She had a window of time, the rig would be crawling with tropes in minutes or hours. She needed to find a way off. Mercy left the room and went down the corridor to the stairs leading up to the green zone.
Think, think, think— find your way back to the helicopter. They’ll have flotation suits, lifejackets, the inflatable life raft—
Mercy moved down the corridor and came to a blue area. She scanned ahead and seeing bloodstained walls and a cluster of bodies decided to turn right into a white area. The corridors were mostly clear, rooms either side lay open; an emergency room, cubicles, curtains, medical equipment and drip stands. A few uniformed bodies littered the floors, she did not stop to look. She came to the end of the white zone, entered a yellow corridor and saw more stairs.
A burst of automatic weapons fire came from the level below followed by shouts and screams. Feet pounded on the stairs, she looked for a hiding place. A storage locker lay off to one side, just big enough. She stepped in, closing its metal doors behind her, firefighting equipment hung inside. She peered through the venting in the door and saw six men wearing body armour and protective face masks.
“Follow me, she’s here somewhere. Central report a sighting on this level. We need to find her alive, kill everything else.”
Mercy recognised Cross’s voice. The bastard was still alive, she wanted to step out and shoot him there and then, but she held her breath and watched as the men disappeared down the corridor.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should’ve thought of the CCTV, they’re tracking me, I’m making it easy for them—
Mercy waited a minute then opened the locker door. She took a fire axe from the firefighting kit then scanned the corridor for cameras, she saw one and destroyed it with the axe. She doubled back and took the stairs to the yellow area above.
Mercy ascended three more levels then felt cooler air. The stairs ended bringing her to a short passage ending in a steel door. Another camera sat high on the wall, she cursed. She battered the camera to the floor, she had a minute or two at the most, they would have seen her.
She burst through the door into a recessed area housing the helipad cage lift. The cage door was open but the lift was dead. She swore and looked around, a service ladder ran up the side of the lift. She reached the ladder and started climbing. Wind tore at her hair, she smelt the sea, stars glittered overhead.
Mercy counted fifty six rungs to the top. The helicopter sat unattended on the helipad, she ran towards it. Strong wind tore across the platform but there was no sign of the storm and the rain had stopped. A camera was positioned on one side of the helipad, she ignored it and opened the Sikorsky’s side door. The inflatable raft was still in the corner where Connors had left it. She hauled it out, then saw a flotation suit in the cabin recess. She reached in and pulled it out onto the deck, glancing back at the cage lift as she did. They would have to come up the ladder, which gave her an advantage; she held the high ground and she was armed.
Mercy dragged the life raft over to the cage lift and looked down the ladder. It was clear, she put down Dr Lambert’s Firestar pistol and climbed into the flotation suit. Screams and gunfire erupted below.
Get the suit on, get it on, only shoot when you hear feet on the ladder—
Mercy struggled with the flotation suit finally managing to negotiate its various zips and seals. It felt like a space suit even having a protective hood with a clear plastic visor, it made her clumsy and slowed her down. The screams were nearer, more gunfire came from the cage lift below. The shooting stopped, she heard feet on the ladder. She picked up the Firestar and peered down to see Cross climbing towards her, a mad look on his face. Their eyes met.
She pointed the Firestar at him and his expression changed, her finger tightened on the trigger but before she could fire his body jerked once then twice, he was pulled back down. Three tropes came into view at the base of the ladder. Cross’s eyes widened, his mouth opened in a gurgling scream as the tropes dragged him to the floor tearing at his neck.
Mercy backed away.
Do it, do it now, while they’re busy—
Mercy attached the life raft’s safety line to the flotation suit and carried it over to the edge of the helipad, she looked down at the sea. She was going to die, but she would rather die this way than at the hands of the tropes. The drop was mesmerizing, she stared, entranced at the sea far below.
A scream came from behind, she turned to see a trope emerging from the top of the ladder, its eyes locked with hers. It ran towards her in a frenzy of blood lust its companions close behind.
