How the hell did she manage to find something dry to burn after all the rain?
An explosion rent the air and a tongue of red flame shot skyward from the overturned truck on the other side of the intersection.
She’s done it, must’ve been fuel left in one of the tanks. Blaze is a good name for a firestarter, maybe that’s her thing—
Mercy nodded to Flynn and peered around the rear of the Roadmaster. The noise and flames were attracting the infected, they turned as one towards the burning truck and began walking and running towards the flames. Mercy looked out for Blaze but seeing nothing she crouched low and dashed across the car park giving the infected a wide berth. She did not stop, Flynn kept pace behind her. They reached the mall and took cover under the covered walkway which ran along the side wall.
“Weapons out, be ready—” Mercy hissed.
They dashed along the wall to the front of the mall. The burning truck was fully ablaze sending thick smoke into the air.
Tawny and the others will see that from the roof—
Mercy approached the mall’s glass doors and tried to see through. A thick layer of dirt covered the glass. She pushed the door open her muscles tense, a waft of decay and corruption washed over her from within.
Shit—
Mercy gritted her teeth and fought against the wave of nausea rising in her stomach, she entered the mall. Inside was dark, the weak morning light not yet penetrating the glass dome overhead. Mercy swore and swapped the combat knife for the torch Kiki had given her, she advanced, her left hand holding the torch against the pistol. Its narrow beam chased the shadows away, ivy hung in long tendrils from above. Pools of rainwater on the floor reflected the torchlight, she looked up at the glass dome, water dripped from above. Mercy glanced back at the glass doors. Flynn was by her side.
“OK, so we need the stairs to the roof,” Flynn whispered.
Mercy pointed at two escalators rising to the first floor. “We could use those to get us to the next level, at least we can see if anything tries to come up behind us—”
“I’m in,” Flynn said.
They made it to the escalators and looked up. Its steps were corroded and littered with broken tiles and glass from the dome above. Most of the store fronts and glass surfaces were opaque with a layer of grime and dust. Mercy placed her foot on the first step and held her breath. She stepped up and transferred her weight to the second step, grating metal shattered the silence.
“Shit—” Mercy breathed.
Pigeons burst into the air from the floor above, their wings flapping loudly in the semi darkness. Mercy turned off the torch and kept still, listening to the broken silence. Water dripped from the dome above, a draft caressed her cheek from the right, her eyelids fluttered. A scrape came from above, movement.
“Trope up there,” Flynn whispered.
Mercy backed down the escalator. She switched on the torch letting its light diffuse through her fingers.
Follow the breeze, it might take us outside, or to a stairs—
Mercy followed her inner voice and walked towards the draft, Flynn kept close. The scraping became louder and was joined by other sounds.
Go, go, go—
Mercy crouched low and moved fast across the mall floor. The store fronts on either side of the concourse still carried their messages of sales and special offers, ghostly mannequins stared out from a series of broken windows. A loud metallic screech filled the mall.
“Fuck, they’re coming down the escalator—” Flynn said.
“Run,” Mercy replied.
They ran down the concourse following Mercy’s dancing beam of light. The floor dropped to a lower level, Mercy flung herself down steps, her feet splashed into water.
“It’s flooded,” she warned Flynn.
“Keep going,” Flynn answered, “they’re coming—”
Mercy pushed through the water which rose to her knees then her hips. Her foot slipped and she sprawled forwards, her face hitting the water. Something brushed against her cheek and hand. She managed to find her footing and stood up, face and hair dripping. Gold and silver shapes moved around her in the torchlight.
“Koi fish,” Flynn said, “dozens of them. Are you OK?”
Mercy saw shapes moving along the concourse towards them. She grabbed Flynn and switched off the light. “Keep close, move with me—”
Flynn wound his arm around her waist. Mercy tried to remember the way ahead. Fish brushed against her legs as they advanced through the water.
Maybe the water will throw them off the scent—
Mercy reached out and felt the smooth glass of a store window, she followed it away from the whispering groans behind them. Her right hand searched the dark and encountered an obstacle. She felt along its surface trying to understand.
