Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) (13 page)

“Sure, no problem. Just follow me to my place. I’ve got a workshop of sorts in my basement.” He pointed with his thumb toward the exit. Mr. Forcellati bared a few crooked smokers’ teeth with his smile.

This
my parents wouldn’t have understood. When I started taking the subway on my own, my mother would always warn me not to talk to strangers. She didn’t add that I shouldn't follow them to their homes, but that was implied. Of course, she probably wouldn’t have agreed with me joining a militia in their struggles against the legions of hell either, so, well… I followed the nice man to his basement.

“Come on, Becky. Don’t look so surprised. I’m sure you’ve seen one before.” Mr. Forcellati's broad smile made his pride clear.

“Well, yeah, but never in real life, and I’ve never actually handled one before. I can’t get over how heavy it is. I mean, you could use it as a club if only it was a little longer.”

“Now you’re just hurting my feelings. It’s not like I’m trying to compensate for something, you know?”

Creepy…

For a second, I feared Mr. Forcellati would follow up his comment with a wink, but fortunately, he turned to his workbench and kept working on my gun. I ran the tip of my fingers across the solid stainless steel frame of Mr. Forcellati's revolver, polished to a mirror finish. Caressing the stylized “500” etched near the grip of the legendary S&W model 500 revolver made me think of my dad’s action movies, in which various badasses fired it one-handed as if it were a BB gun. Pulling that stunt off with the heavy piece of steel in my hands would've shattered my wrist.

A single gas lamp on Mr. Forcellati’s workbench lit his narrow basement. Various rifles, shotguns, and pistols hung on metallic cabinets behind wire doors, as well as numerous boxes of ammunition. While he worked on my handgun’s trigger, I marveled at his lethal collection, my back to the stairs in case he tried anything. I’d made a big deal about the revolver—which wasn’t too hard—and asked him if I could check it out, hoping it’d be loaded. No such luck. Still, if he did pounce on me, I felt fairly confident I could bash his head in with the unloaded hand cannon.

Screaming for help wouldn’t have been an option. No one had seen me go into his neglected home—the barren yard hadn’t seen a drop of water since long before the disaster struck—and despite a few pictures of his family around, his wife and two children were nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t let my guard down.

“Well, it’s a really cool gun. What did you buy it for, though? In case a bear broke into your house?”

Mr. Forcellati looked up from his workbench and scratched his beard before answering. “It might be hard for you to understand at your age, but I had the feeling that I was never going to have the best house or the best car or the best boat or the best of anything, really. But at least I could have the best handgun known to man, and by God, I think I succeeded. Wouldn’t you say so?” He stared deep into my eyes.

“I guess. That gun you’ve got there looks kinda cool, as well.” I pointed to the black pistol holstered at his side. “Do you think I could take a look at it?” Mr. Forcellati snickered.

“Nice try,” he whispered. “Sorry, but I like to keep it by my side. You can’t be too careful nowadays, what with the world coming to an end.” Mr. Forcellati cracked a grin beneath his bushy beard. A chill ran down the back of my neck. My attempt at disarming the man had been a little too obvious.

“Well, I’m sure that once the army gets its act together, and they clear the city of those demons, things will go back to normal.” I tried to sound convinced of that fantasy.

“We can only hope. I’ve heard a few our fellow human beings are taking the chance to prey on others. They’re even getting organized, according to the rumors. At least you’ll have something to defend yourself with now.” He handed me my gun.

I pulled on the trigger and couldn’t contain a slight giggle as I felt the smoothness of the pull.

“Awesome. I feel like I could fire this one-handed now.” I aimed it sideways, like a gangster, feeling rather cool.

“That’d be a pretty efficient way to get yourself killed, Becky,” Mr. Forcellati said, lowering my gun’s barrel with the tip of his fingers. “It looks like you really could use those pointers on gun use.” He opened one of his lockers and extracted a dark-green steel case, the kind used to store machine gun rounds. “I’ve got some surplus Israeli 9mm rounds we could use to practice with. They’re meant for sub-machine guns, so they tend to jam with handguns every once in a while.”

