“Yeah, let’s get some rest,” she said, “I could murder some food.” Mercy wondered if she could get Roberts to talk some more. She decided to give it a try.
The office was on a raised platform projecting out over the hangar. An old desk and chair, filing cabinets full of paper and a small sink and kitchen. A toilet and shower occupied the room next door. Mercy was thirsty but they had no water.
“This’ll do,” she said, appraising the room.
A window looked out onto the windswept runway, rain beat on the glass. She went to the window, a rivulet of water ran from the windowsill to the ground below, the gutters were blocked and overflowing.
“You have a water bottle?” Mercy asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“Think I can fill it,” she said, indicating the water pouring down the window.
“Go for it,” Roberts gave her his canteen. “Here try this too,” he picked up a plastic bottle from the waste bin and gave it to her.
Mercy opened the window, the wind and rain made her feel alive. She held the canteen at an angle to channel the rivulet of water. The canteen was full after a few minutes and she handed it to Roberts. She repeated the process with the plastic bottle and drank her fill. She filled it again and shut the window.
Roberts handed her a tin of field rations.
“Chili con carne. I haven’t had this in— forever,” Mercy said, eating the cold meal with her fingers. It tasted good.
Roberts pulled a face. “What was it like in the city? Was there much food left?”
“Oh, there was food, you just had to know where to look. Some of the others used to hunt, mostly in Central Park. Deer and rabbit, best to hunt in silence, gunshots attract attention. You could get fish from the Hudson River and even in the lakes in Central Park, but that was riskier, you had to choose your time and have eyes in the back of your head.”
Roberts nodded.
“What about you? What was your story before the Fall?” Mercy asked, scooping the last of the chili out of the tin.
Roberts looked at her and sighed. “I was a hospital porter at Providence Hospital. And yes, I was there at the start of the outbreak, the hospital was overwhelmed. People dying, the mortuary full, bodies had to be stacked in the carpark out back. Then things just stopped, broke down, people went crazy. Staff left, would you blame them?”
“But you didn’t get sick? What about your family?” Mercy couldn’t help herself.
Roberts stared at the floor. “I hid out on the hospital roof for three days, staff used to go up there on clear days, on breaks. You could see for miles, it was madness, I raided the canteen for food and water and hauled it up there. I locked the doors to the roof, I had keys for all the doors. I knew the hospital back to front, part of the job. I looked out on the city for three days, the heat was intense. No rain, the thing I remember most was the smell, it was like the war; I served in Iraq. The smell of bodies, of burning, of death—” Roberts stopped.
Mercy said nothing. She had seen that stare before, Roberts was in the wound, living again the fear, the guilt, the anger. She looked at the floor, rain struck the window in hard bursts. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.
After a few minutes Roberts began speaking again. “After the third day, most of the screaming had stopped, the fires were still going. Whole swathes of the city were ablaze. I had to leave, take my chances, find my family, the phone signal was dead. I found out later they’d blocked communications as part of the attack, to hamper government efforts—
“Cobalt Biotech was a front for a secret extreme neoconservative group, its senior members went right to the top. The rumour was the Secretary of State was involved and the Vice President. They’re gone now, didn’t survive their own cull, despite their precautions. Cobalt Biotech had people in the military and even in the CDC.
“These are the people that captured you and your friends. You’ve been in their labs outside the Manhattan Quarantine Zone for the last three weeks. They’ve been working on you. You all came out separately, your group were deemed too valuable to be transported all at once, so you were split up. You came to Camp Hero, Montauk for onward transport, but then, you know the rest—” Roberts stopped.
Mercy opened her eyes. “And your family?”
“I found them, Pam had kept her head down in the basement with the kids, we had a gun, she knows how to handle herself. We got out of the city but were stopped by the NSA at a roadblock. We were negative for the infection and one of the guys recognised me, I’d served with him in Iraq. They took us in, so I joined up.”
Mercy looked at Roberts. “Makes sense.” She hesitated, “What do you know about survivors in Galveston, Texas?”