Flynn whispered in her ear, “Something’s fallen, it’s a pillar or something. We’ll have to dive underneath it—”
“Do it, I’ll follow you—”
Flynn took a deep breath and lowered his head under the water. His feet kicked out as he swam under the obstacle. A loud splash came from behind. Mercy swore, took a deep breath and disappeared under the water. She reached out feeling through the murk. She swam down and forwards, her eyes closed. More fish and something slime covered brushed against her face as she forced herself under the obstacle. With bursting lungs she swam to the surface.
“Over here,” Flynn’s voice whispered from the darkness. “There’s steps here.”
Mercy swam towards his voice and her feet found the steps. With relief she dragged herself out of the water.
“I think there’s eels down there,” Flynn said, his voice shaken.
“Yeah, could be. Come on, let’s hope that pillar delays the tropes,” Mercy stood up and switched on the torch. They were in a different section of the mall, away from the big shops, smaller retail units surrounded them. The torch lit a circular array of shops, she pointed its beam down the corridor, a yellow green reflection caught her eye.
“Fire escape, over there look—”
Flynn grunted, “I heard something, on the right.”
Mercy shone the torch over Flynn’s shoulder, her heart sank. A cluster of emaciated tropes stood quivering in the darkness. Her beam of light caught one full in the face, its eyes snapped open a scream rising in its throat. The tropes came alive as one and turned to face the light.
“Run,” Mercy shouted.
They ran along the corridor towards the fire escape. Flynn reached the door first and wrestled with the handle. Mercy turned and pointed her Beretta at the nearest trope, a balding, fat man with yellowed skin, his flesh bloated. His eyes carried the same mad hunger as all the others. He dropped to the floor as Mercy’s first 9 mm round slammed into his chest and her second tore a hole in his skull. A metallic scrape came from behind her as she shot and brought down two more tropes.
Mercy turned and hurled herself through the open fire escape door away from the hands and teeth tearing the air behind her. Flynn slammed the steel door shut and jammed his combat knife underneath kicking it hard, the hilt found traction and the door remained closed.
Flynn helped Mercy to her feet. “Might hold them for a bit, come on, the shots will wake the whole place up—”
Savage banging came from the other side of the fire door. Mercy leapt up the stairs after Flynn, she had lost her torch in the fall, but the stairwell was dimly lit from a skylight somewhere above. Her feet pounded the concrete steps, they reached the fourth story and stopped to catch their breath. The banging reached a crescendo and was followed by a loud slam.
Flynn’s eyes met Mercy’s, “They’re through the door—”
The sound of tropes swarming up the stairwell broke like a crashing wave.
“Run,” Mercy shouted, the word propelled them up the final flight of stairs.
Flynn arrived at the roof door and hit the panic bar, the door flew open, they staggered out onto a flat roof. Mercy looked around for something, anything t
o jam the door.
“Your knife, it might work—” Flynn gestured at her combat knife.
Mercy jammed her knife under the door kicking it in up to the hilt just as Flynn had done on the ground floor. The morning light had gathered strength and the sky was blossoming red on the eastern horizon.
“Come on,” Flynn shouted. He pulled Mercy from the door, they ran across the flat roof towards the glass dome.
Mercy remembered the radio on her belt, switched it on and followed Flynn to the dome.
“There’s no way around, the dome extends to the edge of the building,” Flynn said.
Mercy pointed to a rusting maintenance ladder leading to a platform on top of the dome, “Go for it, I’m right behind you.” She watched as Flynn ran towards the ladder. A metallic scrape came from the roof door, it opened a fraction, trope hands reached out clawing at the morning air. Mercy flicked through the frequencies on the radio hearing nothing but static. She changed wavelength and tried again, a familiar voice burst out of the handset.
“Package to helo, package to helo, in position, good to go, over—”
Garrett—
Mercy hit the transceiver button, “Mercy to Garrett, Mercy to Garrett am on roof now, where are you? Over—”
Dead static answered Mercy’s plea. Her eyes widened as the roof door burst open spewing forth a small army of tropes.
