The Survival Chronicles (Book 3): Mercy Fall

by Nally, Fergal F.

  “Sam, go, get down the scaffolding to the bike, I’ll follow you,” Mercy held the tables against the door.

  Sam hesitated for a second his eyes on Mercy and the door.

  “Go,” Mercy shouted.

  Sam ran to the window, climbed out and disappeared down the scaffolding. Mercy strained to keep the tables in place, the trope rained heavy blows on the door and cracks appeared. The door shook, wide cracks appearing in its wooden panelling. Mercy glimpsed movement in the corridor outside. She took out her Beretta and pointed it through a gap in the wood.

  “Eat this, you bastard,” she squeezed the trigger twice, the gunshots were loud, incandescent. Her arm vibrated with the Beretta’s recoil. Nothing short of a headshot would stop this trope. The banging stopped, silence descended. Mercy peered through the crack in the door, her ears ringing. She turned towards the window and ran.

  Mercy clambered through the window and climbed down the scaffolding. She jumped the last few feet landing on her hands and knees. Sam was sitting astride the motorbike at the bushes, trying to kick start it without success. Mercy’s eyes caught movement on the street. Tropes were appearing from buildings on either side of the museum. Mercy got to her feet and ran to Sam. She reached the motorbike and jumped on grabbing the handlebars, the sound of breaking glass and wood came from behind. She turned to see the huge trope climbing through a ground floor window, its body covered in blood. It jumped onto the grass verge and looked up.

  Mercy remained calm, she focused on the motorbike and brought her foot down to kick-start it. The engine responded and she gunned the throttle. Sam’s fingers grabbed her waist as the bike shot forwards. Mercy steered the bike into the centre of the street, adrenaline surging through her. Something was wrong, Sam’s grip had vanished, she skidded to a halt and glanced back. The blood drenched trope was standing, staring at her, Sam’s dead body in its hands. Sam’s neck hung at an awkward angle, blood coming from a jagged gash in his throat.

  Mercy froze.

  No, fuck no, Sam—

  The trope threw Sam’s limp form to the ground and raised its arms. On either side of Mercy dozens of tropes stopped in their tracks. The bike’s engine was the only sound she could hear. She looked around, at least thirty tropes stood on her right, another twenty on her left. The only way clear lay across the street; a modern building set back from the road. A sign proclaimed: EL PASO COUNTY JUDICIAL COMPLEX. A series of glass doors lined the front entrance.

  The bloodied trope kicked Sam’s body to one side and marched towards Mercy tilting its head and licking its lips. Blood lust blazed in its eyes and something else; intelligence. Mercy was not immune to this new breed of super trope; it could see her, sense her, smell her. She had seconds left. She pulled out the Beretta aiming at the super trope.

  Has to be a headshot—

  The trope jumped like a cat, its body a blur. Mercy fired her remaining bullets, every one missing its target. A single loud retort filled the air and the super trope’s head disappeared in a pink mist. Its body crashed to the ground slamming into the motorbike. Mercy held on managing to keep upright. She looked up trying to locate the sniper.

  The tropes on either side snapped out of their trance and charged at the motorbike. Mercy gunned the engine and accelerated towards the judicial building. She skidded at the last minute dropping the motorbike to the ground. It slammed into the reinforced glass doors, they shuddered but stood firm. Four other doors remained but the tropes were almost on top of her.

  “The last door on your left, quick,” a man’s voice shouted from somewhere above.

  Mercy burst into action and hurled herself at the last door, it was unlocked. Three more shots rang out from above. She opened the door and burst through, a length of chain lay discarded on the floor. She unslung the dead NSA biker’s M4 carbine from her back and rammed it through the door handles. Tropes smashed against the massive doors, their bony hands banging against the glass. She wrapped the chain around the M4 and handles securing the door further then stepped back and watched as the mob outside grew in size.

  Those gunshots will attract every trope and skinny in the city centre—

  Mercy’s eyes darted to the centre of the door, a web of tiny cracks appeared in the glass. She turned and ran. The foyer was dark, its floor polished stone, she went left and came to a row of elevators and stairs.

