Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) (24 page)

Bullet holes crisscrossed the walls of the hangar where Mr. and Mrs. Raj lived. Sunlight pouring from the holes illuminated dark stains on the cracked concrete floor—bloodstains.

“Mrs. Raj?” I asked, my gaze darting across the row of wounded people lying on mattresses and covered in bloodied bandages at one end of the hangar. “Mr. Raj?” Only weak moans answered my call. Finally, a young woman wearing a blue sari and carrying a bundle of clean bandages entered the hangar and walked up to me.

“What do you want?” she asked, frowning.

“I just wanted to check on Mr. and Mrs. Raj.”

The woman pursed her thin lips and looked into my eyes for a second. She placed the bandages on a nearby table and told me to follow her outside.

“They’re right there.” She pointed to a crooked hangar about a thousand feet away, by the wrecked terminal. “Just be careful; they’re handling… dangerous stuff.”

***

Light flooded the large hangar, whose gates were pulled wide open. The sharp smell of fuel and chemicals tickled my nose. Mr. and Mrs. Raj hunched over a cluster of tables near the entrance, upon which electronics and various containers—plastered with warning labels—had been scattered. Over a dozen sacks of chemical fertilizer had been stacked on the floor nearby. A pair of shirtless, sweaty men stared at me as they brought in a bundle of metal pipes, about six feet long and five inches wide, with fins crudely spot-welded at one end. They dropped them at a corner of the hangar, where a group of ten people stuffed similar tubes—rockets, by the looks of it—with parts lying on sheets spread over the floor.

“Umm… hi. What the hell are you doing?” I asked the couple, and waved at the weighing scales, chemicals, and other equipment on the table. Mr. Raj looked at me and dusted his shirt. The old man smiled like a naughty schoolboy.

“Oh, hello, Rebecca. We’re just… working on a little science project.” He looked at his wife, who’d exchanged her sari for a short-sleeved salmon blouse and jeans.

She didn’t return his smile, nodding at me instead. Her disheveled, greying hair and the dark shadows under her eyes seemed to be the only effect on her from the raider’s attack that morning.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re both okay, but seriously… what are you doing?” I reached out for one of the chemical jars. Mrs. Raj dragged it along the table, out of my reach.

“Please don’t touch anything,” she said, creasing her brow. “We’re not building radios this time.”

“So you
are
building rockets.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Raj said, her face softening. “We’ve actually been working on them for some time, to make up for our meager arsenal, but after what happened this morning, we’ve had to step things up.”

“No kidding.” I turned to look at another pair of men carrying more finned tubes inside. “You’ve obviously been working hard.”

“They’re actually pretty easy to make,” Mr. Raj said, eyeing his wife. “It’s not exactly rocket science, you know?” I chuckled. Mrs. Raj shook her head but still smiled at her husband’s joke. “Good thing, too, because we’re going to need them tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I leaned over the table. “Wait. You’re… you’re not joining Brother Tim’s attack, are you?”

“The enemy of my enemy…” Mr. Raj shrugged. “Some people from New Jerusalem just came over to tell us about their attack on the city. Obviously, most of us were against it at first—particularly after they tried to make us
see the light
and embrace Jesus—but if they’re going to attack us anyway, we should get them first, get some payback for today. Besides, it’s a chance to go back home.” Mr. Raj took his wife’s hand. Tears welled in her eyes as she rested her head on Mr. Raj’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I know how you feel,” I said, staring at my boots.

See the light…

Amy’s words echoed in my head, and an icy sensation crawled into my stomach. She said she’d pray for me to see the light before something bad happened to the unbelievers—as Brother Tim had told her. The pastor who’d refused to even provide shelter for non-Christians had now called upon them for aid. Something didn’t feel right.

“I’m thinking of joining the attack as well,” I said, raising my head. Mr. Raj stared at me for a few seconds while his wife wiped away her tears.

“I’m not fond of handing out unsolicited advice, Rebecca, but I’d think it through if I were you.” He looked at the handgun holstered by my side. “Those raiders are pretty well armed.”

“Trust me, I know. Martin and I got our hands on a few more weapons recently.”