The radio burst into life. “Mercy this is Garrett, we are in position on the east side of the dome, helo inbound, ETA two minutes, can you make it? Over—”
Mercy dropped the radio and turned towards the dome, Flynn was standing on the platform at the top shouting. The next few seconds passed in a blur, she focused on the ladder, dimly aware of gunshots overhead. Something grabbed her foot pulling her off balance, she fell backwards but caught herself by grabbing the rail. She looked up, Flynn was pointing his pistol directly at her.
“Down,” Flynn roared.
Mercy threw herself into the ladder and held on tight. Flynn shot twice, his rounds seemed to cut through her soul, the vice like grip on her foot vanished and she was free. She pulled herself up the rest of the ladder to the platform.
“I can see them; Garrett and the others, they’re over there,” Flynn pointed at silhouettes standing against the red sunrise on the other side of the dome.
“You go, I’ve got some rounds left,” Mercy pushed Flynn towards the opposite ladder and turned to face the tropes below.
“No, we go together,” Flynn objected, putting his hand on Mercy’s shoulder.
“Don’t argue with me on this one Flynn, go, I’ll hold them off, there’s a chopper coming in two minutes—” she gave Flynn a look and turned back to face the tropes.
Flynn hesitated then started lowering himself down the ladder to the far side of the dome. Mercy trained her Beretta on the ladder leading up to the platform. Some tropes were attempting to scale the dome itself but its glass was covered in moss and lichen and their efforts were in vain. Some of the glass panels were cracked and others had fallen to the concourse below. A huge trope tore through the seething mass, reached the ladder and started climbing towards her. It stopped to remove the body of the trope Flynn had shot. It turned to face Mercy their eyes locked, it licked its lips and bared its yellow teeth.
Mercy felt cold, she felt calm. She wondered how many bullets she had left. She only needed one round to fell this beast.
Please, one bullet, just one—
Rose’s words returned to her: The bullets always run out—
The trope made progress up the ladder then stopped halfway to look up. Mercy squeezed the trigger, the Beretta clicked on empty. Her eyes flicked to the useless gun in her hand. The trope bared its teeth and let out a cry of triumph which echoed through the crowd behind, it surged up the remaining section of ladder towards her.
Mercy turned and fled down the opposite ladder. A dull thudding sound was audible, time seemed to slow, she glanced out over the eastern section of the roof. A Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter rose into view and moved to hover over the Garrett and the others, a winchman started to lower two rescue seats.
Without warning Mercy was struck from behind, her hands left the railings as she sprawled sideways. She landed hard, face down on the dome, her body spread over two glass panels. Dazed by the impact, her breathing came in ragged gasps. Something heavy thudded beside her and gripped her leg. She tried to scream but her breath did not come. The base of the dome lay far below. A glass panel behind Mercy cracked, it shattered and her legs slipped through.
Mercy reached out to prevent herself from falling, her right hand slammed against the dome’s frame and she held on. The thing gripping her leg fell through the open space and pulled her down into dead air. Adrenaline surged through her, she transferred her left hand to the frame and glanced down to see the trope clutching her leg, the mall floor a hundred feet below. Mercy gasped, her breathing returned in a rush, black spots before her eyes, she tried to shake the trope off but failed. She closed her eyes and clung to the frame, a rushing sound filled her ears.
Pain wracked her fingers as cramp took hold. The trope tried to crawl up her leg. Shots rang out overhead. The trope’s dead weight disappeared. Someone grabbed her arm from above.
“I’ve got you Mercy, hold on—”
Mercy opened her eyes, Garrett was peering down at her. Automatic weapons fire erupted behind him. Garrett pulled her up through the hole and out onto an undamaged section of the dome. The gunfire became distant, Mercy’s eyes focused on the clouds above, her mind blank. Garrett manhandled her down the side of the dome, Flynn and Rose on either side providing covering fire against the tropes swarming over the top of the dome.
Mercy slid down the last section of glass and Garrett helped her up. The helicopter waited forty feet away, Mercy focused on its sleek lines. The pilot signalled to Garrett from the cockpit. The helicopter started to rise as they reached the rescue seats, Garrett clipped Mercy onto the first seat and waved to the winchman. Mercy rose through the air, she watched dully as Flynn and Rose ran back to the Black Hawk.