  Keep to the ground floor, get out the back somehow—

  She opened the stair door, complete darkness beckoned.

  Shit, no windows, check for a fire escape—

  Mercy walked into the stairwell feeling the walls for an exit. Nothing. She turned back towards the stair door and opened it. Glass shattered in the foyer.

  No, no, no. Go up, up—

  Mercy closed the door and felt for the handrail. A heartbeat later she found it and pulled herself up the steps. The first floor door was blocked, she continued on and reached the second floor, the door was unlocked. As she opened the door she heard a crash below, screams rose up through the building, a hellish high tide. A flash came from above, she looked up and heard running feet.

  “Fire in the hole, fire in the hole,” a male voice bellowed.

  An object fell down the stairwell to the ground floor. She glanced up and shouted, “Down here, I’m down here, second floor—” she knew what would happen if she remained in the doorway, she slammed the door shut and flung herself onto the corridor floor.

  One, two, three—

  A gut wrenching explosion shook the building, the shockwave passed through Mercy’s body, ceiling tiles and light fittings fell around her. The stair door flew open and a tongue of flame burst through at waist height extending to the ceiling. The air in the corridor seemed to vanish, Mercy’s lungs felt like cinders and dust. She coughed, choking on the incandescent air. The door swung shut blocking the fire. Mercy’s ears rang, the unmistakable smell of burning flesh filled the air. She lay on the floor and crawled away from the door.

  What the fuck did he use? C-4 explosive?

  Mercy crawled along the corridor then stopped, a wave of nausea overwhelmed her and she vomited. Her stomach contents spilled onto the floor leaving an acrid taste in her mouth. Dizziness engulfed her, she closed her eyes and held her forehead. The stair door flew open, a figure stepped through holding a torch.

  “That ought to hold them for a bit, but it’s fucked up my exit strategy. Are you OK?” the man said.

  Mercy reached for the tomahawk at her waist. “Are you NSA?” was all she could manage.

  “No, but they’ll be here soon, or their drones, no one could’ve missed that explosion.” A hand reached down, “The name’s Garrett, Captain, Texas Rangers. I’ve been tracking you, saw your handiwork earlier off Airport Road, saw your bike escape too, nice work. Sorry about your friend, the kid.” Mercy took his hand and stood up.

  Texas Rangers?

  Mercy looked at the tall bearded man before her. His combat fatigues were covered in dust, an unfamiliar insignia decorated his right shoulder. He carried a M24 sniper rifle in one hand, she noticed the grenades and spare ammunition pouches strapped to his webbing.

  Looks more like Special Forces, like back in New York—

  Smoke was finding its way into the corridor from the damaged stair door. Mercy coughed, her lungs burning.

  “Yeah, we better get out of here. This place is about to cook, you good to move?” Garrett asked.

  Mercy nodded, trying to hold back another body wracking cough. She waved ahead, “Lead on, I’m right behind you.”

  Garrett pointed his torch down the corridor and strode on. Mercy followed, the Beretta in her hand. Garrett reached the end of the corridor and tried a door, it was locked. He took a step back and kicked it open, he shone his flashlight inside then entered. A series of windows looked out onto the foyer roof below.

  “Good, we can jump out and cross to the north wing from here.” He reached out and pulled at long window, it opened six inches. He clambered onto the windows
ill and took hold of the window edges and pulled hard, the hinges creaked, complaining before giving way. The window fell from its housing onto the floor.

  Garrett stepped through the opening and jumped to the roof below. He looked back at Mercy. “You OK? Come on, it’s safe enough.”

  Mercy clambered through the gap, took a deep breath and felt her lungs clear. It was good to be outdoors. She jumped onto the concrete roof beside Garrett. He lifted his eyes to the sky.

  “Watch out for drones, or even hot air balloons. Those bastards have eyes in the sky, some of their drones are even camouflaged as birds. Can you believe that shit?” Garrett spat.

  The first tinges of dawn were beginning to show, “Yeah, I’ve had experience of drones,” Mercy said, her mind going back to Manhattan and the Preacher. New York seemed so far away, another life.

