Dark Water: The Chronicles of Mercy

by G. P. Moss

  “Where’s Holly?” I ask.

  Taking a screwdriver from a battered, dark wooden box, she tells me she’s gone with Sister Evie to fetch her things.

  “The ones she’ll need, anyway.”

  “I don’t understand. Is she going somewhere? I mean, leaving Sister Evie’s?”

  Anne replies as she starts to unscrew the first crate lid.

  “We’ll know more later. Sister Maria wants to see all of us this evening. We’ll move anything the hotel might need then, under darkness. Depending on what’s in these boxes of course.”

  The last of the screws out, she removes the lid. Under straw and foam, six rifles, bent in half, line the top half of the crate. Anne whistles.

  “We had better have the ammo for these.”

  “They look weird,” I say.

  I pick one up. I’m sure it’s like the one Alex has. A small metal plate near the trigger gives a number. And a name. Paratus – SBR - 12. Anne removes the remaining five guns. Another protective layer of straw and foam. She quickly removes it. Eighteen clips are stacked neatly across. She checks them. All full, twenty rounds in each. Underneath these are six boxes. Each box contains one thousand rounds of ammunition. Sister Anne looks at them for a minute, satisfaction etched on her face.

  “The old scallywag has hit the jackpot this time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I pack everything back into the crate as Anne unscrews the second one.

  “Binoculars,” I gasp.

  Anne reads the side of a box.

  “Cobra Aurora. Night vision field glasses,” she says, half to herself. “This is all special forces stuff. It’s not regular army issue.”

  “That’s good, right?” I ask innocently, although I’m sure of the answer but unsure as to how she’s such an expert on military equipment.

  Anne just nods, emptying the crate, finding three layers of eight boxes. She takes a pair, quickly removing the packaging. In the dim light of the room she’s smiling as she looks through the lenses.

  I’m suddenly aware that I’m not done yet. There are still three crates to retrieve, then to return to help Alex with the rest. Please come back, I pray. I push the trolley in front of me, toeing it occasionally to keep it on track.

  As well as the original three crates, he’s added two more plus a large plastic wrapped bundle. I pick it up. Clothes probably. I need to move fast. He’ll be mad if I cause us to be delayed. Or worse. I figure the tunnel is broad enough for a good half-mile to take an extra wide load. It’s a risk.

  I double the height of the trolley and put the bag on top. Looking at the load, there’s no buckling. It should hold. Hopefully. I don’t push my luck. Halfway back I slide two boxes off, continuing with three and the bag. This time when Anne helps me through, I don’t hang around. I head back to bring the rest. I return to the chamber as fast as I can. It’s empty now. Quiet. I pace the small cave, hoping I hear him soon.

  The rocks move and I’m filled with relief as I hear him.

  “Alex?”

  I’m answered with a roar of fury and rancid smell as a Sub launches himself at me. The gun is jammed deep in my pocket. I can’t reach it. I can’t reach the sword. I can smell his breath as he swipes me across the face and goes in for the kill.

  I hear another noise above the vicious snarling. I’m trying to fight but he’s too strong. I’m sick as I feel the rancid phlegm on my face, my chest being crushed under his weight. Another one will finish me. I can’t breathe. A deafening sound fills the chamber. The pressure releases on my throat as the Sub rolls away, half his head missing.

  I look up to see Alex standing there with the rifle.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” he says.

  There are three short bursts outside then silence. He climbs back in. Grabbing the Sub by the ankles, he drags him up and out.

  “Go join your friends,” he spits as I follow him.

  This time he drags two more crates and another plastic bag through the gap. Outside again, he’s piling four Subs in a heap before setting them alight. As he returns, sealing up the gap, he turns to me.

  “I don’t know why I do that. Makes me feel better I suppose.”

  I look at him.

  “Storm would call that showboating. And, by the way, you could have easily killed me in there.”

  “And, so could they.”

  “Thanks, anyway,” I say, grinning. I just grinned. I like it. Focus, Mercy. It’s then I notice his jacket. A dark patch of blood around his shoulder is spreading.

