The Survival Chronicles (Book 3): Mercy Fall

by Nally, Fergal F.

  A badly decomposed skinny stood in the water, long tendrils of weeds matting its hair, its eyes were long gone, empty sockets stared vacantly at her. It stood still for a few moments then turned and lurched towards Sam on the shore.

  Sam must’ve disturbed it, it’s ignoring me, maybe the biotech in me—

  Mercy hauled herself up and staggered after the skinny. She pulled out her combat knife and plunged the blade into the base of its skull and twisted hard. The crunch of splintering bone followed and the skinny slumped to the water at her feet. Where there was one there would be others, her eyes darted around looking at the water for danger. When she was certain she moved on making it to the far shore. She was soaking.

  It could’ve been worse, it could’ve got Sam. We were lucky, mustn’t be complacent, mustn’t let our guard down—

  Mercy dragged herself up the far bank and flopped to the ground to catch her breath. The moonlight made everything seem unreal, like a dream. She blinked and looked away from the creek, she searched for Sam. He was gone.

  Shit, where is he?

  Mercy rose and staggered up the slope, her clothes dripping. She crested the bank and found a road, Sam was crouching at the kerb barrier watching the abandoned cars. She came up beside him and slumped to the ground her back against the barrier. She closed her eyes and exhaled, wishing for a shower and a change of clothes. Her mind focused, her plan had been to cut through the city as fast as possible, spy on any NSA activity and find out where their base was. But now she wanted time; time to rest and resupply.

  Mercy turned to look at the road ahead, it went west straight to the heart of the city. She made her mind up to stop along the way and find new clothes. Sam tapped her shoulder motioning for her to follow.

  “OK, OK, slave driver, I get it, let’s go,” she pulled the Beretta from her belt and followed Sam over the barrier.

  They walked down the road for a mile, a low sign read: AIRPORT ROAD. The NSA had unblocked the highway, a clear passage evident. Bullet riddled trope carcasses littered the tarmac, the dead were still active and obviously attracted to the noise of NSA vehicles. They came to an intersection; a car wash, liquor store and pizza restaurant stood on the left. Residential properties stretched off to the right. Mercy stopped, the wind moaned through the neon signs of the retail park, she sniffed the air, her nose wrinkled.

  “Hey Sam, pizza’s off the menu so is beer, let’s check those houses, we might get lucky,” Mercy pulled at her mud soaked shirt.

  Sam nodded. They turned right at the intersection and walked down South Murray Boulevard. Mercy stopped at a bus shelter and looked down the road, a row of houses stood on the opposite side of the street. An old flag fluttered forlornly outside one of the homes. Mercy stared at the houses, empty bullet casings littered the sidewalk. She pulled Sam back and turned to a fence running alongside a house, the house looked untouched with no sign of fire or looting.

  Mercy pushed through long grass to the fence and walked along it until she came to a side gate, it was unlocked. Sam’s eyes were wide. She opened the gate enough to squeeze through, it squeaked, rust falling from the hinges. Mercy cursed and gripped the Beretta with both hands. She entered the weed choked yard, strewn with children’s toys. A treehouse complete with pirate flag caught her eye. She levelled the Beretta at the back porch and waited, listening.

  Sam nudged her from behind. They passed a barbecue, a lump of charred flesh still stuck to the grill, dark thoughts went through Mercy’s mind. She looked around, there was no sign of recent activity. A noise came from the street and she turned to look, backing up the porch steps. Sam had shut the gate. Her back hit the screen door, she stopped, the street was silent. Sam was beside her, he had no weapon.

  This is fucked up—

  Mercy pulled the screen door open. The back door was ajar, she pushed it with her foot. The air was still, she stepped into a family kitchen. A table laid with breakfast things sat beside the porch window, a dog bowl lay on the floor. A cooking island dominated the centre of the kitchen, various copper cooking pans hung from the ceiling. A doorway lay open to a hallway, another closed door lay off on one side.

  Mercy glanced at Sam, he nodded and she stepped towards the open doorway. A scream rent the air and a shape darted across her foot from the hall. Mercy turned bringing her pistol to bear only to see a cat’s back legs vanish through a cat flap above the kitchen sink. She slumped against the doorway and waited for her heart to recover.