“Hey, if you think I’m giving you my necklace for that stuff—”

“Don’t worry, Becky.” He removed a small box and a piece of plastic from the locker. “I’m not planning on shortchanging you.” He handed me a fifty-round box of 9mm FMJ ammo, which looked decent.

It took a while for me to identify the cheap plastic item as a holster. “Sorry for being rude, but I’d rather take some more bullets than this piece of… plastic.” I pushed the holster toward him. He shook his head and locked the gun cabinet.

“That piece of plastic could save your life, girl. In fact, that holster’s so safe that you could keep a round chambered, and you wouldn’t be in any danger. I’ve always told my own family that if you’re carrying a gun without a shot ready to fire, you might as well not bother carrying a gun at all.”

“About that, where’s your…?”

Curiosity had gotten the best of me, but as I started to question him about his family, I noticed his eyes had become bright with tears on the verge of spilling out.

“Hmm?” he asked, blinking a few times.

“Where’s your… your shooting range?” I asked, drawing circles in the air with my index finger as if trying to recall the term.

“We can shoot at the club.” He walked past me and up the stairs. His powerful beer stench made me recoil. “I’ll just grab some targets.”

I waited for Mr. Forcellati in his dusty living room, staring at a picture of his daughter. She was about my age, with black hair and just a bit on the chubby side. The distinct sound of clinking beer bottles came from the kitchen, and Mr. Forcellati soon emerged carrying a cardboard box under his arm.

“Okay, let’s go.”

***

Back at the yacht club, I’d just landed another shot. The brown beer bottle—recently emptied by Mr. Forcellati—burst to pieces, the sound of the blast carried away by the salty sea breeze. Despite getting noticeably drunker by the minute, he still managed to shout out pointers on stance, grip, and breathing from the chair he’d dragged onto the yacht club’s parking lot. The fact that I’d been able to hit my first target at about thirty yards after just two failed attempts reassured me that he knew his stuff, or at least that I wasn’t as hopeless as I feared.

I opened the green metallic box on the hood of a silver sports car, next to where Mr. Forcellati drank, and reloaded my magazine with the unreliable surplus ammunition—I’d had my gun jam on me once already. I loaded each bullet into the magazine just as Mr. Forcellati had shown me. My thumb was sore after loading just a few rounds.

I’d need a couple of extra magazines. I found it hard to imagine loading my gun one bullet at a time with one of those monsters charging at me.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some spare magazines for this gun tucked away in your basement, would you, Henry?”

“Well… it depends on what you’re willing to give me in trade,” he slurred.

I recognized in his droopy, hazy eyes the leer of a man who’d had a few too many beers. He licked his lips and got up from his chair, breathing heavily. I slid the half-empty magazine into my gun and pulled back the slide. Although I didn’t aim at him, my cold, trembling hands gave my thoughts away.

“Oh, crap, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that—I swear.” His head bobbed up and down like a dashboard bobble head. A timid smile curled on his flushed face.

“I think we’re done with practice.” I picked up my box of 9mm rounds. Mr. Forcellati staggered toward me.

“You know, Becky, you remind me a bit of my daughter. Maybe you saw her picture at my place? She loves shooting, too. Hell, I only got all that surplus ammo to bond with her over some shooting at the range.” He caressed the neck of the beer bottle with his thumb.

“And where is she now—helping out in town?” I asked, my gun still firmly clutched in my right hand.

“No. My wife had taken the kids to Chicago to visit their grandmother. I hope they’re…” He looked away at the ocean, his eyes threatening tears.

“I guess I understand how you feel. My parents are actually still in the city. I want to believe that they’re fine, but… yeah, it’s not a happy thought, is it?” I massaged my little silver cross between my fingers. “Oh, right. I guess you’ll want this now.” I ran my fingers along my necklace, looking for the clasp.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Mr. Forcellati waved a hand to stop me. “You’re a nice girl, Becky. I couldn’t take that from you. Pay me back whenever you can, all right?”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks.” I gave him an honest smile.

