The Survival Chronicles (Book 1}: Mercy Kill

by Nally, Fergal F.

  The next ten minutes passed in marshalling sixty Angels up the fire escape to the eighth floor building’s roof, it was sandwiched between two higher blocks. Rusty made sure everyone was up before she climbed the fire escape herself. She pulled the ladder section up behind her. Her watch said one minute to go, she looked up, the last of the Angels had disappeared onto the roof. She looked down Murray Street towards Church Street and saw the first tropes rounding the corner.

  They were walking in loose groups. Rain beat down on them, most were wearing rags, torn clothes and plastic sheeting. Rusty had seen one or two do this before but never a whole group. She stopped climbing the fire escape for fear of making noise, she was three quarters of the way up. She watched fascinated as the tropes moved down the street towards City Hall Park.

  Know your enemy— now where had she heard that before?

  It took twenty minutes for the tropes to pass. She counted a hundred and seven, they were in bad shape, emaciated, more than usual. Their food supply was drying up, they were desperate which would explain their recent daylight forays.

  It all made sense. They knew about the Preacher’s sacrifice, he had practically advertised it by erecting the podium by the Charging Bull just like his previous sacrifices. Maybe the tropes were hoping to work together to overwhelm him and get access to Battery Park and all the fresh meat that lived behind the walls there.

  And the skinnies? Why have they reanimated? Rusty mused as the last of the tropes passed beneath her. It’s gotta be the virus— it’s come back for more, reactivated, mutated. Some shit like that, know your enemy, hell the virus is the real enemy—

  Rusty waited for ten minutes after the last trope had passed before she moved, she climbed the fire escape and briefed the others on what she had seen.

  Sly stepped forwards, “There’s another fire escape at the back of the building and an alley leading to Park Place. We can get to Church Street that way.”

  Rusty nodded. Luck was with them, they still had a chance. “Let’s do it— you heard the girl, move out.”

  Rusty looked at her watch. They had less than an hour to get to Exchange Place.

  ~

  “Here, take this— best I can do under the circumstances, if you insist on losing your rifle,” Tawny said handing Flynn a Browning BDA9 pistol. “Fourteen rounds per magazine, here’s extra clips,” Tawny gave Flynn four spare magazines then turned to Mercy. “You got enough ammo for your Glock?”

  “Yeah thanks, I’m good,” Mercy replied.

  They had made good time, 5th Avenue was clear of tropes. They’d had to wait fifteen minutes to allow a large group of skinnies to pass on West 8th Street and 5th Avenue.

  “Where do you think they’re going?” Flynn whispered to Mercy.

  “No idea, and I don’t care as long as they’re headed away from us,” Mercy replied.

  Tawny took her crew around Washington Square Park. Mercy was impressed with Tawny’s group, they were disciplined and at all times they had eyes ahead, behind, to the flanks and above. They moved tactically, every car, every truck was scouted, flanked and checked before moving on.

  Most of the vehicles were empty.

  “It’s as if the skinnies have woken up en masse,” Flynn said to Mercy his voice tight.

  “They’ve come back somehow— they’re hunting in packs. They’re not as fast as tropes, but they’re more co-ordinated. They know how to set up an ambush— I was almost toast when Santa’s crew brought me in. You should have seen the look on her face, she got a real shock.”

  “It’s like the whole city’s on edge, waiting,” Flynn replied.

  “Yeah— I get a bad feeling about this. Whatever happens we stick together, I don’t want to lose you again Flynn.”

  Flynn looked at her for a long moment, “When I’m with you Mercy things seem good— I don’t feel alone. Yeah, let’s not get separated this time.” He smiled, the seriousness in his eyes softened. The storm grumbled above, random flashes of lightning lit up the street. The rain fell in sheets drenching them.

  Tawny’s crew pressed on, they communicated with hand signals. A detour took them to Lafayette Street to avoid the road blocks on West 3rd Street and Broadway. Lafayette Street gave them a clear run down to Foley Square and the top of Centre Street.

  Tawny was out in front, she stopped, crouched and raised a fist. The rain was unrelenting, the visibility poor. She beckoned to two of the flankers who joined her for a discussion. Everyone else remained in position.