  The house seemed to be waiting for her to make the next move. Mercy stepped into the hall and saw the doorway to the front room, she looked inside; children’s toys, TV, sofa. She turned to the room opposite; desk, computer, filing cabinet. Next the stairs, she hesitated as the first step creaked. She looked back at Sam, he was clutching a kitchen knife.

  Mercy moved up the stairs and found three bedrooms and a family bathroom. The house was empty, she relaxed a little. The wardrobe in the master bedroom caught her eye and she opened its sliding doors. A wall of clothes faced her, she put the Beretta on the bed and rifled through the wardrobe. She found a pair of jeans, a check shirt, jacket and a pair of women’s hiking boots. She put the clothes on the bed.

  Sam was in the next bedroom, a sign on the door: KEEP OUT, scrawled in a young hand. Mercy guessed Sam was doing the same as her, his clothes were little more than rags. She tore off her wet clothes and dried herself with a musty towel from the bathroom. She put the new clothes on and was tying the laces on the boots when the stairs creaked.

  Shit—

  Chapter 6 Rising

  Mercy crept out onto the landing. A familiar stench rose from the ground floor.

  Fuck, how did they get in?

  Sam appeared in the opposite doorway, his eyes wide. Mercy put a finger to her lips and beckoned to him. He looked at the staircase and stepped towards her. Mercy gripped the Beretta and aimed at the stairs. A floorboard creaked with Sam’s third step, Mercy’s blood froze. A trope shot up the stairs, fast. She followed it with the Beretta but she was too slow, Sam ducked in behind her. The trope jumped, rebounded from the wall and landed on the floor feet away from her. Mercy stepped back and squeezed the trigger repeatedly. The trope took rounds in the neck and chest, it reeled with the impact but held its ground. Finally a round pierced its forehead, it stared vacantly for a microsecond then collapsed to the floor.

  The sound of breaking glass from the ground floor. Mercy turned around. “Time to bail—”

  Sam was already through the bathroom window and on the sloping roof overlooking the front garden. Mercy shut the bedroom door and jammed a chair under the handle. She reached the window and climbed out after Sam. He was lowering himself over the edge of the roof. Something hammered the bathroom door. Mercy scrambled down the roof, clung to the gutter and dropped over the edge onto a patch of grass.

  Sam was on the street running away from the house, Mercy pulled herself up and followed him not daring to look back. Loud banging came from the house. Her legs carried her to the sidewalk, then the road, then to the street corner. She was in a residential cul-de-sac. Sam had tried to return to the main road through a corner garden. Mercy ran towards him, movement came from the houses on her right.

  More of the bastards, Christ, they’re everywhere, they’ve got Sam’s scent. I’ve got to protect him, throw them off—

  Mercy ran past a red pickup truck in the side driveway. Something caught her eye and she stopped. A fuel can lay in the rear of the truck, her eyes drifted to the cul-de-sac, shapes were emerging from the houses. Tropes and skinnies, the whole neighbourhood was waking up. She went to the pickup, lifted the fuel can and shook it. She was rewarded with a sloshing sound. She unscrewed the lid and splashed petrol on the driveway and the truck dribbling the last few drops further up the drive. She pulled out her lighter and stepped back. She touched the flame to the spilt drops of petrol.

  The fuel ignited in a burst of flames and heat, she fell back stumbling over a discarded bike. Her hair caught f
ire on one side and she reached up hitting at her scalp. The flames had engulfed the truck and were spreading down the driveway. She turned and fled along the side of the house to the back yard, Sam was astride a back wall his foot resting against a ladder. Mercy charged across the garden and pounced on the ladder hauling herself up. A loud secondary explosion erupted behind, smoke billowed into the air. Trope screams penetrated the flames.

  Mercy reached Sam and looked back. The tropes were not following, the fire had thrown them off. Mercy kicked the ladder away and lowered herself over the wall. She dropped onto gravel and was relieved to see the main road beyond a row of trees. Sam had reached the road, Mercy followed weaving her way through abandoned vehicles.