Roberts lifted his head. “Galveston? Why are you asking about Galveston?”
Mercy shrugged, “Heard a broadcast on a radio back in the city,” she lied.
Roberts spat on the floor. “They’re traitors, they want to bring Colonel Randel down. Let me tell you this, they’re pissing in the wind. If they had their way they’d destroy the New State Army and chaos would rule. No, the Colonel is a patriot and he’ll restore law and order once we get on top of the infection.”
“Seems to me it’s become an arms race,” Mercy said. “The virus has got its own plans, it’s adapting, the tropes are changing. In the city the dead came back and worked with the tropes—” Mercy said.
Roberts looked up, uncertainty lining his face, “What?”
“Yeah, we called them skinnies, they reanimated, returned, call it what you like and believe me, they are just as hungry as the tropes,” Mercy’s voice was tight.
“Shit, they never told us that—” Roberts looked shocked.
“Yeah, well, there’s no internet now, no 24 hour news cycle, no mobile phones, is there?” Mercy said, watching Roberts’s face.
“Not for us, but there are rumours the internet’s still up and that Cobalt Biotech was involved in other countries. They have a global network, global reach, except now they’ve not got the people. The 30% cull rate went way over… more like 70-80% they reckon, some cities had to be cleansed the infection was so bad, it was spilling out—”
“Wait a minute, what do you mean cleansed?” Mercy asked, her heart knowing the answer. She had to hear the words to make it real.
Roberts frowned. “TNW’s; tactical nuclear weapons, low yield, tens of kilotons I heard. But some of the guys heard that strategic ICBMs were used overseas, China, I think,” he grew quiet.
Mercy stared at the floor. The wind howled outside. The room was dark, the air chill. “I don’t think I’m gonna get much sleep tonight,” she said. “I’ll take first watch if you want.”
Roberts shook his head, “We’re at mission critical; you were supposed to have twelve guys assigned to you. I’m guessing they’re all dead up at Montauk Point, it’s just you and me. No, I gotta stay awake until extraction, you get some rest.”
Mercy nodded and lay down on the hard floor, she used her pack as a pillow and closed her eyes. It was all screwed up; 70% cull of the human race, global reach, nuclear weapons. The human race was insane, how did Cobalt Biotech expect to come back from this? She shifted, uncomfortable on the floor, then again she only knew what she had been told, what if it was all lies? What if Roberts had been given lies to ensure his loyalty? Those that had the power controlled the truth and truth was power.
Then she remembered the radio signal from Galveston: Do not believe the lies. Maybe there was another story, another truth.
Maybe.
Keep it simple Mercy girl; find Flynn and the others first, bug out then figure it out. She closed her eyes and Flynn’s smiling face came to her.
She had not forgotten him at all.
Chapter 7 Belly of the Beast
Mercy blinked and opened her eyes.
Where am I?
Her memory returned replacing the disorientation. The airstrip, Roberts, the extraction. Her muscles were stiff, she moved from her si
de onto her back and stretched her arms and legs, pain shot through her body as the knots unwound.
Roberts was snoring in the corner, so much for staying awake, she should have known. Roberts was weak, soft, because he was part of an organisation, and human nature kicked in when part of a group. People became complacent, careless, thinking they were safe. It was better to be self-reliant, alone, that was where strength and survival lay.
Mercy heard a noise outside. She rolled over, crouched beside the window and looked out. Another noise, closer, almost beneath the window, she took the M4 and craned her neck trying to see what was below. Visibility was poor due to ground mist rolling across the airstrip. The storm was over, the mist would burn off later; they could be airlifted if the NSA had heard Roberts’s message.
Another bang from below. A head, a mane, a rump. Three horses, two mares and a roan foal appeared on the tarmac and made their way out onto the runway moving towards the trees. Mercy let her breath out.
They must’ve been sheltering from the storm, if they got in through the fence they’ll find a way out.