  The two flankers moved off down Centre Street and disappeared from view. Tawny looked at her watch and signalled for everyone to stay put.

  “She’s sending scouts, she must be worried,” Mercy whispered to Flynn.

  “Well that’s City Hall ahead, another big area of parkland—”

  Mercy frowned. “Maybe that’s it, parkland. The skinnies seem to gravitate there, that’s where we found them before, maybe they feel sheltered there.”

  “Yeah, Santa Fe would’ve debriefed Tawny on your encounter so she knows,” Flynn responded.

  Mercy looked at Tawny kneeling in the rain. “Yeah she’s being cautious. I like cautious.”

  They waited for fifteen minutes until the scouts returned. Tawny spoke to them nodding, she raised her hand making a circular motion. Her crew moved in for an update, Mercy and Flynn joined them.

  Rain dripped from Tawny’s nose as she spoke. “Situation update, there’s trope and skinny activity up ahead at City Hall but it seems contained. The most direct route is still ahead, the scouts think if we stay on Park Row’s eastern causeway we’ll be OK, the concrete barrier will give us cover. The rain will help too. We’ll do it in two groups twenty minutes apart, each group will take one rocket launcher, so if one group gets busted the other group can find an alternative route to Exchange Place.” She consulted her map, “I’ll take the first group, Mazzy you take the second group. We’ll meet up at the corner of Ann Street and Broadway. Happy? Any questions?”

  Everyone remained silent. The plan was simple.

  They split into two groups and moved down Centre Street keeping low and to the left. Tawny’s party went first. Mercy and Flynn stayed behind in the second group watching as Tawny disappeared into the rain. Mercy looked at her watch— twenty minutes to go.

  “Mazzy looks a bit wild,” Mercy whispered to Flynn.

  “Silent type, I’ve not heard her talk,” Flynn replied.

  “I don’t particularly like Tawny, but she’s got us this far. I think she knows what she’s doing,” Mercy said.

  “She’s ruthless, believe me I’ve seen it. She’s tough— and loyal to Laurient,” Flynn responded.

  They crouched behind an overturned SUV and counted the minutes. Time dragged, Mercy chewed her lip. The rest of the Angels kept alert and waited for Mazzy’s order. Mazzy looked at her watch, she tapped the Angels beside her and nodded.

  “Time to move out, keep close,” Mercy said to Flynn.

  They moved in single file down Centre Street. The buildings fell away giving way to City Hall Park on the right. Mazzy stopped and scoped out the corner of the park with her binoculars then signalled the Angels to move left. The street was overgrown with long grass and ivy. Mazzy led them to the Brooklyn Bridge slip road. They crouched behind a metal fence between the slip road and Centre Street then made their way south climbing over low barriers and the other slip roads coming in from Brooklyn Bridge.

  Mercy saw a sign for Spruce Street— they were on track.

  Out of nowhere a scream tore through the rain from City Hall Park followed by other screams. Mazzy froze, the group huddled together behind the concrete barrier, waiting. Flynn stared at Mercy his eyes wide. Mercy switched the Glock’s safety off and chambered a round, Flynn saw her and did the same.

  Rain continued to fall. Mazzy waited two minutes before signalling the Angels to move. She led the way south down Park Row’s outer lane, this time they did not stop. Mercy glanced to the right and saw City Hall Park’s
trees standing like silent sentinels. She knew tropes and skinnies were hiding in the park, waiting for a sign, waiting to feed, waiting for the scent of blood.

  Parasites—

  They passed the park and reached Ann Street, Mazzy signalled the group to stop and sent two scouts to search for Tawny’s group.

  Relief swept through Flynn, he turned to Mercy, “Remind me not to return by that route.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Mercy replied.

  The two scouts reappeared and went to Mazzy, she gave the signal to move. They entered Broadway, Mazzy took them down the centre of the street. Without warning Tawny’s group materialised out of the shadows on either side merging with them. Tawny nodded at Mazzy smiling. Mazzy melted back to the rear of the group. They moved down Broadway for six blocks without encountering trouble.