No, not now, not today, not like this—
Mercy stared into its eyes and stepped off the helipad into dead air.
Chapter 11 Immersion
The stars, they’re beautiful—
Mercy watched the sky as she fell. The trope stopped at the edge of the helipad, its eyes following her.
Remember to breathe—
Mercy inhaled deeply, put her arms across her chest and closed her eyes. She felt calm, as serene as the stars.
Water exploded around her. Cold, tight, like a vice, gripping her, pressure on her eyes and ears. Pain, drifting consciousness, a voice from somewhere within.
Fight it Mercy girl, fight it for me, for us—
Flynn’s eyes and smile came alive in her soul. Blackness surrounded her, she felt a tug at her waist from above, her fingers and toes twitched. Eyes open, heart thumping, arms and legs, movement, struggle, fighting the viscous water.
Davey Jones’s locker is not for you today Mercy girl—
Five seconds, ten, fifteen. The smack of air on her face, cold shock, glittering stars, thrashing waves. The vast hulking frame of the North Victory Platform stretched out above. Insistent tugging at her waist, Mercy looked around and saw the inflated life raft bobbing a short distance away, its emergency light pulsing.
Mercy felt for the life raft’s safety line at her waist and pulled. The raft inched closer. Half swimming and half pulling she reached the raft on the crest of a wave. She clung to the side, a wave washed over the immersion suit’s plastic visor obscuring her view. Cold crept up her legs, she closed her eyes and hauled herself up managing to lift her trunk out of the water. She wriggled and kicked herself onto the life raft. She lay on the floor breathless, the ocean’s depths stretching far below her. She closed her eyes and looked up, the stars were gone.
Where are the stars?
Her thought processes were slow. She stared up, eventually realising the raft’s rubberised roof was blocking her view of the stars. Water from outside sloshed around her, prompting her into action. She rolled over and reached up to the open doorway finding the zipper. With the last of her strength she pulled it, closing the opening. Her sight faded, darkness descended again, sweeping her away.
Trauma and cold worked their magic, Mercy shivered within her hypothermic fuelled dream. Laughter, a woman’s smiling face, trees, sunlight shining through leaves. A dog barking, a rug on the grass, a picnic, lemonade, sandwiches and cake. A birthday, her birthday, the woman holding her, singing, her voice wonderful, golden. Warmth from the sun, warmth from the woman. Together. Mercy fell into the woman’s eyes, her smile; she felt her mother’s unconditional love.
Mercy reached out to touch her mother’s face, she saw her own hand, that of a child. The sun faded, the green leaves blurred but her mother’s smile remained undimmed. Mercy felt her heart swell, her insides warm, she felt her mother’s light reach out, filling her soul.
I love you my little girl, I will love you always, from now until the end of time. Where you go, I go, I am always here, with you—
A surge, a thump on her back. Mercy’s eyelids fluttered, she felt the dream recede then burst like a bubble. She looked around; the immersion suit, the watery inside of the life raft, an orange glow from outside. She sat up and stretched her arms and legs, her back hurt, everything hurt, but she was alive. She explored her body, no serious injury, nothing broken.
Her thoughts
began to focus. If the tropes see me as one of them why did they attack me on the helipad? Mercy stared at her arms and legs, her face vacant. She reached up to her neck to loosen the immersion suit’s protective hood, her fingers paused. The immersion suit, it could have blocked the protective effect of the parasite, the suit got in the way—
Another thump from outside, Mercy sat up, loosened and removed the hood from her head, she unzipped the raft’s door and peered outside. Blue sky, sea, bright searing sun, she blinked, shielding her eyes. The rocking motion made her feel sick. Her eyes adjusted and she peered through her fingers. Sea everywhere, right to the horizon. She craned her neck looking in all directions, no sign of the North Victory Platform, no sign of help.
Mercy sunk back into the life raft, her feet sloshing in the water. Her mouth was dry, thirst gripped her. She examined the interior of the raft and found various pockets, the nearest one contained a first aid kit. The next revealed six flares and a box containing fishing hooks and line, another held a nylon sea anchor, the last pocket contained water sachets and energy bars.
