The Survival Chronicles (Book 3): Mercy Fall

by Nally, Fergal F.

  They’re in shock, hell I’m in shock, who isn’t? Just keep breathing and the rest will follow—

  The coffee was scalding and burned the roof of her mouth, the chocolate was old but good, she could feel the sugar rushing through her system like a forest fire.

  This one’s going to take its toll, this one’s going to take time to recover from—

  Mercy looked at Garrett and Claire, they’d be alright after a fashion. She looked at Tawny and Rose; Tawny’s eyes were closed, Rose was leaning in close to the older girl, her eyes wild. Stevie looked older, much older than his twelve years, his face was drawn and furrowed like an old man.

  What about Flynn?

  Mercy’s gaze softened. Flynn was covered in dirt and blood, she hardly recognised him, but it was him, her Flynn. He was hers, she was his, that’s all that mattered. He stared at her, she let his eyes take her away for a moment, to a better place.

  The helicopter jerked as it hit a pocket of turbulence, Blaze’s shoulder knocked into Mercy. Mercy glanced at Blaze, there was anger in her eyes, and something else. Mercy recognised a loner when she saw one. Blaze was hard to read, an unknown. An outsider who had helped them but an outsider none the less. She was glad to have Blaze on her side, they were even after the roof top rescue, all debts settled.

  Mercy’s eyes went to the ceiling, the rotors’ rhythmic pulse was hypnotising. She wanted to stay in the helicopter’s protected cocoon forever, with her friends, never to return to the wasteland of death and blood below. She shut her eyes and drifted on the Black Hawk’s wings.

  “Wake up, wake up. We’ve arrived— Houston, home of the free,” Sears stood over Mercy his hand extended. The helicopter was on the ground its rotors slowing, she had slept through the remainder of the trip. The others were on the tarmac outside, three BMW X6 SUVs were waiting, doors open. Mercy jumped out of the helicopter, she looked at her tired and dishevelled friends and tried to smile but only managed a grimace.

  Please give us some down time, just a little down time before the next onslaught—

  Mercy shuffled over to join the others.

  Garrett and Claire were in conversation with a uniformed man.

  “Did you get everyone out?” the man said, eying those on the tarmac.

  Garrett nodded, “Yeah, it was close though—”

  “Always is these days, close to the line, and the line keeps closing in. We’ll get you two into debriefing. Constantine is keen to meet your new friends, she would have been here herself but she’s got her hands full at the moment… we’ve lost Fort Worth and Dallas. The NSA’s on the road south, we’ve left them some surprises, may delay them a day or so but beyond that it’s anyone’s guess—”

  Mercy looked around the airfield, it was empty apart for their helicopter and the SUVs. She noticed bullet holes in the Black Hawk’s fuselage.

  Lucky to have made it then—

  Garrett called Mercy and the others over to the SUVs and introduced them to the uniformed officer.

  “This is Lieutenant Manning, he works with Constantine. He’s going to take us to the nearest operational facility, for debrief. You’ll welcome a shower and some food no doubt and maybe some medical attention,” Garrett indicated Flynn’s bandaged hand.

  “I thought we were going to Galveston,” Rose piped up.

  “We’ll be going there later, once you have had a chance to… regroup. You’ve all been through a lot,” Manning replied, his voice steady.

  Mercy looked at her friends, Tawny and Rose were tense, suspicious. Blaze and Stevie looked uncertain.

  “Fuck it, let’s go—” Mercy got into the nearest SUV and closed the door, she sunk back into the soft leather seat and stared ahead her mind blank. The others followed without any questions. Mercy watched as the SUV drove around the fenced airfield and exited via a well defended gate. She turned to the driver and examined his face, he was not much older than her.

  “What’s your name soldier?” Mercy asked.

  “Fletcher, Corporal Fletcher ma’am.”

  Mercy smiled, this was the first time anyone had called her ma’am. “Where are you taking us?”

  “Eastern OP, Houston Ship Channel, USS Texas ma’am.”