  Mercy nudged Flynn and nodded at a sign for Wall Street on their left. They continued for another block. The scouts stopped, crouched and raised their fists. Tawny crept forwards and spoke to them, she glanced back at the group and pointed left giving the signal to follow— she disappeared with the scouts. They followed Tawny and passed a street sign marked Exchange Place pointing to the narrow walkway that Tawny had taken.

  “We’re here,” Mercy said to Flynn, her watch said 3:32 am. “And on time.” She glanced down the Canyon of Heroes, they were close to the Charging Bull. Somewhere above Laurient and Dakota should be in position, all the threads were joining up.

  Mercy shook her head. What am I doing here with all these people? How did I get involved?

  Flynn turned to look at her and she knew why.

  Chapter 19 Between The Lines

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Laurient looked at Dakota’s bloody hand. “If the tropes smell that—”

  Dakota clenched her fist, blood seeped between her fingers. “Sorry boss, so stupid, I wasn’t thinking—”

  Laurient rummaged in her pack. “Wait, hold on.” She pulled leather gloves and duct tape from the bag. “Hold out your arm, I’ll put a glove on your hand then tape it up.”

  Understanding crossed Dakota’s face followed by something else— hope. She held out her hand allowing Laurient to put the glove on. Laurient used strips of duct tape to seal the glove tight to Dakota’s skin, then she reversed the second glove and forced Dakota’s hand into it and taped it down.

  “Better than nothing, maybe it’ll work, we’ll see,” Laurient slumped back against the window sweat glistening on her forehead despite the chill air.

  It just takes one mistake, one oversight, Laurient thought.

  Dakota smiled, looking for reassurance. “No more stupid mistakes boss, I promise. We’re going to get him ain’t we?”

  Laurient looked at Dakota and thought about the old life, before the Fall. What would Dakota be doing if the pandemic hadn’t struck? School, sports, teenage angst? Instead she was here, in all this. Death was easy, life was hard.

  Laurient leant forwards pressing her forehead to Dakota’s. “Yes D, we’re gonna nail him— it’s all good.”

  A mournful sigh echoed through the hole in the window. The storm raged outside—

  ~

  “There it is— Exchange Alley. Broadway and Exchange Place are just down there,” Sly pointed to the left.

  Rusty was pleased with their progress, Church Street and Trinity Place had been trouble free apart from some dogs that had followed them, but they had lost interest and slunk off. She looked at her watch, 3:10 am. They would wait a while and keep to the planned rendezvous in Exchange Place at 3:30 am.

  “Send two scouts down the alley to scope it out, tell everyone to check their weapons, safeties off. We’ll move out in fifteen minutes, stay sharp and no mistakes. Remember we’re hoping to meet with Tawny and her group so no friendly fire— got it?” Rusty ordered.

  Sly nodded and spread the word.

  Rusty reflected on the journey from the Cruise Terminal, she had never moved so many people through the city in one go— it was an audacious move by Laurient. This was a watershed moment, the next few hours would determine her future, the Angels’ future and the Preacher’s future.

  Sly returned bedraggled in the rain. “Everyone’s good to go when you say.”

  Rusty nodded and checked her rifle one more time then looked back up Trinity Place at the sixty Angels huddled there. She wondered where they’d be the following day then put the thought out of her head— that way lay doubt not resolve. The two scouts returned— the alley was clear. Rusty glanced at her watch and raised her hand signalling the war party to move out.

  The alley was narrow and dark, they filed through one by one, nerves on edge. Broadway appeared out of the gloom. Rusty put her hand on the lead scout’s shoulder holding the girl back. “I’ll go first— wait on my signal.”

  Rusty peered up and down Broadway listening. Nothing but rain and distant flashes of lightening off to the north. She looked across Broadway to the cataract of darkness opposite— Exchange Place. She crouched and ran across the street slamming her back against the wall of the adjacent building. Rain sluiced down her face and neck, she reached for the torch on her pack making sure the red filter was in place. She leaned around the corner and flashed the torch six times. A few seconds passed, she was answered by six red flashes in return. She rose to her full height and stepped from cover lowering her rifle.

  A figure walked out from behind a dumpster and came towards her. A familiar swagger, slouched shoulders. Rusty relaxed and waited for the girl to reach her.