  Garrett moved across the roof towards the opposite building. Mercy glanced over her shoulder, yellow tongues of flame were licking at the insides of the judicial building. She followed Garrett, they reached the north wing and found a service door. Garrett tried the handle, the door swung open.

  “Careful, not sure about this building, biters are everywhere,” Garrett shouldered his M24 and pulled out a Glock 17 from his thigh holster.

  Mercy checked her Beretta and pulled out her knife. Garrett crouched and moved down the corridor quicker than Mercy would have liked. He was taking risks, shortcuts, but she understood, they were up against the clock. Garrett was right, the NSA would be all over the building in no time. She scanned doors and rooms as they passed, a second pair of eyes could save their lives.

  They came to a door leading onto a set of stairs, Garrett set off down the steps. A noise came from behind, Mercy turned to see a shape emerging from one of the offices. She grabbed a broken chair from the corridor and ducked through the door jamming the door with the chair. She hurried after Garrett’s light bobbing on the stairs below. They made it to the first floor and were about to descend when Garrett froze. Mercy halted and breathed in, a slight sourness tainted the air, trouble lay below.

  He’s good—

  Garrett put a hand over the torch, turned to the stair door and opened it slowly. They stepped into the corridor beyond. Mercy closed the door behind her. They listened, waiting and were rewarded with silence. Weak morning light diffused through the window at the end of the corridor. Garrett lowered his Glock and pulled a rifle scope from a side pocket, he brought it to his eye, its green light dimly visible, and examined the way ahead.

  Hell yeah, night vision—

  Garrett tried the first door which was locked. They crept down the corridor. He tried the second door which opened. A large open plan office lay beyond, a breeze came from a window, rattling the blinds. The office was wrecked; tables and chairs smashed, chunks torn from the walls, even the ceiling had been stripped of its tiles revealing the bare cable trays above.

  Garrett checked the room with the night scope, Mercy closed the door and listened to the building. It paid to listen, tropes and skinnies were expert listeners, but they gave themselves away sometimes by their random movements. The only sound was the tapping of the blinds on the windowsill. Garrett lowered his weapon and went to the open window. He looked out and beckoned to Mercy.

  “We need to get down, it’s too high to jump and there’s nothing to hold onto, fire escape’s back the way we came—”

  Mercy looked out the window then back at the room, “I use cable if I’ve got no rope,” she pointed to the cable trays in the ceiling space.

  Garrett gave her an appraising look, “Of course you do.” He righted an upturned table, stood on it and reached up. His hand caught the side of the nearest cable tray and he pulled. The tray twisted revealing rows of multi coloured cabling, Garrett’s fingers reached in and grabbed at the cables. He dragged down a fistful and kept pulling, the cabling came away easily, soon he had a loop of cable on the floor. Mercy set to work with her knife cutting the cabling into long sections which she then tied together. She secured the end to a large table and threw the coiled length out the window.

  Garrett looked on, an uncertain look on his face, “OK you go first, I’ll cover the rear.”

  Mercy nodded and climbed through the window, the knots should hold for her, she wasn’t so sure about Garrett.

  Well, it’s too late now— Mercy thought as she clung to the cable, her legs scrabbling against the building. She lowered herself feeling the cable stretch above her. Six seconds later and she was down, her eyes searched the road right and left.

  All clear, come on Garrett, now would be good—

  Mercy pulled out her Beretta and looked up, Garrett lowered himself quickly, his arms doing most of the work. Half way down a knot failed and the cable broke. Garrett landed heavily beside her, a length of cable in his hand. He looked surprised but was unhurt. Mercy cringed inwardly, she could see where her knot had slipped.

  “Hey, not bad kid, your idea worked. Come on, let’s get out of here, this area is compromised—”

  Mercy bit her lip. Maybe I should make a run for it. I don’t know this guy—

  She was short on trust. Anyone with a night scope was bad news, he would have backing, he’d be with others, things would get complicated, they always did. She’d had enough of complicated, people died around her, look at Sam, her latest casualty. She closed her eyes and thought.

  “Hey, come on kid, what’s holding you up?” Garrett glanced back, concern on his face.