  “Get on the trolley,” I tell him. This time, I’m giving the orders.

  His hand presses down on his shoulder. When he sees the spreading, inky stain, he immediately obeys my instruction. I pull the trolley as fast as I dare, without him rolling off. As we turn a corner, I glance back at him. His eyes are squeezing shut with the pain. I left my sack in the cellar this time.

  I’ve nothing but speed to offer him. His breathing comes in highs and lows as I hurry through the dark tunnel, eerie shadows now lurking at each turn. I talk to him to try and keep him conscious. It’s hard as I’m breathless myself but I’ll try with every bit of energy I possess.

  Near the cellar, I shout for help before pushing Alex forward. Hands grab his arms, pulling him through the hole as he starts to slip out of consciousness. Anne brings him back but it’s slow. The wound is to his upper arm - it looks like a Sub bit into his nerve.

  *

  Now that the wound is cleaned and wrapped, the sweating has stopped. His chest rises and falls, steady, the way it should. He’s lucky. Anne will stay here with Alex and Rags. Holly, Sister Evie, and me will go to see Sister Maria tonight. As Sister Evie takes over watching Alex, Anne turns her attention to the remaining crates.

  The other boxes bring more surprises - most of them good. The discovery of thousands of Sellier & Bellot nine-mm shells, along with more Glocks, makes this last haul an important find. A second crate of short assault rifles brings the new tally to twenty-three, excluding the one Alex took from his earlier run. Boxes of stun grenades are greeted with raised eyebrows.

  “Sister Maria can distribute them,” Anne says, without irony.

  Yes, I’m hearing it correctly. The elderly healer also appears to be quartermaster and Commander-in-Chief. It’s a good thing we’re heading to the hotel in darkness as at least half of the find is coming with us. Alex is sitting up. Anne has made a sling for his left arm and shoulder - he’s not complaining - thank goodness. We’re taking a risk moving everything in one trip but we need to be there with Sister Maria, not running backwards and forwards. As we go to head out the back door, I aim a quip at Alex.

  “Some people will do anything to get out of work,” I say, grinning.

  His grunted but cheeky reply comes fast – “like father like daughter.”

  I love hearing my dad mentioned. I do.

  *

  Thankfully, there’s no rain. The cobbles are slippery from blown wet leaves so we’re more conscious of the extra loads we carry on our backs and in our hands. My arm and leg muscles start to pull and burn as the precious cargo makes its way to the hotel.

  A squawking briefly diverts my attention to the seafront. I can’t see anything but it sounds like a gull. I hope it’s a good sign, that there are fish available worth eating. It’s a welcome change from the deathly crowing of those large birds - battle spectators waiting for the bloody spoils. As we turn left for the straight towards the hotel, I see people raking the last embers of the inner fire, preparing to rebuild it.

  The large door opens as we walk under the portico. A different Sister welcomes us as we manoeuvre the bags through. Tall, darker skinned, with almond eyes and cropped black hair, she walks gracefully with us towards the office door, and knocks. A cheerful ‘come in’ can be heard as our accompanying Sister opens the door. Expecting to be left alone from here, I’m surprised when she stays.

  Sister Maria speaks quietly and joyfully.

  “Thank
you all for your efforts in bringing this here tonight. This is Sister Jenny. She will be responsible for allocating this most useful find to our trusted citizens.”

  A folding metal table has been set up next to the far-right wall. We empty the weaponry, ammunition, and field glasses onto the table. There’s also a large plastic bag containing combat trousers and jackets. Sister Jenny picks up a rifle case, flipping the lid in one quick movement. I look on in astonishment as in less than a minute she has it fully assembled and is looking down the sight. She looks at the full clips and extra ammunition, nodding in approval.

  “Wow,” she says. “Great.”

  As our new arms appraiser continues to sort through the rest of the gear, Sister Maria addresses us, shifting eye contact so we know the importance of what she says is equally important to all.