As if on cue, a metallic squeak echoed through the hangar. Martin parked the truck at the entrance and waved to the Indian couple. I sprinted over, reaching him just as he stepped down from the cabin, and dragged him a few feet toward the ruins of the airport terminal—out of sight of the hangar.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Martin asked, smiling. “Don’t you want me to say hi to Pallav and his wife?”

“Have you heard of these guys joining the attack?”

Martin dropped his smile. “Yeah, I have.” He shook his head. “It’s pretty stupid, if you ask me, but at least I had no problem trading the raiders' guns for the truck.”

“You what?” I screamed and rushed over to the truck. The rifle and ammo belt I’d taken from the blond raider were still in the cabin—as well as the samurai sword—but the cargo box had been emptied. The other raiders’ weapons as well as the plundered supplies were gone.

“Relax,” Martin said, walking toward me. “I know you’ve grown fond of those weapons, so I didn’t include them in the bargain. Sorry for leaving you out of the loop there, but… I figured you wouldn’t agree with my plan.”

“You don’t say? Those were my guns too, you know!” I pushed Martin’s chest back with a hand. The sturdy bastard didn’t even flinch. “What’s this plan of yours anyway?”

“Well, I figured we could trade the truck for a boat at a settlement by the shore. They’ll probably want to join Brother Tim’s attack, so they’ll need all the vehicles they can get. We’ll be able to sneak off the island and onto the mainland without much difficulty once the pastor begins his attack on the city. What do you think?”

I stared at him for a few seconds, trying to decide if he was messing with me. His stupid grin didn’t fade.

“What do I think? You know what? I’ve given it some thought, and… I guess I’ll join the attack after all.”

“Hunting deer and ambushing a handful of raiders isn’t the same as fighting a battle, Rebecca,” Martin said, frowning. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t want to join the attack because you’re afraid.” I chuckled. “We’ve faced demons, for Christ’s sake. A bunch of raiders shouldn’t scare you after that.”

Martin sighed, his eyes fixed on my face. “Why are you so eager to murder people?” He took a step closer to me. I staggered back, feeling somewhat threatened despite his downcast expression. “I’m not a hypocrite. I know that you’ve got to defend yourself in this messed-up world, but this is different. This is a suicide mission, okay? Everything’s wrong about Brother Tim’s plan. Whether you fight or not isn’t going to make a difference.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as my face flushed. Martin was making a lot of sense, but… I couldn’t just run away with him while everyone else went to fight, while my parents could still be alive somewhere in the city. And now there was this strange invitation from the pastor for unbelievers to join the attack.

In a way, all of it was my fault for not killing that raider. I wondered if Brother Tim had foreseen the raiders' actions. He definitely had gotten the attack sorted out quickly enough.

“Maybe you’re right,” I finally said, walking to the truck. “Maybe the attack will fail, and we’ll all end up dead, but at least I’ll die for something rather than live for nothing. And hey, maybe there’s something better waiting for us on the other side, right?” I smiled, remembering Laura, the young woman who’d taken down a demon by herself. My smile faded as I remembered what had happened to her next.

“It’s your life,” Martin said as he went to the driver’s side of the truck.

I glared at him and strapped on the ammo belt. Its four large magazine pouches rested just under my ribs. Six steel magazines were left inside, each with twenty 7.62 x 51 mm rounds. I slung the rifle over my shoulder by its nylon sling, which was broad enough to feel comfortable despite the rifle’s weight. The samurai sword still lay across the bloodstained vinyl seat.

Screw it; it looks cool.

I grabbed the sword—an extra kilogram of steel to haul around—and fastened it to my belt. Martin sat behind the wheel and stared at me as I adjusted the sword. His brown eyes glimmered with pity. I closed the passenger door and marched around the truck.

“I’ll see you later,” I said, my voice suddenly whiny with emotion. I cleared my throat and held out my hand. “Thank you, Martin. You’ve been a real friend to me, and… and I thank God I met you.”

Martin took my hand and pulled me closer to him.

“Please. Don’t do this.” He tightened his hold. “Just get in the truck. I promise you there’ll always be something to die for. Why not try living for a while longer?”

I bit my lip, and my chest trembled as I considered his offer. “I’m sorry,” I said, slipping out of his rough grip. I banged twice on the truck’s cargo box as I walked away. The engine rumbled to life, and Martin drove off.