  A door closed in Mercy’s mind, she would see where this led and decide later what to do. Like he said, this area was compromised. She nodded at him, “I’m good. Let’s go—”

  Garrett took them across South Cascade Avenue and along the side of the Pikes Peak Centre for the Performing Arts. Craggy mountains rose in the distance, her heart returned to Flynn and the others. They were somewhere in those mountains, south of Colorado Springs. She was close but not close enough.

  Mercy spotted graffiti scrawled on a building: Nature shall have her revenge, she will wipe the earth clean of humanity’s filth. Mercy reflected on her condition and grimaced, she was carrying the disease or at least the genetic code of the disease, she was part of the problem but if the NSA were to be believed, she was part of the solution.

  It’s all fucked up—

  Garrett slowed and lifted his hand. Mercy stopped, her heart pounding. Garrett dropped to his knees and listened, the early morning was breezy, the sky clear, everything seemed peaceful. Carparks, warehouses and wasteland stretched out before them. Garrett crouched and ran across the road heading to one of the smaller carparks. He ducked in among the abandoned vehicles, Mercy followed.

  They weaved through the pickups and SUVs. Garrett double backed, frowning, “I remember some bikes, somewhere around here—” he stuck his head over an SUV and looked to the far end of the car park. “Over there—”

  Mercy looked ahead and followed him. Garrett made his way to the end of the car park, to an old Recreational Vehicle. He went to the rear of the vehicle and pulled at a dirty tarp which fell away. Two gleaming bicycles hung from a carrier rack. He holstered his Glock and set about freeing the bikes.

  “They’re locked, I’ll see if I can find the key inside,” Mercy said.

  “Be careful,” Garrett said, he was examining the bikes’ tyres. “I’ll start pumping these up,” he brandished a pump from one of the bikes.

  Mercy sidled along the RV, her eyes peeled for danger. She reached the side door and tried the handle, to her surprise it was unlocked. She allowed the door to swing open and stared inside, nothing stirred. She climbed the steps, the blinds were down and the curtains drawn.

  She held her knife out and walked the length of the RV. The table was littered with papers, she found a map of Colorado Springs and the surrounding area, the cupboard produced two tins of pears and a torch.

  Come on, come on, keys, keys, where are you?

  Mercy searched the rest of the RV finding a first aid kit and two backpacks.
She returned to the side door and glanced at the driver’s seat.

  Of course—

  She leant forwards and pulled the sun shade down. A set of keys dropped onto the seat. A bang came from the bathroom compartment. She glanced back, the floor shook and the bathroom door burst open.

  Shit—

  Chapter 9 Highway

  Mercy watched as the skinny staggered out of the bathroom. Its arms hung unmoving, it stared at Mercy, its eyes boring through her. The skinny was partially decomposed. Mercy wondered if it had reanimated. It was skeletal, a likely original victim from the time of the Fall.

  It had been a boy once, a T shirt and shorts hung on its bones, its skin was dry, desiccated, its limbs spindly and nails long. Scraggly hair dangled from its scalp, Mercy put the Beretta down and took out her combat knife. The boy lurched towards her his teeth snapping on empty air.

  Mercy stepped forwards raising her knife, “Sorry about this kid,” she thrust the knife into the skinny’s right eye and twisted. Bone crunched, the boy stopped and fell to the floor. Something caught Mercy’s attention, she stepped over the body and looked into the bathroom, a blanket lay scrunched up on the floor. She went closer then brought a hand up to her mouth.

  Christ—

  Mercy looked away and stepped backwards. A baby was wrapped in the blanket its gaunt face exposed, its eyes sunken and staring.

  They were hiding, locked themselves in, succumbed to the infection or starved, what a horrible way to go—

  Mercy’s expression hardened.

  It means nothing, ride it out—

  A framed photograph caught her eye. She ignored photos as a rule, they were full of other people’s lives, full of ghosts. The image breached her defences, she picked up the frame and looked at the happy smiling family. Mother, father, young son and new baby, their eyes bright, full of life. She looked around the RV, tightness gripped her chest, she wanted what had been here, she wanted her own family photograph. She wanted to stop running. Garrett cursed outside, his voice strained. Mercy sighed, the spell broken. She put the photograph down, retrieved the keys and left the RV.