Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) (17 page)

After about half an hour of marching through the forest—more of a state park, really—and the sprawling suburban ruins around it, we reached the Indian settlement. The thought of running into search parties that were looking to make me answer for Tommy’s death had worried me, but fortunately, we walked away from New Jerusalem toward an airport. Its quarter-mile-long terminal had caved in, but a handful of the smaller hangars—destined for private planes and jets—had survived the earthquake with no visible damage. Clusters of men of Indo-Asian descent milled around, stripping the insides of the larger aircraft, probably to use as building materials or to take clear out space for shelter inside them.

A group of cinnamon-skinned children played soccer by the entrance of the settlement. I waved at them, displaying our friendly intentions, but they ran away to the nearest hangar, leaving their ball behind.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have brought guns along, Martin,” I said, marching along the broken tarmac. My handgun was conspicuously holstered at my side, while Martin had a bolt-action rifle slung over one shoulder.

“I wouldn’t blame them for being scared after what they’ve been through. Don’t worry, though. Just don’t reach for your gun unless they shoot first, and you’ll be fine.” He fixed his eyes on the hangar’s entrance.

Seven armed men emerged from the structure—young men, judging by the jeans and T-shirts most of them wore. My chest tightened as they drew closer. Four of them were armed with machetes or improvised clubs, but two others carried handguns.

The man in the lead—in his early thirties, dressed in black pants and a formal shirt with the sleeves rolled up—aimed what looked like an M-16 at Martin. “What do you want? We have nothing for you here,” the rifleman said while the others strode forward, surrounding us.

“I’ve been here before. I’ve done some business with a man called Pallav… Pallav Raj.” Martin placed the venison-filled bucket on the ground and showed the men his empty hands. I mimicked his gesture.

The men lowered their weapons but didn’t soften their scowls. The rifleman nodded at the T-shirted guy next to him, who then sprinted back to the hangar.

“We’re going to need your guns,” the rifleman said, pointing at my handgun but staring at the silver cross hanging over my shirt, his dark eyes squinting with suspicion.

Thick beads of sweat stained my already sweat-encrusted shirt. After wearing it for several days straight, my necklace—my only tangible link to my parents—had become like a part of me. Even as I'd watched the armband burn back at Martin’s cabin, I hadn't thought of taking off my blatantly Christian memento or even hiding it under my shirt when we visited the settlement. If these people—mostly Hindus, probably—had been to New Jerusalem, they wouldn’t have been happy to have armed Christians paying them a visit. But surrendering my gun now and entering their turf unarmed didn’t sound like a great idea.

“Is that really necessary? I mean, we’re just here to drop off some food,” I said, glancing at the bucket by Martin’s feet.

One of the men stomped his club on the tarmac with a sharp, metallic
bang
. I recoiled, jerking my hand toward my gun. Fortunately, I stopped myself before the others noticed. The cold, heavy sensation in my stomach that I'd gotten after shooting Tommy came back to me quickly.

“Yeah, it’s necessary,” the club-wielding guy said. He seemed even younger than I, with only a hint of a moustache growing over his upper lip, but the way he flexed his wiry muscles unnerved me. The guy beside him grasped his snub-nosed revolver with both hands, ready to fire.

“Calm down—we’ll give you our guns.” Martin slowly took his rifle off his shoulder. “Just don’t let the children play with them; we wouldn’t want to be responsible for a tragedy.”

Martin looked at me and reached out his open hand, asking for my gun. I clutched the grip between my thumb and index finger and placed the gun in his palm. A feeling of nakedness came over me.

“You’ll give them back, right?” I asked, addressing my question to Martin rather than to the men surrounding us.

“As long as you behave,” the owner of the snub-nosed revolver said as he tucked it in his jean’s waistband. He took our guns, giving a glance at my necklace. The others stared at us, whispering among themselves. I practically held my breath until a short, old man dressed in charcoal-grey pants and a light-blue shirt came out of the nearest hangar, his formal shoes clopping on the tarmac as he trotted toward us.

“Martin, it’s good to see you!” The old man shook Martin’s hand. “Don’t worry, Arjun,” he said to the head security guy. “He’s—I mean, they’re all right.” He smiled at me. “Shall we, then?”