Mercy watched the horses, it was good to see beauty alive in the world. Then her face hardened, she remembered the mangled bodies of the Central Park carriage horses after the tropes had finished with them.
The horses disappeared from view, it was early. She looked at Roberts, she still had a choice; she could walk out, leave Roberts and escape, go back to surviving alone, day to day. Or she could go with Roberts into the heart of the New State Army and find Flynn. Mercy sighed, she’d had enough of being alone. She took a mouthful of water from the plastic bottle and called out to Roberts.
“It’s morning,” she said.
Roberts groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, must’ve drifted off.”
“Don’t worry we’re still here. We were both tired—”
“Yeah, you got that right,” Roberts replied.
Mercy stood up and stretched again, “So, how are we going to signal them?”
“What?”
“Your friends, the helicopter extraction. How are we going to let them know we’re here? Didn’t you say something about flares?” Mercy asked.
“Yeah, I got some flares, but you’re right we need to get ready, we should check the rest of these buildings, secure the perimeter. We don’t want any last minute surprises,” Roberts said.
He’s spouting his basic training, there’s just two of us, how can we establish a perimeter? Mercy thought. Just go with the flow, surf the wave of chaos as usual, it’s all shit anyway—
“Yeah, no last minute surprises, always a bad idea,” the words spilled from her mouth.
They had a breakfast of tinned tuna followed by tinned peaches. Mercy looked out of the window, her watch said 7:30 am, the sun was rising, the ground mist was lifting.
“OK, so we’re good to go,” Mercy said.
“Yup, I guess,” Roberts acknowledged. He looked at Mercy for a long moment his brow furrowed. “Listen, I know we’ve met under difficult circumstances, but I just wanted to say you’ve done good and if anything goes wrong I’ve got your back.” Roberts stopped and stared at the floor.
Mercy looked at him, reading his body language. Yeah mister, you want me to say the same don’t you? It comes down to this, we’re all human, we can all process information and experiences, we can all decide for ourselves what’s right and wrong no matter what uniform we wear. Truth is we’re born alone and we die alone. You know you’re already dead—
Mercy saw it plain as day, Roberts was already dead, he had given up. She had seen it before, in the eyes of those who knew. Invariably they were right, people knew when it was their time, when the roller coaster was approaching the end of the ride. Instinct versus intuition, she remembered the conversation she had with Carrie back in the orphanage.
What’s the difference between instinct and intuition? Nothing—
People knew what was in store when it came down to it. Whether it was cancer or something else, they knew. It was real, it was nature, it was undeniable. Roberts gave her that look, resigned, trapped. He knew, he was not going to make it out alive.
“So let’s do it,” he shouldered his rifle.
Mercy stood. “After you,” she said, her face blank, “don’t worry, I’ve got your six.”
They made their way down the stairs into the hangar and left by the fire exit. The sky was grey, the airfield had an eerie stillness. Mercy’s senses were alert, the horses had gone. They made their way to the next, smaller hangar, its entrance was open, the doors pulled to each side. Inside they could see three light aircraft, one under a tarpaulin. A fire truck sat off to one side.
Mercy pointed and whispered to Roberts. “Fire truck radio, worth a try?”
He nodded and they jogged to the truck. It was locked. Roberts raised his weapon to shoot out the lock. Mercy put a hand on his rifle and shook her head, “Yesterday maybe but not now, the sound will travel. Give me a moment.” Mercy took her combat knife and slid its blade into the door frame just above the lock. She turned the blade and lifted it, an audible click came from behind the panel. She pulled the knife out and opened the door.
“Simple as that,” Roberts said.
Mercy stood back giving him access. Roberts climbed into the cabin and found the radio. He shook his head, it was dead. He looked around the interior and found a first aid kit which he shoved into his pack.
“Radio’s toast,” he said jumping down from the cab.
“OK, let’s check the hangar, remember tropes climb, so keep your eyes open,” Mercy strode ahead.