  “We have been virtual prisoners here for too long. While we try to heal the dark water, to maintain and develop health and sustenance, it is all we are doing. We, and maybe many other villages, towns, and cities, are under siege. We allow Subs and Hellhounds free reign to attack and destroy when their hormones tell them it is time. Some may argue that given time, the Subs will die naturally or at the hands of each other, or indeed at the whim of the Hounds. Even if that happens, it is likely to take so long that our own species will be at threat of dying out.”

  The room is hushed as Sister Maria continues.

  “Nobody is sure but it is a real possibility that disease particles have caused infertility. There have been no children born here since the mess and I am not entirely convinced the whole town abstains from procreative activity.”

  I try not to smile at this term.

  “It is time to take measured risks. Until now, only Alex Nowak has been willing to risk so much to help so many. Sister Anne has expressed a desire to help in the two missions, poles apart in their actions but inextricably linked in purpose. To heal beyond the boundaries is our preferred objective. To search and destroy is the necessary one. While morals drive much of what we do, along with faith and discipline, they will not help if we continue to coast along until we are wiped out. Mercy, you came here on a mission to find Alex and contribute to change - now is your chance. Sister Evie, you possess skills of immense value to a small team undertaking such a quest. There is no pressure for you to go with them. But will you?”

  Without hesitation, Sister Evie gives her answer.

  “Yes, Sister - it will be my privilege to serve.”

  Sister Maria smiles at her before turning her attention to Holly.

  “My dear, you have lived with such sorrow all these years. If you stay here, you can keep the house and live as before. Or, you may feel there may be questions you feel can be better answered outside of the fires. You have already proved yourself to be loyal and strong in battle. It is up to you.”

  Holly looks Sister Maria directly in the eye.

  “I want to go with them,” she says, strong and clear.

  “Thank you,” the elderly Sister replies.

  “Mercy, I am truly sorry about Storm. She is a true heroine here and I will make sure she is remembered.”

  I can only nod, not trusting my voice. We are invited to each take a long drink of Sister Maria’s special water. She fills two extra flasks, for Sister Anne and Alex. I think of the pain he’s in and wonder when we’ll be setting off.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It feels like I’m walking on air as I leave the hotel with Sister Evie and Holly - the equipment was heavier than I expected. My stretched muscles will be sore tomorrow but I tell myself it’s good for me. I don’t know where we’ll sleep night to night but I can bet it won’t have a bed or even a piece of torn carpet. Luxury softens us. Where we’re going, we’ll need to be tough.

  I no longer hear the gull as we head back to Anne’s house – the night air is much colder – not the perfect time of year for an expedition of any sort. It’ll make me more focussed. Discomfort will make me sharper. Living those years in the valley was not entirely uncomfortable. We had reasonable shelter and plenty of heat but there was not a great motivation to change things. It’s all I knew.

  Mum told me what life was like before the mess. How she used to complain about going to work when she was younger. That was before she met Dad. His work with the military took him away. A lot. The secret nature of it made life more precarious. Mum became grateful, her whole outlook on life changing. Each time he went away, she would try to remember every tiny detail of their time together. It not only got her through the days of absence, it drove her to do more, achieve more. She painted, even if it was just a little each day, became involved in charity work, for local and international causes and generally filled each minute with something worthwhile.

  With salvaged books, Mum taught me to read as soon as she could. I could tell it was her main passion. She told me how she loved to browse in old bookshops, how she would shiver in pleasure as she ran her fingers down the spines and across the covers of newly discovered, ancient treasures. Focus, Mercy. We’re at the house.

  Rags sits patiently, waiting in the front room. Alex is sitting up, resting with a sack behind his back while Anne has the contents of both of theirs scattered about the floor.

  “We need to take as much relevant kit as possible,” she says. “Anything we won’t need, however sentimental, must be left behind. It’ll be safe – collected by a Sister after we’ve gone.”

  “How will Sister Maria know we’ve left?” I ask.

  Anne chuckles as she replies.

  “Trust me, that lady knows everything that happens here.”