Mercy counted the water sachets, thirty in total. She opened one with shaking hands spilling half the contents, she swallowed what remained, the water felt like nectar to her parched throat. She sunk back against the side of the raft and closed her eyes.
Keep it together, stay awake, now is not the time to let go, you’ve come too far to give up—
Mercy opened her eyes and got to work. She found a container and started bailing the sea water out. When this was done she checked the immersion suit. It had saved her life in the fall; how far had she jumped? Two hundred feet? More? She pulled the zip open and saw her clothes and found the Firestar pistol in the parka’s front pocket. She was fully dressed right down to her boots. She struggled to comprehend the jump she had taken.
It’s over, done, move on—
She tried to remember what she had learned from the Sikorsky’s crew about the North Victory’s position. The platform was somewhere west of Sable Island which itself was about 300 km south east of Halifax, Nova Scotia. She was in Canadian Atlantic waters.
She smiled and spoke aloud. “Yeah that’d be just about right for me. Lost at sea, no hope of rescue, drifting over the Grand Banks.” She leaned out the open door and shouted at the sea, “Well at least there’ll be no fucking tropes out here.” She slumped back into the raft and considered her options. She tried to remember the survival rule of threes; three minutes without oxygen, three hours without shelter, three days without water, three weeks without food.
It’s in the lap of the gods, and the currents. I’ll ration out the food and water, that’s all I can do. What if they come looking for me? Didn’t Roberts say something back at the lighthouse?
Mercy reached into her memory. It was there somewhere, she found it.
Tagged. I’ve been GPS tagged. They can find me. How? A tracking device, a chip? What?
Mercy felt uneasy, she put her head in her hands.
Find it, find the chip, I’ve had enough of this shit. They’ve killed Vince, they may have killed Flynn and the others. They’ve told me a pack of lies to string me along, I don’t actually know if they’ve put a parasite inside me. That trope wanted to kill me on the helipad so you are not immune, it’s all bullshit. She looked at the rubberised immersion suit with its heat reflecting inner surface. Doubt radiated through her mind.
Maybe they were telling the truth after all and the suit blocked the parasite’s protective effect. No, find it, find the chip, find it—
Mercy unzipped the immersion suit and wriggled out of her coat and upper layers. She felt the skin of her arms and chest; nothing. She reached down and felt her abdomen inch by inch; nothing. She paused, thinking. She checked her throat, face, ears; again nothing. She felt the base of her skull and neck.
There, what’s that?
Her fingers touched a small scar at the base of her neck.
Shit, that’s it, it’s got to be—
Mercy pulled her hands away from the scar, her thoughts paralysed.
If I leave it in they’ll find me and take me back to their labs to be experimented on, I’ll end up like Vince. But what if Flynn is alive? If they take me back and if he’s alive I’ll get to see him again. I could insist—
The cold truth dawned on Mercy.
They’re going to use Flynn and the others to control me. They’ll experiment on him and the others, they’re not going to let us go, ever. They’ll use us until we die or are of no further use.
Mercy felt calm, rational. There was only one choice, she had to remove the chip from her neck. She opened the first aid kit and took out the scissors and an alcohol swab. She swabbed the skin on the base of her neck.
It has to be done—
She dug the scissors into her neck cutting the skin. Pain flooded through her, she fought the instinct to pull her hand away. Waves of nausea gripped her, she persisted through the light-headedness. Blood trickled down her neck between her shoulder blades, the scissors touched something hard. Reaching back she explored the sticky wound with her fingers and felt a metallic surface, she dug her fingernails into the wound and removed the chip. Sharp pain gripped her neck, she fought the darkness but lost, passing out on the floor of the raft.
Knocking, rolling, buffeting. Mercy’s eyelids fluttered, she gasped as cold water sloshed against her face. She opened her eyes, the raft was taking on sea water. She dragged herself up and sat, dazed, staring at the water, why was it red? Then she remembered her neck, the implant. She searched the floor and found it, a small, smooth, silvery device, two fine wires trailing from one end.
