain followed interspersed with rumbling thunder.
Tawny was glad of the rain, it would mask their passing. She was eager to reach Bryant station, her crew could lie low outside the subway, let Dawes, her boyfriend and the blind kid do the underground work. Tawny was sceptical about the rocket launchers but Flynn was right, the army did have a base there before the airstrikes.
“There it is,” Flynn whispered pointing at low railings ahead.
The subway entrance was clogged with weeds and ivy, some loose boards lay across the entrance.
“Right Dawes get to work. We’ll wait up here. We’ll give you an hour, if you’re not back by then we’re outta here, we need to get in position to back up Laurient and Dakota,” Tawny said.
“We’ll be back, don’t leave without us,” Mercy replied. She took Vince by the arm and led him to the subway entrance. Flynn checked his rifle, he was surprised Tawny had given him one of the Belgian FN FAL rifles. He had never used such a powerful weapon, he hoped he wouldn’t have to.
“OK Vince, this is your territory, time for us to follow you. I’ll clear a path through these weeds, then it’s over to you—”
“Got it,” Vince replied.
Mercy and Flynn hacked through the weeds and led Vince down the steps into the subway. He placed his hands on the wall and smiled.
“Vince is back,” he muttered.
Mercy turned to Flynn, “Put your hand on my shoulder, don’t break contact, do what Vince says and don’t use your torch unless absolutely necessary.”
“Understood,” Flynn replied.
“Ready?” Vince asked.
Mercy put her hand on his shoulder, “Ready.”
Vince moved forwards feeling his way along the wall’s tiled surface. His senses fell back into their old ways; feel, listen, smell. The cold of the tiles reached into his fingertips, he tried to block out Mercy and Flynn’s presence. His old skill returned, he could smell the rats, the dead, and the freaks. He didn’t have oil to camouflage his scent, they’d have to be extra careful. They arrived at the gates.
Vince turned to Mercy, “We’ll climb over the gates one at a time, no noise, freaks have been here, I don’t know when but they’ve been here.”
Mercy squeezed Vince’s shoulder,
“Got it.” She whispered the plan to Flynn.
Vince went over the gates first, his feet touched the floor beyond, no broken glass, he listened— all quiet, good. Mercy climbed over then put her hand on Vince’s shoulder. They waited for Flynn to scramble across, his feet landed beside Mercy. His right foot connected with an object which rattled across the floor, the sound echoing in the dark. Flynn cursed to himself and put his hand on Mercy’s shoulder.
Not good, definitely not good, Vince thought.
They pushed deeper into the station. A draught wafted up from ahead, Vince stopped, there was something different in the air— oil. He followed the wall reaching the escalators, the smell became stronger. They needed to descend further. Vince felt the sides of the escalator and took the first step. He breathed a sigh of relief, it was quiet, some escalators were rusty and noisy as hell, he continued down. The escalator was clear and they made it down to the lower level without difficulty. The air was damp and the smell of oil was much stronger.
Vince stopped and whispered to Mercy and Flynn, “We need to crawl now, we’ll break away from the side and follow the floor instead. Hold on to my foot.”
“OK,” Mercy replied.
Vince began crawling following the smell of oil. They had covered sixty feet when Vince felt a breeze on his cheek— a side passage, the air was heavy with oil. He turned and entered the passage. After a further twenty feet his hand connected with a hard surface, he felt his way across and up.
Crates—
Vince turned to Mercy and whispered, “OK Mercy, over to you. There’s something here, guess you’ll need light, but keep it to a minimum.”
“OK,” Mercy replied. She turned to Flynn, “Something ahead we need to check it out with the torch, cover me.”
Flynn released her shoulder and brought his rifle to bear. “Ready.”
Mercy covered the torch with her hand and switched it on allowing the barest sliver of light to shine through her fingers. A row of six crates blocked their way, stencilled along the side of the nearest crate she saw the words:
240 CART .30 MIXED BELT
A series of numbers followed the words.
Ammunition boxes, Mercy thought. We’re on the right track—
Mercy crawled forwards and peered over the crates into the passage beyond. It was too dark so she lifted the torch allowing a narrow beam of light through her fingers. She saw larger crates further on, she strained to make out what was written on them. She saw the letter F followed by the letter L. Mercy dropped to one knee and reported her findings to Vince and Flynn. “I have to get nearer to those crates at the back, give me a few minutes and stay sharp.”
Flynn grabbed her arm, “Let me do it, if it’s what we’re looking for, I’m bigger than you and will be carrying them out anyway—”
Mercy began to protest but she saw the logic in his words and nodded, “Remember minimal light, there’s so much oil around here I think it’s masking our scent from the freaks, but we can’t be sure, be careful.” She grabbed Flynn’s arm leant forwards and kissed him on the lips.
Flynn blinked in the half light surprise on his face, he reached up and brushed Mercy’s cheek, his eyes locked with hers. The moment passed, he squeezed her hand and moved forwards between the gap in the crates, covered torch in one hand, rifle in the other. He took his time and reached the larger crates a minute later. He moved his fingers on the torch and read the side of the nearest crate.
M-202, 66mm, M74, FLAME ASSAULT SHOULDER WEAPON
The crate was open, he leaned up holding the torch over the crate and looked in. A M-202 rocket launcher glinted dully in the half light, he remembered seeing them in old movies and video games. This was what they had come for, this was what the army had used with incendiary rockets against the tropes before the airstrikes. Flynn reached out and touched the drab weapon. His eyes searched the passage ahead, he counted eight crates. He allowed more light from the torch, it lit up the passage.
He froze.