“You can show up here tomorrow morning, at around eight. That’s when the younger volunteers leave to look for supplies. I’m sure they won’t mind a resourceful girl such as yourself joining up. In fact, why don’t you take this crap and save some time.” He handed me his white armband after unpinning it from his shirt.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m done with all that business. Guess I’m not as brave as I thought.” Mr. Forcellati took a swig of warm beer. “Anyway, it’s actually been fun hanging out with you. Whenever you feel like doing some target practice, or if you need some more ammo, you know where to find me.” He tapped the green metal case with his knuckles, rattling the bullets inside.

I seriously doubt that.

“Sure, I'll do that. Thanks. Listen, I know it’s not my place to lecture you, but you should ease up on the drinking. It might get you in trouble someday.” I walked away before he could answer. I looked over my shoulder a few times to make sure he wasn’t following me, but he just kept on drinking and staring at the ocean waves.

My skin still crawled from Mr. Forcellati’s abundant creepiness, but at least now I had a gun, holster, and ammo. My days as a laundry assistant seemed to be over. I headed toward the town’s makeshift hospital to give Karla the good news, hoping she wouldn’t take it as badly as I feared.

None of the black-pinned patients remained at the gym. At least fifty empty spaces on the hardwood floor marked the spot where their improvised beds had been. Rubber-soled shoes squeaked as the doctors and medical assistants went from one patient to the next. The morning’s frantic activity had slowed down, but patients still groaned and squirmed, their fates far from certain. At least the stench of decay had been overpowered by a strong, pine-scented disinfectant, and the heat was no worse than outside.

Karla waved at me from across the gym, her long black hair done in a tidy chignon. She removed her disposable medical mask as she walked over to me.

“What, is it lunchtime already?” The timid smile on her face failed to soften her hardened stare. “Maybe you should’ve invited Amy and the other laundry girls to have lunch with us as well, Becca. She seemed pretty eager to have us all be friends.”

“Actually, I haven’t seen Amy since this morning.” I gently drummed my fingers on my holstered gun to see if Karla would notice it.

“Come on, don’t tell me Brother Tim’s still preaching at the football field. Doesn’t that guy realize people can’t just ditch their jobs, especially now?” Karla sighed and shook her head.

“Well, to be honest I haven’t been to the laundry site. I gave it a lot of thought, Lala, and, well…” I took from my pocket the white armband Mr. Forcellati had given me. “I sort of joined the militia.”

I grinned as I held the piece of white fabric. Karla stared at it as if it were some alien artifact. Her cinnamon cheeks flushed, her breathing becoming unsteady. I dropped my grin. Karla raised her hazel eyes to my face. They flashed with anger.

“Are you stupid or something? Do you actually
want
to die?” she screamed, disrupting the hospital’s hushed atmosphere.

“Hey! Listen, I…” Tears ran down Karla’s cheeks, dousing my defensive anger. “I’m not trying to be a hero, okay? But those monsters aren’t going to stop coming, and we’ve got to be ready for that.” I gestured vaguely toward the city.

“What the f—? You’re not a child, Becca! This isn’t one of your dad’s movies. I’m scared too, okay? But we can’t just scavenge for guns and play soldier.” Karla wiped her tears as she took deep gasps of air. “Keep the gun if you want, but you’ve got to tell them you made a mistake and you don’t want to join their militia, or whatever they are.”

“So, what the hell do you want me to do, then, just keep on playing the part of the jolly laundry maid until we all get killed? I mean, you’re here, trying to help out these people.” I waved an arm around the gym. “Why haven’t you just left town, huh? Aren’t you risking your life just by being here?”

Karla stared at me in silence for a few seconds, her lips pursed and nostrils flaring up as she exhaled, suppressing an outburst. The moaning and shuffling in the hospital had quieted down. The patients all had their eyes fixed on us while the staff looked at each other. My ears heated up.

“This is what it’s all about, isn’t it?” Karla asked, nodding with a crazed smile. “If you’re so ashamed of washing other people’s clothes, then I’ll go and do the laundry with you. Maybe that way, you’ll feel better about yourself and stop thinking such stupid crap!”