  Mercy thought for a moment, “The USS Texas?”

  “Yes ma’am, the USS Texas—”

  Flynn let out a low whistle from the back seat, “Never thought I’d get to see that, that’s cool.”

  Mercy considered their destination, she watched the scenery flashing by the windscreen. They could be anywhere in America, the roads were pot holed and overgrown, nature had reclaimed the land and buildings were decaying with neglect.

  Go with it, ride the wave, go where it takes you, adapt and survive—

  “I suppose having an observation post on a decommissioned World War II battleship has its advantages?” Mercy asked.

  “She served in World War I and World War II,” Fletcher answered swerving to avoid a dead dog in the road. “We can lock ourselves in at night against the tropes, she’s on the water so that helps, although recently the tropes don’t seem too bothered by water—”

  “What do you mean?” Mercy turned to look at his face.

  Fletcher chewed his lip and frowned, “Saw tropes walking into the channel and disappearing under the water. Thought they were goners, but then saw a few emerge on the far shore about forty minutes later, weirded me out ma’am—”

  “Fuck yeah, we saw that shit too—” Rose said from the back seat.

  “How far to Galveston?” Mercy asked.

  “About fifty kilometres,” Fletcher replied, “best done in daylight.”

  The car fell silent, Mercy’s eyes were glued to the road, her thoughts spinning.

  This is not going to end here. Constantine knows about the biotech I’m carrying. She’ll want to use it, use me. Shit, have I backed the wrong side? Doubts began to assail Mercy as they turned off the Pasadena Freeway onto Independence Parkway.

  The road ran straight as a die, Mercy took in the petrochemical refineries on the left.

  Constantine’s not short on fuel, there’s enough here for a hundred years—

  The SUVs kept to a steady 60 miles per hour, they passed a sign: San Jacinto Museum of History. The road continued on and curved to the right, Mercy saw water, then the Battleship Texas. She had seen pictures of it in a book on Texas back at the orphanage in New York. The pictures did not do it justice, it was formidable, a floating fortress.

  A life taker, I recognise you, your edges, your lines. You’re like me, a survivor—

  Flynn let out a low whistle from the back seat, “That’s one mean piece of hardware.”

  The SUV’s pulled up alongside the docking gantry. Corporal Fletcher opened his door. “This is it, you can get out of the vehicle now,” he took the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the car.

  Mercy opened her door and looked to the west, Constantine’s people had kept the vegetation cut back and had erected a razor wire fence around the inlet. Lieutenant Manning led the way across the gantry onto the deck. They were met by a group of armed men, Mercy’s eyes swept over their weapons.

  Manning saluted the crew master and turned to face his charges, “Sergeant Forde will take you to your quarters, you can grab a hot shower, get something to eat and a have few hours’ rest. We’ve got a helo transfer to Galveston lined up for 20:00 hours, your debrief is delayed until we get to Galveston except for Captain Garrett and Ms. Shaw, I’d like to speak with you both now if I may—”

  Garrett nodded at Lieutenant Manning who led him and Claire away to the forward section of the ship. Mercy turned to follow the others below decks. In the far distance a deep rumble broke the silence, she swung around to see a puff of smoke on the horizon.

  The bastards are coming—

  The shower was hot, Mercy stood, unmoving, her face raised to the water. She wanted to stay in its heat, she wanted to forget, to block out all the death and killing.

  It won’t s
top, the killing is coming again, killing follows me. What’s wrong with me?

  Mercy tried to switch off her internal dialogue, she concentrated on her breathing but became lightheaded and reached out to the sides of the shower stall. Time unfolded, steam filled the room, she opened her eyes.

  How long have I been here?

  Mercy turned off the shower and let the water drip from her body before reaching for the towel. The food had been basic but welcome; macaroni cheese had never tasted so good and ice cream, she had not had ice cream in…

  Two years—

  She towelled herself dry and pulled the new, military issue trousers and shirt on over her bruised and scratched skin. Her body was permanently bruised, she could not remember the last time she had been injury free. She was looking forwards to a few hours’ sleep.