I marched back into the hangar, stiffening my face to keep from crying.

“What’s wrong, Rebecca?” Mrs. Raj asked, walking toward me with her brow furrowed. “I heard you shouting back there.”

“Best stay out of it, Sita,” Mr. Raj said, interrupting his work. “It sounded like a lover’s quarrel to me.”

“We’re not lovers, Mr. Raj.” I glared at him. He raised his palms and returned to his project. I looked back at Mrs. Raj. “I’m going with you tomorrow. Looks like you could use an extra rifle out there.”

Mrs. Raj swallowed hard and turned back to her husband. “Okay… sure. You’ll have to talk to the people in charge of that, though.”

I nodded. Judging by what Martin had said about their need for guns, the settlement’s leaders couldn’t afford to turn me down.

“You could join our team.” Mrs. Raj pointed at the people assembling rockets in the corner. “All you’d need is some basic math skills to help us position the rockets”—I shook my head—“or maybe you could assist our radio operator; I’m sure you’ll learn to use it no time.” I sighed, and she grabbed my arm. “We’ll stay a safe distance away from the fighting.”

I smiled even though a few tears managed to roll down my cheeks. “Sorry, Mrs. Raj. This is what I want.”

We left the airport a few hours after sundown. Our convoy—six pickup trucks and two cargo vehicles loaded with rockets—ambled down the highway. We headed toward the outskirts of New Jerusalem, the designated assembly point for the civilian attack force.

I rode in the back of the last car, an old pickup truck whose dim headlights barely lit up the next car’s smoke trail. Our truck leapt a foot into the air when it ran over cracks and bumps in the road, rattling my teeth as it crashed back to the ground with a screech of its battered suspension. At least I wasn't sitting on the steel bed—like the ten guys crowded at my feet, who groaned and swore after every bump—but rode standing up, grasping the truck’s roll bar for dear life.

Arjun, the leader of the bunch—now sporting a trimmed moustache and a grey polo shirt—stood next to me. He’d been peeking at my chest for half an hour—almost since we'd left the airport.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, arching my eyebrows to hide my annoyance—getting into a fight with my battle buddies on the eve of the attack didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Is it true that Pastor Tim can see into the future?” He pointed at the silver cross hanging over my chest. “I mean, you’ve been to New Jerusalem, right? You’ve heard him… prophesizing?”

I chortled, wondering if the question had just been an improvised excuse for all that peeking. Arjun didn’t strike me as a shy guy, though—not with his Bollywood-star facial hair—so I guessed he just wanted to know if Brother Tim’s claims of certain victory were more than wishful thinking.

“Seems like he can,” I said, brushing back a few strands of hair flapping over my face. “Actually, I’m pretty sure he keeps quiet about most of the things he knows.”

Arjun drummed his fingers on his scoped hunting rifle, nodding thoughtfully, and turned his face back to the truck in front of us. I hadn’t noticed until then how quiet everyone was. I thought about how scared everyone must’ve felt.

I didn’t feel scared, which… well, scared me a little. Actually, I felt a little excited if anything. Maybe Martin was right—maybe I
was
eager to murder people.

“Oh, shit,” Arjun whispered, interrupting my thoughts. I looked forward, following his gaze. New Jerusalem was in sight… and what a sight it was.

Thousands of bright lights shone along the town’s eastern border, an ocean of lamps and campfires belonging to the tens of thousands who’d answered Brother Tim’s call to arms. Not since before the blackout had I seen so many lights and so many people gathered in a single place. The buzz of Christian prayers and singing rose up from the sea of light, reaching us like crashing waves.

Obviously, all pretense of a sneak attack had been dropped, but it hardly bothered me. The sight of so many people gathered, all of them ready to fight, inspired a renewed confidence in me. Maybe the attack wasn’t a suicide mission after all. I wished Martin were there to see it—if only so I could rub it in his face.

The convoy suddenly veered off the road and stopped at a large clearing about a mile from the staging area. The guys jumped off the truck and stretched with exaggerated moans before setting up camp.