  That was close, too close, careless. Not good enough Dawes, you gotta think. Leave the kid behind, he’s attracting the dead, he’s not got the biotech—

  Sam pushed the pace for twenty minutes. Mercy let him lead, they were still headed west and it was still early. She wondered what the NSA would make of the explosion and smoke.

  Probably still happens from time to time, there must be other scavengers here, it could’ve been anyone. Don’t get paranoid, they probably think you’re hiding or dead, keep focused. Anyway, so what if they come looking for you? You want to spy on them—

  Mercy was aware of houses and buildings on either side of the road. They were penetrating deeper into the city. The high rise buildings of the downtown area were much closer.

  That’s where we’ll hole up, lie low, spy on the bastards—

  They passed a golf course and after another twenty minutes came to a T-junction. Signs for Prospect Lake and Memorial Park stretched over the road. Sam turned left down South Union Boulevard, Mercy’s eyes narrowed.

  What’s his plan? Where’s he headed? We need to lie low, watch our next move—

  Sam kept moving, Mercy followed, trying to catch up. Finally, after turning into East Fountain Road Sam stopped and pointed. Mercy reached him and caught her breath.

  “What is it? What is this place?” she said.

  Sam shrugged and grinned. He pointed to a single storey building a hundred yards away. Mercy looked around. “OK hot shot, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Sam led the way along a high wall. They came to a sign at the building: Evergreen Cemetery. Mercy gave a wry smile.

  Is the wall to keep the dead in or out?

  Sam walked to the gate and stopped, peering in.

  Mercy saw the padlock. “Well we’re not getting in that way unless you’re good at picking locks. Why do you want to go in there anyway?”

  Sam ignored her and went to an overgrown area, he disappeared into a clump of bushes and reappeared with a chair which he propped against the building.

  “So, you’ve been here before? OK I get it, you’ve got a stash in there, makes sense. Best not to stay in one place too long. Lead on—”

  Sam stood on the chair holding onto a drainpipe, he stepped up and reached the gutter and clung on. He transferred his other hand to the gutter and pulled himself up.

  “Hey kid, you make that look easy,” Mercy copied Sam’s moves and joined him on the flat roof a minute later. Sam walked to the other end of the roof and glanced over the edge, the building straddled the wall. Mercy understood what he was up to. Sam dropped down into the cemetery.

  “Good on you kid. If we can lie low here for a bit that would be—” Mercy tilted her head. A low rumble came from behind. She turned and ducked down, smoke still rose in the distance where she had set fire to the truck. She scanned the horizon one hand shading her eyes, visibility was good. A convoy appeared a few seconds later on the highway, approaching the cemetery from the east.

  Shit, they couldn’t possibly have found us—

  Mercy watched as the convoy moved along the road weaving through the tangle of abandoned vehicles. Her eyes widened as the vehicles neared the cemetery, she lay on the roof and watched. The five trucks and three SUVs continued south then headed west to join another highway leading south. The vehicles disappeared in the distance.

  “South it is then, south to the mountains—” as Mercy said the words a dim memory returned to her. “Really? Cheyenne Mountain… that has to be it.” She recalled an old TV documentary on the Cold War and the nuclear threat from Russia. The programme had shown footage of US military bunkers from the 1960’s. Mercy’s eyes narrowed, “Yeah, makes sense. There’s enough supplies there to last years.” She smiled.

  Information is power. I don’t know how I’m going to reach you Flynn, but at least I have an idea of where you are—

  A stone landed on the roof. Mercy snapped out of her reverie. “Sorry Sam, got distracted. Let’s see what this place has to offer.”

  She took a last look at the city noting the downtown district lay to the northwest, then she dropped from the roof to the cemetery below. Sam was waiting for her, a questioning look on his face. She filled him in, his expression clouded over.

  “What’s up Sam? Cheyenne bunker… is that where they held you?” Mercy asked.

  Sam looked away briefly, he turned back and rolled up his sleeve pointing at the tattoo. He nodded then looked away again. His breathing became rapid and he sunk to his knees.