A young woman—a doctor, judging by her grimy white coat—approached us and buried her bony fingers in our shoulders. “Could both of you please leave?” Her sunken, bloodshot eyes and the dark shadows beneath them tinged her request with an unspoken threat.

“I’m sorry.” Karla stared at the floor. Before I could apologize, she grasped my hand and dragged me away—not toward the exit but through the side door leading into a hallway lined with lockers. She dragged me along until we reached a small courtyard surrounded by classrooms. A four-foot-high mound stood in the middle of the courtyard, covered with a black plastic canvas. Only the stench of excrement and rotten meat hinted at what lay beneath.

“Do you want to see how a hero dies? Huh?” Karla yanked me closer to the repellent smell. She glared at me as she took her clinical mask from her pocket. Her reddened eyes blazed with an anger I never thought possible in her. Covering her mouth and nose with the mask, she bent down and lifted one of the sheet’s corners. I staggered back in shock at the sight of the mangled mess of arms, legs, heads, intestines, and other severed body parts piled underneath, gathered in leaking plastic bags. I looked away, covering my mouth, as a burning sensation rushed up my throat. Vomit squirted through my fingers. I rushed back into the hallway, coughing and wiping my hand and face on my bundled peacoat.

Karla approached me. “Is that what you want?” She clutched my arm with a warm hand. “Do you think that’s what I want for you? What your parents want for you? They’re going to cart away what’s left of all those people and bury them in a hole at some golf course in the middle of the night so no one can see that, that… mess. I don’t care if you hate me, Becca, as long as I don’t have to see you…” She sobbed into her trembling hands.

“I know, okay?” I said, wiping away tears of disgust. “I swear, I’m not looking to get myself killed; I know what those monsters can do, how tough they are. Believe me, I want to see my parents again. It’s just that… we’ve got to do something, Lala. I’m just so tired of running.”

I slumped back against the row of lockers and slid down to the ground, my stomach still churning from the gruesome heap in the courtyard. Karla sat next to me.

“If you want, I can talk to Dr. Johnson about you joining the team. We definitely could use more volunteers, and I could teach you the basics as we go along.” She rubbed her eyes and let out a forced chuckle. “I don’t want to boast or anything, but the doctors seem to be taking notice of my work. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

I considered her offer for a second, but the thought of staying at the hospital all day long, surrounded by the sights and smells of human misery, brought a new wave of disgust to my stomach. I didn’t want to take care of people at the hospital anyway; I wanted to stop them from getting there in the first place.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve got the stomach for that kind of work.” I scrubbed my sticky hand on the peacoat to get my point across. “Besides, I’m not really a people person. I wouldn’t want to lose my temper on some poor patient.” I copied her forced chuckle.

“It’s not for you, huh? What, but killing and dying is? Come on, Becca. Don’t do this. Please. If not for yourself, then for your parents. I don’t want to tell them that their only daughter got killed playing out some power fantasy.” She turned her face away as a string of nervous sobs rose from her chest.

“Okay… fine. I won’t join the militia.” My voice felt harsh from the knot in my throat caused by lying to my childhood friend. “I’ll go back to doing laundry, though. I just can’t stomach working with all those poor people back in the hospital.”

Karla turned toward me, cheeks puffed by a broad smile.

“You mean it? Really?”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I’m not really trained for the job.” My gaze drifted to the pile of mangled corpses in the courtyard.

“Thank God. And hey, if the town’s attacked again, we’re leaving, all right? To be honest, I really like helping people out, but you’re right. It’s not worth dying for. We’ve got to think of ourselves first.” Karla stood up. She offered to help me off the floor, and I gave her my clean hand. “By the way, since the gym’s going to be used as a hospital from now on, I’ll be staying in one of the vacant houses around town with some of the other medical assistants. I could see if you can stay with us if you want. Unless you’d rather stay with the other laundry girls.”

“No, we should stick together. Besides, I’ll need to keep this someplace safe.” I pulled the box of 9mm rounds from my peacoat.

“Becca…” Karla stared at the ammo.

“Don’t worry. I’m keeping these just in case. I’m sure I won’t even get to use my gun at all.”