Garrett clipped himself to the second rescue seat and reached out for Rose as she lunged towards him. He caught Rose and she grabbed on to the seat. Flynn dropped his gun and jumped up at the rising seat. Garrett grabbed Flynn’s arm and held on. The helicopter lifted them into the air and pulled away from the roof.
A wave of tropes charged across the roof and hurled themselves off the edge at the helicopter their arms flailing, eyes wide and teeth bared. They fell to the wet concrete a hundred feet below as the Black Hawk levelled out. The crewmen shouted instructions to the pilot through their headsets as they brought up the second rescue seat. Flynn, Rose and Garrett were lifted into the Black Hawk like rag dolls. Mercy reached out to Flynn, she saw the others in the helicopter and went through a mental checklist as her hand connected with Flynn’s shoulder.
Garrett, Claire, Tawny, Rose, Flynn, Stevie, me—
Mercy frowned. Her eyes locked with Flynn’s.
Blaze—
“We’ve got to go back, turn around, Blaze is still down there—” Mercy’s eyes stung, it took her a second to figure out that she was crying. “Blaze, we gotta find Blaze—”
Mercy’s voice was drowned out by the noise from the rotors. She turned away from Flynn, rolled over and got to her knees. One of the crewmen gestured at her to sit down, waving a harness at her.
“My friend, she’s down there, go back we can’t leave without her—”
The crewman stopped and nodded, he raised one hand to his helmet and spoke into his headset.
“Roger that, one sweep is all we get, intelligence reports NSA troops inbound on this position—”
Mercy grabbed the harness and clipped herself in. She went to the side door and looked out. The pilot took the Black Hawk in a wide arc over the site sweeping towards the western end of the mall. The roof was swarming with tropes attracted by the sound of the helicopter. Mercy’s eyes were drawn to a
flash of red on the radio mast.
Mercy recognised the figure and pointed, “Blaze, there she is, on top of the mast—”
The crew chief relayed the information to the pilot. The Black Hawk swung toward the radio mast. The crew took over, one lowering himself on a rescue seat to Blaze’s position. Twenty seconds later, Blaze, clutching a blue, red and white Houston Texans NFL shirt was aboard the helicopter.
Mercy slumped back against the nearest seat and closed her eyes.
Hell yeah—
Chapter 28 Constantine
Fort Worth passed in a blur beneath the helicopter. Mercy felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Best if you sit on the seat,” the crew chief said, the name “Sears” was marked on his jumpsuit.
Mercy sat down her eyes drifted to the scene unfolding outside. Downtown Fort Worth was receding in the distance, flames still visible in some of the high buildings. Her eyes scanned the ground beneath the helicopter, smoke obscured her view in places. Constantine’s people were putting up a dogged fight. A broken finger of light reached up towards the helicopter.
“Incoming. Tracer rounds—” the crew chief bellowed. “Hold on—”
The Black Hawk banked away, the rounds passed harmlessly on the right. Mercy shouted at Sears, “Hey, I thought south of Fort Worth was Constantine’s territory—”
Sears shook his head, “NSA broke through our lines two days ago, they’re pushing south to Galveston. What you see there, downtown, the rest, is a mopping up exercise. Our boys are holding out till the last—”
Mercy gave him a look, “If they’re out numbered and out gunned why don’t they surrender?”
Sears looked out the open door, “The NSA don’t take prisoners,” he paused and held her gaze, “and besides, most of our people owe Constantine, there’s not a man who wouldn’t lay his life down for her—” Sears turned away leaving Mercy to her thoughts.
They left the city behind, the pilot climbed to ten thousand feet and the crew handed out blankets. Sears produced a large flask of coffee. He poured the steaming liquid into paper cups and handed them around, chocolate and cereal bars followed. Mercy watched her friends’ faces as they stared blankly at the coffee and each other. Mercy recognised the look.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 3): Mercy Fall Page 22