  God, sleep without having to worry about tropes—

  Feet pounded down the corridor as she was tying the laces on her boots. Blaze burst into the shower room.

  “Get your things and follow me. Evac’s been brought forwards, helo’s due here in twenty minutes. NSA are on the outskirts of Houston—” Blaze’s eyes were wide, her voice taut.

  Mercy tied off her boots and stood up, “Of course they are, same old same, didn’t think we’d get any respite, did you?”

  Blaze stared then shrugged, her shoulders sagging, “I dunno, I guess I thought once we were with Constantine things would be… better—”

  Mercy stepped forwards, “Twenty minutes you say? You’ve still got time for a shower, water’s hot—” Mercy pushed past Blaze and entered the corridor. The sound of the shower reached her as she turned the corner.

  The Sikorsky HH-60 Pave Hawk swung in low over Burnet Bay from the north east, its grey colour blending with the rolling clouds. Mercy watched its approach, she had been surprised when Lieutenant Manning had returned their weapons with fresh ammunition. He had even given Stevie a pistol and a rapid response folder blade.

  Rearming us, deep in Constantine’s territory. Not a good sign—

  Mercy’s eyes met Flynn’s, he raised his eyebrows and tried to smile, but the light was gone from his eyes. He was tired, they were all dog tired, they needed a month’s rest, a month’s sleep. Fatigue haunted Mercy’s bones, it lay deep in her spirit. She watched the grey helicopter in the grey sky.

  We’re like that helicopter, grey and lost—

  They turned away from the down draft as the Sikorsky landed. The crew chief jumped out and helped Lieutenant Manning and the others on board instructing them where to sit. The mood was sombre, no one spoke apart from the curt orders and instructions between the air crew. Mercy noticed the pilot kept to the water and avoided the land. They flew under a large bridge which spanned the bay and followed the coastline south to open water.

  Thirty six minutes later a long, low island came into view, Mercy’s eyes narrowed.

  Galveston Island—

  Mercy looked out to sea, an extensive fog bank hung over the ocean just off the island’s south shore obscuring her view south. They followed the shoreline, in the distance a long pier reached out into the sea. They were heading straight for it, Mercy looked at the crew chief who was in conversation with the pilot.

  “Constantine’s waiting on the pier, the rest of the war cabinet have been evacuated. She’s insisting on meeting our guests before she leaves—” the pilot shook his head as he spoke.

  “Goddammit, why didn’t Constantine join the evac? The NSA is five klicks from Galveston, that’s cutting it fine—” the crew chief responded.

  “It is what it is and she’s the boss, so deal with it,” the pilot responded.

  Mercy frowned leaning forwards to stare out of the window. Smoke pocked the northern horizon, an explosion caught her eye on the mainland to the north of the island. She turned and watched as the Sikorsky approached the pier. The pier carried various fair rides, a roller coaster caught her eye its curves graceful and shimmering in the golden sunlight. The other rides were colourful and garish, she wondered at what the place had once been and what it was now; an echo of the past. The helicopter set down at the end of the pier. A lone figure stood to one side looking out to sea, a group of armed men nearby.

  The pilot cut the engine, the rotors slowed, the engine noise receded. The crew chief held his hand up to his headset and nodded, “Understood,” his voice terse. He opened the door and jumped down. Mercy could taste the salt in the air. The crew chief reached out to her.

  “Constantine wants to speak to you,” the crew chief said.

  Mercy nodded, it was coming, she knew they had gone to all this trouble for one thing and one thing only. She stepped down and looked back at Flynn and the others huddled in the helicopter, they looked frozen, miserable. Mercy realised their fate rested in her hands and what the next few minutes held.

  The crew chief pointed at the lone figure at the end of the pier. Mercy walked over to the woman who was smoking, her hooded face turned out to sea. Mercy reached the railings and stood beside the woman, waiting for a response. An explosion came from the north.

