Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) (8 page)

“Now, go inside and get something to eat—and a shower. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you could really use a shower.” Martin grinned.

I pushed him away and scoffed. “You don’t smell like a bundle of roses yourself, you know?” My tears finally spilled out, leaving a cold trail on my cheeks. “So… goodbye, then.”

“See you later.” Martin walked away. The two well-armed armed locals marched just a few steps behind him.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Karla said as she walked up to me and grabbed my arm. “We should get inside before there’s any more trouble.”

She led me through the rows of refugees waiting in line to be accepted into town. At first they stared silently at me, but their attention was soon diverted elsewhere.

A dark-skinned young woman with a white veil covering her head screamed at one of the guards as she swatted away the bag of supplies he offered her. The small child by her side—her son, judging by the way she embraced him—stared at the bag as it swung back and forth. Their argument lasted for a few more seconds before they were both escorted away. Maybe it was fear, hunger, or plain old apathy, but no one dared come to their defense.

“Just what have we gotten ourselves into, Lala?”

I stirred the watery chicken soup with my plastic spoon, studying the sparse, cubed vegetables as they circled the insides of the scratched Styrofoam bowl. I could tell the bowl had been used a few times already and wondered if it’d been washed.

“You should eat that before it gets cold,” Karla said without raising her eyes from her soup.

A thin trail of steam rose from my bowl. I brought it to my lips and drank half of the soup. The bland broth warmed my insides but did little to cheer me up. Of course, not even a thick slice of Oreo cheesecake could’ve cheered me up. They’d sent the man who’d saved my life out into the wilderness, and all I could do was watch. Except for Karla, all of my classmates were probably dead. My parents were probably…

Oh, God.

I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to hold back my tears as I looked at the assorted benches and tables laid out in rows along the gym’s hardwood floor, all of them crammed with refugees. At one end of the gym, a team of cheerful, middle-aged women served food from large aluminum pots. My brow furrowed. They seemed remarkably normal for a bunch of bigots—they were wearing jeans, colorful blouses, and knee-high skirts.

The buzz of a thousand worried conversations going on around me slowly gave me a headache. An eye-watering stench of perspiration hanging in the air only made it worse. I took a sip of the purple juice we’d been given along with the soup, being careful to avoid the bite marks around the edges of the Styrofoam cup. The taste of sugar and chemicals flooded my mouth. They should’ve just given us water.

“Try not to look so miserable.” Karla nudged my ribs. “Things could be a lot worse, you know?”

“Yeah, no kidding.” I glared at her. “I could be an atheist, or a Hindu, or a Muslim; then I’d have to sort through the rubble for my next meal, just like Martin’s probably doing right now.”

She sighed, unwilling to meet my stare. Word spread pretty quickly among the refugees that only Christians were being accepted into New Jerusalem—of any denomination, as long as they believed in Jesus. Anyone else was shown the door, all in the name of avoiding
confusion
within the town.

“I know it’s not fair,” Karla said, “and I’m worried about him too, but these people don’t
have
to help anyone. They might be a little… weird about it, but they’re trying to do the right thing. As they see it. I mean, come on, they’re feeding all these people”—she pointed around the gym with her spoon—“including you and me, by the way.” She forced on a smile.

I knew she was right… sort of. Almost a thousand hungry refugees devoured their soup around us, scraping the bottom of the bowls with their spoons. I wondered how many charity meals the townsfolk had prepared already and how many more they would serve us. I emptied my bowl in a couple of gulps. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

“I guess you’ve got a point, Karla. I’m still not drinking this stuff, though.” I pushed my cup away.

“Is there something wrong with the juice?” a woman behind me asked. I swung my head around and choked up as I recognized her as one of the women serving our meals. She had a smile on her narrow face, but her bright blue eyes seemed to glow as she stared at me, as if she were one of the demons I'd faced in the city.

“No, the juice’s fine; it’s just that I’m… diabetic. Slightly. I’m slightly diabetic.” My throat tightened.

She frowned for a second, but her expression soon softened. “Oh no, I’m sorry. We didn’t think about that, but we’ll work something out for tomorrow’s menu.”