This was it, this was her link with the outside world, with the New State Army, with Flynn and the others. She stared at the tracking device, the sea was becoming more agitated; the wind was picking up. Mercy’s face hardened, she threw the implant out of the raft into the water. She picked up the container and started bailing, when she had finished she found a dressing in the first aid kit and applied it to her neck.
It hurts like hell but at least I’ve got my body back now. Except for this parasite they’ve put in me, but that could be a lie—
Mercy said the words to herself but did not believe them, she knew they had operated on her. Dr Lambert’s story made sense. She would find a way, there was always a way, to every problem a solution, sometimes two or three solutions. Another wave rocked the life raft, she looked out at the swells, the sky was darkening, it was colder. A weather front was coming in, she zipped the flap shut, huddled against the side of the raft and closed her eyes.
They could not find her now.
Daylight faded. Evening brought bigger swells, Mercy clung to the sides of the raft as it was buffeted, then she remembered the sea anchor. She retrieved it from its pocket, she recalled a book about a man lost at sea; he had used a sea anchor to stabilize his boat. She unravelled the conical cloth device and threw it into the waves feeding out the line.
The life raft responded, becoming more stable. Mercy drank more water and forced herself to eat half an energy bar. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about what was outside and what lay in the ocean depths beneath her. Her eyes grew heavy and despite the buffeting she fell into an uneasy sleep.
Light streamed through the orange roof of the life raft. Mercy woke with a jolt, pain drilling through her stomach.
Is it hunger? Or—
Mercy tried not to think about the parasite inside her, was it feeding on her liver? She reached for an energy bar and ate it, savouring every bite, she licked the wrapper making sure she got every crumb. She looked for her watch but then remembered her captors had taken it. She pulled the door zip open and let the daylight in.
The sea was empty, the horizon empty. Then, as she was about to flop back into the raft she heard a noise in the distance. She put her hand up to shield her eyes and listened, it was an engine, a plane. She scanned the sky but saw nothing, the noise receded.
They are looking for me, or
did I imagine it? Well, it’s a needle in a haystack now, I’ve taken back control, they’ll not find me now—
Mercy smiled despite her circumstances. She would die on her terms not theirs. They would not benefit from her suffering. She reached to pull the flap closed but then her eyes spotted movement in the distance. She blinked and squinted at the spot. She looked away and tried again, there it was, her eyes locked onto the dark shape sticking out of the water.
What on earth?
Mercy watched as the object grew nearer. A man-made structure, protruding from the waves, floating, made of metal, orange coloured. She stared at it, transfixed. After twenty minutes realisation hit her.
It’s a sea buoy, there’s the light at the top. It must be thirty feet high, there’s the ladder, if I could reach the top I could see a fair distance—
Mercy closed the zip on the immersion suit and waited until the buoy was close. She pulled the sea anchor back in using the trip line. She collapsed the anchor, wrapped the line around her waist then lowered herself over the side into the sea. It was a shock to be in the water again with nothing beneath her feet, she closed her mind to doubt and swam towards the buoy.
She had estimated twenty or thirty feet to the buoy but it felt more, the current was strong and the life raft was pulling on the line at her waist. She made it and reached up to grab a handhold on the buoy. The line at her waist jerked her back, she wasn’t going to make it. She glanced back at the life raft.
If I’m quick I can do it—
Mercy undid the line from her waist making sure the sea anchor was deployed before she let go. She turned back to the buoy and swam up to the handholds and grabbed the lowest one. Adrenaline coursed through her, she gripped the next handhold hauling herself up. A wave pushed her from behind allowing her to get a foot on the lowest rung. She used the momentum to propel herself up onto the buoy’s flat orange platform. She checked and saw the life raft was still near enough, the sea anchor doing its job.
The Survival Chronicles (Book 2): Angel of Mercy Page 9