Mercy entered the hangar, there was no smell of death, no sign of blood, no sound. They walked together rifles at the ready. The ground was oil stained, tools lay scattered on work tables and benches. Smaller machines sat beneath the aircraft; machines with dials and wires. Mercy stopped and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Roberts walked on, his foot kicked a spanner which skittered across the floor. An explosion of pigeons erupted from the roof and flew outside.
A few stray feathers floated down onto the oily floor. Mercy cursed under her breath and listened. “It’s clear,” she said after a few seconds, her voice echoed around the hangar.
Roberts looked sheepish. “Sorry about that, careless.”
“Let’s check the last hangar,” Mercy turned and went outside. She made her way along the side and came to the third building. Its doors were chained shut. She went to the entrance and listened. Nothing. She moved around the outside and found a locked fire door at the back. Roberts followed her.
“Try the stairs,” Roberts said.
Mercy went up the fire escape steps and reached a set of blacked out windows and another door.
Why would they black out the windows?
She pulled on the door handle, it was locked.
Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to secure this building. She turned to Roberts, he raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
Just leave it, it’s locked and secured keep it that way— Mercy said to herself.
Roberts tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at the roof above, a radio mast was just visible. “If we can get onto the roof there should be maintenance access for the mast.”
Roberts squeezed by and climbed the fire escape to the roof. The view was good from the top, they could see for miles. Roberts made his way over to the mast and found an access hatch beneath it. A row of solar panels lay close to the mast. Roberts bent down and tried the hatch, it was open. He peered in, a metal ladder descended through the gloom to a gantry below.
“If there’s a mast, there’ll be a radio, we need to check it out,” Roberts said.
Mercy frowned. “Wait a minute didn’t you guys use this airport before?”
Roberts climbed through the hatch and looked up at her. “No we used Camp Hero as our base of operations.” He climbed down the ladder to the gantry. Mercy looked around then crouched to listen, she could hear Roberts moving. He switched on his flashlight and attached
it to his rifle.
“Clear,” he called up.
Mercy followed him. She reached the gantry and stepped off the ladder. Roberts had found a service stair leading downwards. Daylight spilled into the hangar from the hatch, she looked out onto the hangar floor and saw row upon row of laden pallets. She could make out tinned food and water bottles.
So this is why the place was locked—
Mercy followed Roberts along the gantry to the steps. He was halfway down, his torch light dancing across the supplies. Shadows extended off on both sides of the pallets. Mercy stopped and stared, something was wrong, some of the food was missing. Then she saw discarded packets and tins on the floor and bedrolls over by the far wall.
A click came from the gantry behind her. “Drop your gun and do exactly as I say or I’ll shoot—”
Mercy cursed, wherever there was food there was people and wherever there was people there was trouble. Were the horses a giveaway too? She did not know, she had no choice, she looked down through the steps and saw a cluster of armed youths step out of the shadows. She nodded, “Sure, anything you say, just don’t shoot.” She made to lower her gun and saw Roberts doing the same.
Without warning Roberts dropped to the floor and opened up on the group. The sound was deafening. Mercy threw herself down and rolled bringing her rifle to bear on the gantry behind her. Bullets tore into the area where she had been standing. She shot at the muzzle flash spraying the area with a long burst.
Silence descended on the hangar.
“You OK Dawes?” Roberts’s voice echoed from below.
“Yeah, think so,” Mercy answered. She pulled herself up and walked along the gantry to a body.
Shit, it’s just a kid— Mercy knelt beside the boy, he was nine or ten years old, her rounds had caught him in the head and chest. She looked along the gantry and saw another ladder leading down, hidden in shadow.
Shit, missed that—
Mercy pulled herself together, a firefight was never good, trouble always followed, at least in the city. Maybe they’d be OK out here, they were indoors, the sound of the gunfire would have been muffled. What were these kids doing here? Were there more of them? She walked back to the main stairs and looked down into the hangar.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 2): Angel of Mercy Page 5