“Don’t worry; I’m sure she’ll be fine. Her diabetes really is very mild.” Karla twisted her lips in an annoying smirk.

“Well, okay, then,” the meal lady said. “Listen, if you girls would like to take a bath and change out of those clothes, you can head to the showers through there.” She pointed to a steel door at a corner of the gym. “We’ve gathered some clothes for you guys. Most of them aren’t new, but they’ve all been washed, so don’t worry about that. I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll like.”

“Oh, that would be great. Thanks a lot for all you’re doing for us. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to take so many people into your town,” Karla said, looking around the gym. I just sat there with a dumb smile on my face. The thought of finally getting rid of the crusted dirt covering my body made everything else fade into the background—at least momentarily.

“You girls don’t worry about it. I’m sure the Lord will provide,” the lady said.

“Yes… by the way, do you know where we’re sleeping tonight?” Karla asked. Her eyelids twitched from exhaustion.

“Oh, right here. There should be enough room once we tidy things up for all the women who’ve turned up today. Everything’s been taken care of.”

“I can’t believe you’ve managed to organize everything so quickly,” I said. “You’ve even set up a town guard with insignia and everything.” Karla squinted as she slowly turned to face me, urging me to keep quiet.

“Well, we’ve got Brother Tim to thank for that—and Mayor Gleason, of course. Pretty much as soon as the ground stopped shaking, they rallied the town to rebuild our community and help our neighbors.”

“Brother Tim. Is he your pastor? I’m surprised your town has such a large evangelical community,” Karla said.

“I’ve been a member of his flock for several years, but now that all the signs from God that Brother Tim predicted have come to pass, our humble congregation has swelled.” The meal lady spread her hands apart for emphasis.

“Signs from God?” Karla asked, abandoning her friendly tone.

“The eclipse, the earthquake, the blackout—everything, even the demons some of the survivors here speak of. Brother Tim predicted it would all come to pass. He even knew the exact date when the Great Tribulation would begin.” The woman sounded more excited every second as if she were talking about a great movie she'd seen last night rather than a tragic disaster. She studied our faces for a bit, and her smile faded. “I can see that you probably don’t believe me, but you really should join us for tomorrow’s service. Everyone is welcome to attend. We’re all brothers and sisters in Christ, after all.”

I’m not your sister, lady.

“Sure, we’d love to. Thank you,” I said, eager to make her leave. Karla bit her lower lip and nodded.

“You’re more than welcome. God bless you, girls.” She walked away.

“And so begins the battle for our souls,” I said once the woman was out of hearing range. “At least now we know whose idea it was to leave non-Christians out in the cold. This whole thing about Brother Tim and his prophecies, though… do you think it’s legit? It sounds crazy, but everything’s been crazy lately.”

“Well, these evangelical types have been claiming the End Times are at hand for so long that they were bound to get it right eventually,” Karla said. “I just can’t believe they think that God would do all of this just to send us a sign, though. Killing my dad just to get my attention…” She closed her eyes and choked up. I leaned toward her and stroked her back.

“Come on. We don’t know for sure that anything happened to him. Let’s go take that shower. I haven’t had one since Monday, you know?” I got up from the bench.

“You mean Tuesday,” she said, wiping off an errant tear. “I know it feels longer than that, but the earthquake was yesterday, Becca.”

“Oh, yeah, Tuesday.”

***

When the meal lady said we could take a shower, I pictured a jet of warm water massaging my back as I caressed my hair with a liberal dose of shampoo and then scrubbed away all the filth clinging to my body like a butterfly shedding its cocoon. I never quite expected to be faced with five large blue plastic barrels scattered on the white ceramic floor of the changing room’s shower.

About forty people—from little girls to old women—poured water on themselves with small plastic pails. I was used to showering with my teammates after softball practice, but taking a communal shower, third-world style, with a bunch of random strangers would definitely be a new experience for me. The adage “Beggars can’t be choosers” was quickly turning into my personal motto.

I stepped into the changing room where a plump woman wearing jeans and a loose black blouse sat beside a heap of grimy clothes and shoes. Stacks of clean ones, organized by size, were placed on benches at the opposite side of the room.

“Hello, girls. Put your dirty clothes in the pile. You can pick whatever you like from over there after you’ve showered, okay?” She pointed to the clean clothes.