  I nod. I thought as much. In a corner of the room is the remaining equipment from the cellar. We will have one Paratus rifle, with three, twenty-round loaded clips and five hundred spare rounds. Two Glocks, a ten and a six-round with two loaded clips for each and a spare two hundred nine-mm shells. A pair of night vision, Cobra field glasses along with two, long blade commando knives completes the set for each of us. There’s enough combat clothing to go around so we each have a spare set.

  Holly and I are given new boots with thick socks and spares. I don’t know how they knew our sizes but they fit. I discard my trusty hikers – these combat boots look the business – ‘Danner’ is printed on a label stitched to the padded tongue. They have thick moulded soles and soft leather uppers. It says Gore-Tex on the side. I don’t need to ask.

  “Waterproof,” Anne says as she sees me reading the tag. “Any room for these?” She passes us two stun grenades each.

  There is room. I feel like I’m going to war. I’m resolute in my determination to do this. I’m also scared. Petrified. We seal the sacks. Anne straps on a headlamp. She’ll go first, helping Alex on the trolley. He insists he’s good to go, that we can’t waste any more time. The momentum has started. It’s time to roll it on.

  Alex gives us a final pep talk.

  “Thanks for trusting me, as I trust you. All of you. We’re doing this because we refuse to stand still any longer. Whether we’re successful, or not, each of us will be able to look anyone in the eye and say, ‘I tried. I didn’t stand back. I refused to let the punishment continue.’ But we will be successful.”

  Anne removes the boarding covering the northern tunnel entrance. She hauls herself through, then turns to pull the trolley containing Alex. I lift the back and he’s in. I go next, followed by Rags, Holly and finally, Sister Evie. She uses the metal handle attached to the board to snap it tight back into place. We’re all in.

  Anne treads carefully as the first part starts to dip. After several yards, it levels for a further fifty before a gradual turn to the right. At the bend, we descend for another couple of minutes. All this time, we crawl on hands, knees, feet. Whatever gets us through.

  I’d say Alex is having it the easiest but I know he’ll be in a lot of pain. Anne dressed the wound again with fresh ointment and leaves just before we left.

  It’s well insulated down here, as the solid underground rock blocks any s
urface noise. Whoever dug this out didn’t understand the phrase ‘I can’t do this’. It’s a fitting thought. I block out the invasive images of what I don’t want - Subs, Hellhounds, boundary fires, destruction - and focus on what I want to see, want to be. I picture clean, fresh water everywhere. I see myself on the porch of a small country house, my husband by my side and a small child playing in a wild flower garden. I hear birdsong. Not the raucous killing type but chirpy, beautiful. Husband. Child. I never thought of these things before. I never even met a boy my age. I’ve never seen one. Not up close.

  I let fly any negativity on the imaginary mini clouds. Be gone. We want a life. I want a life. Focus, Mercy.

  I see the trolley level out at the end of the second dip. There’s more light, not as sharp but wider as the tunnel allows us to stand at last. My breathing slows as we can all walk normally again. Except Alex. Sister Evie checks behind as a matter of course. We don’t expect any followers but it must be habit. A good habit. This should have been Storm’s trip as well. I push her from my mind, not out of cruelty or neglect for her but because it makes me feel sick. It’s still too raw.

  Rags keeps near but he’s never intrusive. I briefly thought of asking Sister Maria if he could stay there but he’s part of this. I don’t know where he came from and what he was doing out there but he’s one of us now. This loyal dog has witnessed battle at least twice and proved himself both times. I think he’s seen much more. Somewhere. The pace is steady as Anne walks with care, pulling the crazy patient. Most people would seek any chance to rest after an injury. Not him. Others first. That motto would suit him.

  I’m sorry about Alice. I know she would have been a great woman. Mum only met her once. She said Alice was full of life. She didn’t mean it as a cliché but as an accurate description of the tall, gracious lady with large, sparkling eyes of the brightest green, filled with humour and warmth. I remember her saying that. I know so much about people I’ve never met. They’re all very real to me, the way Mum described them. I loved her descriptions of people, of those she loved and those she came across. Poor Alex.