The fires from other campsites dotted the darkness surrounding the Christian gathering outside New Jerusalem. Some of those scattered camps might have had almost a thousand people in them—ours had less than fifty—but it was clear that those who didn’t believe in Christ—or at least not in Brother Tim’s version of Christ—had decided to camp away from New Jerusalem and away from the frenzied, well-armed Christians camped next to town.

“We’ll go over the plan after we’ve had something to eat.” Arjun leaned against the truck’s cabin. “I assume you’ll join my squad?”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” I said, shrugging. Arjun grinned and strolled away with his rifle cradled under an arm. The sight of the militia force must’ve boosted his confidence, as well. Arjun’s easy strides reminded me of Martin.

A sense of embarrassment crept upon me, not just from the realization that maybe—just maybe—I was into older men, but from having to once again latch onto a group I didn’t really belong to. I recalled the sight of Tommy bleeding to death in front of the convenience store and stroked my silver cross with the tip of my fingers—silently praying that this time things would go better.

***

As we advanced toward the city, the sun rose behind our convoy, staining the dawn’s purple sky with a rosy hue. None of us had slept during the night, but rather than being sleepy, I felt restless, grinding my teeth as I went over the battle plan in my head.

The military units that had held the perimeter around the city for the last few weeks—around five thousand troops—would punch through the center of the enemy’s outer perimeter along the Cross Island Parkway and then head straight for Manhattan’s southern tip. Once in Manhattan, they’d clear away the enemy presence as they pushed north toward the Bronx. The civilian militia would rush through the gap in the enemy’s outer perimeter and then advance along the military’s flanks, protecting them from counterattack. Brother Tim would lead his Christian militia—sixty thousand strong—along the southern flank and then swing south, storming the enemy positions in Brooklyn.

Meanwhile, those shunned by New Jerusalem—numbering almost twenty thousand and wearing white armbands to avoid friendly fire—would advance along the military’s northern flank, which had a lot less ground to cover. They'd hold any remaining bridges connecting Queens with Manhattan or the Bronx still left standing while the military stormed Manhattan. Several units of army engineers would advance behind the attack force and seal any subway entrances still accessible after the earthquake—very few according to Brother Tim—in order to trap the demons in their underground lair.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy… God help us all.

I wiped the cold sweat that was streaming down my face. The plan seemed highly optimistic as well as complicated, but as Arjun had summed up the previous night when his squad pelted him with a torrent of questions, all we little people had to worry about was killing whoever shot at us.

I found the thought strangely comforting. It took my mind off of the state of our professional military forces. Martin and I had run across a few squads of soldiers patrolling the island’s road network during our trading expeditions. I had always assumed their haggard appearance and scarce equipment was due to the task being assigned to the weaker units, maybe as a way to give them a rest from the front lines. As it turned out, they had been their most battle-ready forces.

The troops speeding past us in military cargo trucks and Humvees looked as though they’d been fighting for months rather than weeks. Many of them had exchanged their shredded military gear for suitable civilian alternatives, keeping only the bits and pieces of their uniforms and equipment that identified them as members of the military. Almost every soldier had either blood-soaked bandages wrapped around fresh wounds or the ghastly scars of old ones. Apart from their iconic M-16s or M-4s, some soldiers also carried civilian weapons slung to their backs—probably due to ammunition shortages rather than a desire to look cool. Most of all, I noticed their tired faces and the cold, uncaring eyes with which they stared back at us.

“Look at that,” Arjun whispered, nodding toward a roadside mall’s sprawling parking lot.

“Oh God,” I said, covering my mouth. A mound of charred bones stood in the center, almost twelve feet tall.

“That’s… that’s people, isn’t it?” His gaze and those of everyone in the truck were fixed on the macabre spectacle.

“Yeah.” I looked away. “The monsters burn up in the sunlight, even their bones. There would be nothing but a pile of ashes left of them by now.”

One of the younger guys in the squad bit his lower lip, staring at his handgun—the only weapon he had on him. His chest heaved as if he were choking.

“That’s a good thing,” I said, poking the panicked guy with the tip of my boot. “It’s a lot of bad guys who won’t be shooting at us today.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. I smiled at him even as I got a sinking feeling in my gut. If guys like him lost their nerve when facing the enemy and fled, the rest of the militia would follow suit, and the attack would unravel like a cheap sweater.

I think I’ve made a huge mistake.