I hesitated for a moment, but Karla undressed like it was no big deal, obviously handling our post-apocalyptic circumstances better than I did. Feeling as if I had no choice but to go through with it, I took a deep breath and removed my clothes as fast as I could. The fabric felt stiff from the crusted dirt and blood.

My jaw still trembled as I stepped out of the changing room. The freezing water in the barrels had felt like needles striking my skin as I poured it over me. But at least I felt clean, even if my long auburn hair was a damp, tangled mess.

I strode across the gym with my hands tucked in the pockets of the green hoodie I’d picked up. A group of more than twenty men cleared away the benches and tables from the hardwood floor. Their clothes were ill fitting, and the colors of their ensembles didn’t quite match. They were probably fellow refugees, helping out around town. I wondered when I’d be asked to help out as well.

A cold breeze blew outside, hitting me in the face as I pushed aside the entrance’s large metal doors. Karla waited for me at the sidewalk, her arms crossed over her ample chest—partially concealed by the loose grey sweater she wore. Her gaze was fixed on the sky. Many of the people out in the street also faced skyward. I raised my eyes as I walked toward her to see what interested them so much and almost fell flat on my face. Instead of just a red halo shining in the sky, a solid red circle hung in its place.

“Oh my God, Lala! What the hell’s that?” I asked as I rushed to her side.

“That’s the moon.” She turned to face me. “It looked the same last night, but I didn’t want to wake you up to show you. I still can’t believe you managed to sleep so soundly.”

“It’s this late already? What about the stars, though?” With all electric lights gone, the stars should’ve shone bright in the sky. Only an endless ocean of darkness surrounded the crimson sphere.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking back up to the sky. Her lips trembled. “I just don’t know anything anymore.”

Church bells rang out just a few blocks away. Many in the crowd flocked toward the sound, answering the bell’s call to mass. Karla dragged me along with them.

We reached the Catholic church after a brisk walk. It was imposing despite being smaller than the school’s gym. Tall, arched windows ran along its sturdy brick walls, their intricate stained-glass panes mostly spared by the earthquake. The bright-red tiles covering the church’s steep rooftops gleamed under the light of the full moon, and a wide dome rose from the center of the building, capped off by a large bronze cross. A small white statue of the Virgin Mary stood by the entrance, flanked by rosebushes. It gazed at us with compassionate eyes as we marched by.

Almost everyone made the sign of the cross and muttered prayers as they walked beneath the church’s arched threshold, Karla among them. I emulated their actions but wasn’t really feeling it. I’d never been the best of Catholics. The apocalyptic disaster should’ve strengthened my faith, but if the blood-red moon in the sky and all of the awful stuff I’d seen really were the work of God, then maybe Martin was right that God was evil. Maybe praying to Him was like begging the executioner for mercy as he sharpened his axe. I felt so… confused.

The priest—a bald, elderly man dressed in purple robes—addressed the crowd gathered inside. Every pew had been taken, and we barely managed to find a place to stand in at the back of the church. Even though everyone listened in silence, it was difficult to hear the sermon from where we stood. I looked around and spotted small speakers discreetly placed at every corner, but they wouldn’t do the priest any good without electricity. Bundles of thick white candles placed at the feet of splendid statues of Jesus, Mary, and various saints lit the place with a warm orange glow. The light barely reached the edges of the dome that towered above us, making the angels painted on it appear to be hiding in the shadows as they peered down at the faithful. The redbrick walls gave the church a homey feeling that contrasted elegantly with the aura of mystery and beauty surrounding us.

I tried harder to concentrate and listen to what the priest was saying in case he addressed my concerns, but all I could hear were faint echoes bouncing back from the distant ceiling.

“In this time of great sorrow… reflect upon our sinful lives… our Holy Mother…”

Every now and then, the congregation would answer back in a hurried hush that I never quite deciphered, or we would all kneel down, most of us on the floor, and listen with our heads bowed as the priest read from the bible. Looking at everyone’s lack of self-consciousness as they performed their parts right on cue really hammered home what a lousy Catholic I’d been. My parents and I only stepped inside a church for weddings and funerals, so I had only faint memories of the protocol involved during mass.