  “They’re coming for me,” Constantine said.

  Mercy gripped the railings, “I know what it’s like, they’ve been chasing me for months—”

  “And yet you’ve escaped each time,” Constantine exhaled a plume of cigarette smoke, her voice low, strained.

  “Just lucky I guess,” Mercy said.

  “I know all about the biotech they’ve implanted in you,” Constantine continued, she pulled her hood back, long purple black hair spilled out around her face.

  Mercy turned away from the cloud bank her eyes falling on Constantine. Constantine’s face was heavily made up, her lips painted silver grey, a web of patterned makeup adorned her forehead and eyes and extended down her face. Mercy stared, she had not seen anyone wearing make-up for a long time, she found it disconcerting and intriguing. The make-up did not hide the ruined side of Constantine’s face; angry scar tissue ran from her chin across her cheek and up to her forehead. Her right eye was barely visible in the burnt out side of her face. The wind whipped Constantine’s hair into a frenzy, she seemed not to notice.

  She’s like Medusa— Mercy remembered a book on Greek mythology she had seen in the orphanage years ago.

  “I need to know if you’ll join me, fight with me, against the NSA, against Cobalt Biotech, against President Mitchell and his men—” Constantine brought the cigarette to her lips.

  And there it is— Mercy thought. The waves thundered beneath the pier adding to the ominous feeling in the air.

  “Yes, I will fight with you—” Mercy said without hesitation. It had come down to this, all that had passed before had led to this moment.

  “I knew you would,” Constantine said, looking back out to sea.

  Constantine flinched. “You see they did this to me, he did this to me, then they experimented on me, inserted their biotech in me, like they’ve done to you. They made a monster of me, discarded me, left me for the dead when they were finished. I’m like you, we have unfinished business you and I—”

  Mercy felt Constantine’s anger and pain, it resonated inside her. “I’ll fight with you Constantine, but the NSA are knocking on your door as we speak.” A distant boom broke above the sound of the waves as if to emphasize Mercy’s point.

  Constantine smiled. “Well, my new friend, they may have Washington, they may have land forces but I have—” her hand waved through the air.

  Mercy looked out to sea, the cloudbank had partially lifted. She let out a low whistle, a huge shape had materialised out of the sea mist. Mercy stared at the ghostly aircraft carrier anchored in deep water. Two destroyers flanked the giant ship.

  “Meet the USS Abraham Lincoln,” Constantine declared.

  Mercy allowed the words to sink in. Constantine pulled up her hood.

  “We’re regrouping in Cuba; Guantanamo Bay Naval Base, a strategic retreat. I have plans for you, for us. We will cut the head from the beast— together, y
ou and I. Then we can start to rebuild, start afresh. A cure for the infection is within reach, we will find it, we will win—”

  Mercy looked at Constantine and for a moment she believed. But Mercy had seen too much horror, too much death, she blinked, her armour up again. Mercy nodded and took a step toward Constantine, questions flooding her mind. Two soldiers approached Constantine one leaned forwards and spoke into her ear, his manner tense.

  “I have to go now, I will meet with you later, aboard,” Constantine gestured towards the aircraft carrier. “I must go separately… protocol, you understand. We have much to discuss, I look forwards to meeting your friends. Until then—” Constantine turned and was escorted away by her men. Mercy watched as a gunboat pulled up alongside the pier. Constantine disappeared under a covered walkway which led to an embarkation gangway.

  The Sikorsky’s engine came to life behind Mercy, she turned around, the crew chief was beckoning to her.

  And so it begins—

  Artillery rumbled in the distance.

  Mercy shook her head and walked to the helicopter.

  To be continued…

  About the Author

  Fergal F. Nally is an outdoors lover often to be found in amongst it all in the Scottish Highlands. His passions are hillwalking, music, and reading great stories. He lives in Edinburgh. Mercy Fall— The Survival Chronicles III is his ninth novel.