Huddled not more than twenty feet away was a group of freaks. They stood with their backs to him, their metallic exoskeletons glinting dully.
Flynn covered the torch and dropped his head, his heart pounding. He brought the rifle up ready to fire expecting the freaks to attack. Nothing happened. Maybe Mercy was right, the stench of oil was covering their scent.
Shit— what’ll I do? We need these to beat the Preacher’s men, Flynn thought.
Sweat stung his eyes, he wiped his forehead. The torch clattered to the floor shattering the silence, its light spilled back towards Mercy and Vince. Adrenaline rushed through Flynn. He jumped up pointing the FN FAL rifle at the cluster of freaks, they had heard the torch and seen its light. They turned towards him their eyes raw with hunger, their teeth grinding, he could hear the low mechanised whine of their exoskeleton suits.
Flynn opened up on them, the high velocity 7.62 mm rounds tore through freak flesh with devastating effect. The noise in the confined space was ear shattering. He couldn’t miss, the freaks were so near. He screamed— a primitive, elemental scream that filled his heart and soul. Six freaks were cut down, two remained standing, supported by their exoskeletons, their flesh ripped away by his rounds.
Flynn emptied his magazine, the rifle fell silent in his hands. His scream died with the silence. The stench of dead flesh filled the passage overpowering the smell of oil. He felt sick, his legs shook and went from under him, he slumped to the ground.
“Flynn are you all right?” Mercy rushed to him placing a hand on his shoulder.
Flynn raised his head, “Yeah, I—” his words dried up.
“Come on Flynn, we gotta go, that’s bound to have woken more of them,” Mercy helped him to his feet. “Reload and let’s get out of here.”
Flynn reloaded and gave the rifle to Mercy. “Here, you take this and use your own if you have to, I’m going to try and carry a couple of rocket launchers. He broke open a crate and took two of the loaded M-202s slinging one over each shoulder using the attached shoulder straps. “Let’s go—”
Mercy picked up the fallen torch. “Vince let’s get out of here, I’ll leave the torch on so we can move fast, hold on to my belt and follow me.”
“Good plan,” Vince replied.
They took off down the passageway towards the main hall and the escalators. The subway station was alive with whispers and screams. Footsteps came from the darkness on their right, Mercy searched with the torch and saw movement in the distance.
“Go, go, they’re nearly on us. Flynn get up the escalator, Vince follow him. I’ll buy us some time.” Mercy turned towards the advancing freaks and fired Flynn’s rifle in short controlled bursts.
Flynn threw himself up the escalator the bulky M-202s slowing him down. The thought of firing one of the rockets at the freaks crossed his mind but he knew they would be incinerated along with the freaks. He made it to the top of the escalator and fell to the floor dropping one of the rocket launchers.
Keep going, keep going, leave it behind, get one out that’s enough, he thought.
Flynn threw himself forwards. Mercy’s torch light danced on the ceiling, she was close, she had stopped shooting. Flynn grappled with the remaining rocket launcher cradling it in both arms, he made out the dim shape of the gates ahead and ran to them. He placed the M-202 on top of the nearest gate and climbed over. Gunfire erupted close behind. Keep it together, keep it together, there’s the steps to the street, go, go, go— the gunfire stopped as he climbed the stairs to the street outside.
Mercy ran to the escalator, she saw Vince on Flynn’s heels. That kid can move when he wants to— she glanced back, her torch stabbing the darkness. More freaks were emerging from the side passages. She let off a longer burst of fire into the congealing forms then beat a retreat up the escalator. As she reached the halfway point she looked up.
Shit, the bastards can climb the ceilings— three freaks had caught up with her clinging to the light fittings and cables above. One of the freaks dr
opped onto the escalator in front of her. Mercy brought up the rifle and squeezed the trigger. Fifteen rounds slammed into the freak’s midsection severing it in two. The stink of its rotten flesh filled the air, she pushed past the corpse and felt the impact of the other two freaks landing on the escalator behind.
Mercy charged up the final steps, on reaching the last step she turned and fired at the two freaks emptying the magazine. She dropped the gun and changed to her own rifle continuing the hail of bullets into the moving shapes below. The gun fell silent, the magazine empty. She had dealt with the closest freaks but more screaming came from the base of the escalator.
Mercy turned and almost tripped on the M-202 Flynn had left behind. Without thinking she threw down her rifle and picked up the rocket launcher shoving the torch into her webbing. She made a dash towards the gates, the steps to the street lay a short distance beyond.
She made it to the gates and started to climb over. Something grabbed her webbing from above lifting her. Her eyes widened, she glanced up and saw the freak. Its eyes were dead, but its hunger was real. Its teeth snapped at the air eager to taste her flesh.
Time slowed for Mercy. So this is it—
The freak twisted her around to get to her neck. Mercy saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She pulled away from the snapping teeth and glimpsed Flynn and Tawny aiming at her. Tawny’s rifle muzzle flashed, lighting up the stairwell, Mercy felt the freak’s grip dissolve, and she crumpled in a heap to the floor. She struggled to catch her breath, stars swam around her head.
Flynn’s voice exploded in her ear. “Come on girl, you’re nearly there. You’re not going to let a few freaks come between us are you?”
Mercy staggered to her feet gasping. Flynn put his arm around her waist and dragged her across the floor to the stairs. Gunfire exploded behind them as Tawny sprayed the freaks on the other side of the gates.
Mercy’s breath returned in a rush and her head cleared. She pushed Flynn away, “I’m good— I’m good. What about the second launcher?”
The Survival Chronicles (Book 1}: Mercy Kill Page 17