  “Hey buddy, take it easy. You’re not having a panic attack on me are you?” Mercy looked around and knelt beside Sam, she put her arm around him.

  Sam was shaking, Mercy embraced him. She waited for his sobs to stop. Finally Sam quietened, his breathing settled. He pulled away and pointed to his mouth.

  “What is it Sam? What did they do to you?” Mercy asked, her voice small.

  Sam opened his mouth wide for Mercy to see. Understanding flooded through her, she brought her hand to her own mouth in a reflex gesture.

  “Your tongue— those bastards,” was all she could say.

  Sam closed his mouth and looked away.

  How could they cut out a child’s tongue?

  Rage consumed Mercy’s heart.

  Chapter 7 Evergreen

  Sam led them to the centre of the cemetery along tree lined avenues. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead, crickets chirped in the long grass, insects hummed in the air. Mercy was alert, tranquillity was always a lie. The cemetery was peaceful, forgotten by the world outside. She imagined the city before the Fall carrying on as normal beyond the cemetery walls.

  This place feels timeless. The dead have escaped the prison of life. Maybe it’s not so bad—

  Sam stopped and pointed at a small chapel ahead.

  “So, that’s where your stash is?” Mercy asked, her voice hopeful. She was hungry and thirsty. Her body ached, she had covered a lot of ground in the last two days.

  Sam went to the side of the chapel and bent over a recess in the wall. Mercy watched as he removed a plank revealing a low window. He fumbled with a nail pulling it free from the window frame. He lifted the window and slid through the opening. Mercy heard him land on the floor inside. She checked behind then sat down and wriggled through after Sam.

  Mercy dropped to the floor and stood up, her eyes took a while to adjust to the dark. Vague shapes loomed in the room, Sam was searching in the corner. He struck a match and lit an oil lamp, its soft glow filled the crypt. Mercy made out old wooden seats and a pile of rotting drapes. She approached Sam and saw a bed roll on the floor and a pile of tinned food and bottled water in the corner.

  “Good job Sam. This will do nicely. I guess you come here when you’re scavenging the city for supplies. I’m impressed.” Mercy sat on a crate watching as Sam lit candles and pulled out cardboard and spare blankets for her bed.

  They ate and rehydrated using Sam’s supply. Mercy stared at the window. She was uneasy and glanced around for an alternative escape.

  “Sam, you got another way out of this place? You know? Just in case—”

  Sam stood up and pointed to the far corner of the crypt, a broken wooden staircase led to a trap door above.

  “That looks dangerous Sam. You sure it’s OK?�
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  Sam smiled and put his foot on the staircase, he reached into the darkness and pulled himself up. Mercy lifted her candle, he was gripping a rope suspended from the ceiling. He used a leg against the wall to push himself over the damaged section of staircase. His feet connected with the upper steps and he grabbed a second rope steadying himself. He turned and smiled at Mercy then ascended to the trap door and opened it.

  “Well if you can do it so can I,” Mercy said.

  She repeated Sam’s moves and made it up the stairs. She pulled herself through the trapdoor and emerged into an open space. Sam was crouching nearby, he tugged at her sleeve and led her along the pews to the back of the chapel. The front doors had been barricaded with benches.

  “You did that?” Mercy asked.

  Sam nodded and went to a dark recess, he opened a corner door and started climbing steps. Mercy followed, they emerged at the top of the bell tower, the evening warm and hazy. Mercy looked out across the cemetery and nodded approvingly.

  “Nice place you got here Sam,” Mercy let out a low whistle. High rise buildings loomed in the distance. She checked the Beretta and its magazine.

  Shit, three rounds left, I need more ammo. I need warmer clothes and hiking gear for the mountains—

  She turned to Sam, “Sam, you’ve done good. Thanks for everything, I couldn’t have made it this far without you. Listen, I’ve put you in enough danger, this is your place, your stash. I understand. If you want to cut loose… I mean… my next step is to resupply with outdoor gear and ammo, if I can find it. I’m heading to the mountains,” she pointed west, the sun was dipping towards the distant ridges. “I’ve got a feeling my friends are in the military bunker in Cheyenne Mountain.”