Finally, the priest called on all who wished to receive communion to form up on the aisle. The line quickly extended outside of the church. Obviously, I wasn’t going to form up, but Karla grabbed my hand.

“Come on. Let’s get in line.”

I shook my head. “I haven’t been to mass in ages, Lala. I haven’t had confession since my first communion. I really don’t think it’s right for me to do this.” I didn't mention the fact that I sort of believed God could be evil.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. You can confess later,” she said, tugging on my arm. “This is important.”

Neither her pleading eyes nor her vise-like grip on my hand left any room for debate. I followed her to the back of the line, beginning to resent her pushiness. Almost half an hour later, I stood in front of one of the priest’s assistants, who helped him hand out the communion wafers. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and struggled to shake off my blasphemous doubts as I prepared myself to receive the body of Christ.

The assistant gently placed the communion wafer in my tongue. I crossed myself and let the tasteless unleavened bread dissolve in my mouth as I marched to the back of the church. I vaguely remembered the way I'd felt when I'd made my first communion as a seven-year-old girl—that jolt of electricity and the feeling of peace and happiness in my heart. Now I felt nothing. Joyful tears and honest smiles were on everyone’s faces. A knot built up in my throat, and tears welled up in my eyes, but certainly not from any religious rapture.

Is something wrong with me?

“You see? I told you it’d be good for you,” Karla said when she returned from the altar. She arched her eyebrows, and her lips curved into a satisfied smile. Her dead father must’ve been the last thing on her mind… or maybe the first. It was her father who’d instilled her blind faith in the Catholic Church, after all.

“Yeah, I guess.” I tried to mirror her smile. My lips trembled, and a stream of tears rolled down my cheeks. Karla pursed her lips and nodded as she gave me a hug.

“Oh, Becca,” she whispered into my ear, “it’s all right. Don’t hold back. God knows how you feel.”

“Oh, shut up.” I pushed her away and bolted out to the street. The cold air outside made my head spin after being inside the stuffy church.

“What’s wrong?” Karla asked as she walked up to me.

“Nothing, I just felt a bit queasy, that’s all. Maybe I downed that soup too fast.” I faced away from her as I wiped away my tears.

“Listen, Becca, I—”

A young woman with long brown hair strolled by us, wearing a white armband over her camo-patterned shirt. A shotgun hung from her slender shoulders by a nylon sling. She waved, smiling, and walked over to us. “You girls can go back inside. The fighting’s not reaching us tonight.”

“What fighting?” Karla looked around. Her gaze finally settled on a spot to the west, and she took a step back. I marched to the middle of the street and faced in the same direction. Bright flashes popped up on the horizon every now and then, the murmur of an explosion reaching us after a few seconds.

“What’s going on?” I asked the smiling woman. She examined our faces before answering.

“You girls are from the city, right? I imagine you know what’s attacking us better than I do. There’s no need to worry, though. Personnel from the military and the police have set up a perimeter some ten miles to the west, in Nassau. We’ve sent people to scout out the situation, and they tell us everything’s under control. Besides, Brother Tim’s sure we won’t be attacked. He hasn’t been proven wrong yet.”

I looked into the woman’s carefree brown eyes as she spoke. I certainly knew what was out there and what those monsters were capable of. From the closeness of the explosions, it was clear that whatever had stopped the demons from leaving the city on the day of our escape had stopped working, and now they were attacking Nassau. An overwhelming desire to grab Karla and run away until nothing but the Atlantic Ocean spread in front of us came over me. Something else the woman had said bothered me even more, though.

“How do you know we’re from the city?” I asked.

The shotgun lady dropped her smile and looked away. She rubbed her lips with the tip of her fingers, probably realizing she’d said too much. She then marched toward me, not stopping until I could smell her subtle floral perfume.

“Some people around here have taken an interest in you—and your friend—after the incident during registration,” she whispered. “Just try to stay out of trouble, okay?” She waved goodbye to Karla and strolled down the road.

“What did she say?” Karla asked, still staring at the woman.

“Oh, she said we have an air of urban sophistication about us, so she figured we’re from the city. Maybe we should go back inside, Karla. Mass isn’t over yet, right?”