  Tawny’s face materialised out of the dark. “What took you so long Rusty? We’ve been sinking a few beers, playing poker and shootin’ the breeze—”

  Rusty grinned, “Good to see you Tawny, so long as that’s all you’ve been shooting sister.”

  ~

  Lady Magdalene looked at her watch, 5:30 am.

  Time to dress and adorn God’s chosen. She went to Maggie’s room and entered without knocking. Maggie was kneeling in front of a statue of the One True God, her head bowed in prayer.

  Magdalene went to the statue and placed her vein lined hand on Maggie’s head. Maggie jumped, she turned to look at the woman, her skin pallid, her eyes red, she looked sick. “The amber is leaving your system my dear— you’ll be able to see God with clear eyes when you cross over to Him. I am envious of you, the Chosen. Come child it is time to prepare, to make you presentable to meet the Maker.”

  Maggie staggered to her feet, her legs weak. Her mind was fuzzy and sharp at the same time, her skin felt as if it was being attacked with needles and broken glass. Waves of nausea washed over her, her joints and muscles ached. She tried to speak but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, all she managed was a noise from the back of her throat. As Maggie looked at Lady Magdalene, something snapped inside and her mind shut down, she withdrew to a safe place somewhere deep within, a place where no one could reach her.

  Lady Magdalene brought Maggie across the hall to the bathroom.

  “Here child, we’ll wash away your pain, hot water will help. We’ll cleanse you of sin and the amber, you’ll be pure for God.”

  Maggie followed Magdalene into the steam filled bathroom and allowed herself to be bathed. Magdalene reached for a pair of scissors, “We need to cut your hair so you can wear the headdress— it is a snug fit.”

  Maggie remained silent, her eyes closed. She let Magdalene cut her hair, she heard the distant clipping of scissors, but she was elsewhere; a boat trip with her father before the Fall, water lapping on the hull, her fingers trailing in the water, light dancing on the waves dazzling her eyes.

  “There you are— perfect.” Magdalene stood back to admire her work. The girl had been transformed, the hair cut so short that her scalp was visible. “Clean and pure,” Lady Magdalene said. “Let’s get you dry then we can dress you in the habit and veil—everything’s been freshly washed and starched.”

  Once Maggie was dry Magdalene left the room with the door open. Steam swirled through the air. Maggie wiped co
ndensation from the wall mirror but she did not recognise her reflection. The room cooled, she started to shiver. Magdalene’s footsteps echoed from the hall, she appeared at the door, a nun’s black habit and veil in her hand.

  “The Preacher insists you wear this for your special day. God will welcome you with open arms child.” Magdalene put the habit and veil on a chair. Maggie’s eyes flicked to Magdalene’s other hand which held a gas mask and dark goggles. Maggie was numb, she stared at Magdalene, unquestioning, unmoving.

  Magdalene nodded her head, “I think you are approaching a state of grace child, that is good, it bodes well for the ceremony. Initiate Matthew has chosen wisely.”

  ~

  Rose stirred in the semi darkness. For a second she couldn’t remember where she was, then the previous day’s events returned to her. Her heart ached for Arabella—another needless death to avenge.

  Rose’s muscles were stiff and cold. She had slept fitfully but at least the podium had provided shelter and the tarpaulin had kept the rain out. Fragile splinters of daylight filtered through cracks in the podium. She checked her watch 5:58 am— dawn had arrived. She stretched her arms and legs and took the Walther out to reload the magazine.

  She would kill the Preacher and some of his inner circle if she got lucky. She would keep one bullet for herself— she did not want to be captured by the Preacher’s men, she would sooner die by her own hand. Voices outside interrupted her thoughts. She pressed her ear on the wood straining to hear.

  “The procession will come this way. The Preacher will be in the Jeep— keep the bikes back, he doesn’t want them to distract from the sacrifice,” a gruff male voice said.

  Footsteps circled the podium.

  A woman’s voice answered, “Got it. Once the girl is impaled on the horns, every trope within a five kilometre radius will get the blood scent. You could be talking a couple hundred or more? I’m not sure the 50 Cal and our submachine guns can handle that many—”