Mr. Raj walked toward the hangar. Martin and I looked at Arjun, who nodded in approval, and we strolled after the old man, taking the meat bucket with us. The guards’ unfriendly stares followed us all the way.

***

After getting used to the relative darkness inside the hangar, I found more than a hundred people—families, all sharing the same dark skin and straight black hair—looking at Martin and me with uneasiness. The elderly and small children lay in mattresses lined up against the hangar’s walls, while women—some of them dressed in worn but still colorful saris—prepared meals over a cluster of scratched, battered tables by the entrance. All of the furniture appeared to have been scavenged from the suburban ruins.

Mr. Raj wasn’t interested in giving us a tour of the place and headed straight for a large desk in the corner. A mess of electrical wires, batteries, and circuits rested on top, the stinging smell of glue and burning plastic heavy in the air. A slim woman in her late forties, wearing a carmine sari with floral patterns, hunched over the desk.

“Welcome to my home,” Mr. Raj said after catching his breath. “This is my wife, Sita.” He stroked the woman’s shoulder. She flinched and blinked at her husband a few times before turning to us.

“You know Martin, of course, and this is”—Mr. Raj’s lips curled into a devious smile—“his young friend… umm, forgive me, but with all that excitement I forgot to ask your name.”

Young friend?

“Rebecca. Pleased to meet you.” The tips of my ears grew slightly hot.

Mrs. Raj took my hand and bowed her head, smiling. She similarly greeted Martin as her husband cleared away the mess of electronics from the desk and took out a box from a drawer. His hands trembled like those of an excited child as he revealed the contents of the box: some sort of homemade radio.

“Scrounging up the materials to build this took some time, but I knew that it’d be worth it.” He flicked a switch on the device. A burst of static crackled from the radio’s small speaker. “Maybe we’ll get a message from our alien overlords soon.”

I chuckled. “Alien overlords?”

“Pallav believes we’re under attack from the little green men.” Mrs. Raj dragged a chair over to me, and I mouthed my thanks.

“Solar eclipses and EMPs don’t work like this, Sita,” Mr. Raj said, his tone slightly patronizing.

“Granted, but that doesn’t mean—”

Mr. Raj swatted a hand in his wife’s direction and then fiddled with one of the knobs until the static became a whisper, which gradually sounded different—human.

“No way!” I hunched over the radio, almost pressing my ear to its small speaker. My heart pounded. I expected to hear the president or some other government official, reassuring anyone listening that help was on the way—that things would soon go back to normal—but with each slight twist of Mr. Pallav’s hand, it became clearer that a different voice was speaking.

“Seems like the pastor wants to expand his flock,” Martin said as Brother Tim’s voice came through the speaker. This time, instead of the theatrical eloquence he'd displayed back in town, he spoke in a clear and measured way.

“I know that the burden placed upon you in this dark hour must feel greater than you can bear, but take comfort in the certainty that it is not yours alone to do so. Now that the Lord is testing our faith is the time for us to join together as brothers and sisters in Christ and endure our final trials together. Know that you have a home here, in our town of New Jerusalem.”

Afterward, he began to give details of the town's location, using both regular directions and coordinates. The message then repeated itself.

“Astounding, isn’t it? I can't believe they’ve managed to set up such a powerful broadcasting station so quickly. You can get their signal clearly throughout the island. Meanwhile, we’ve barely been able to scrounge up a hobbyist’s radio.” Mr. Raj looked with bitterness at his machine.

“So, you still haven’t been able to build a second radio?” Martin placed the bucketful of venison by his feet. “Because I thought he had an agreement.”

“No, not quite,” Mr. Raj said, opening the bucket and then eyeing its contents. “But I can still give you some news in exchange for this, if you’ll take it. Same as last time?”

Martin sighed. He caught me staring at him, biting my lip. After almost a week at New Jerusalem—cut off from the rest of the world—finally getting some news would be amazing. Martin soon nodded with a reassuring smile.

“All right, but I really need that radio, Pallav.”

“You’ll be able to get reports from the situation in China soon.” Mr. Raj leaned over the desk to grab a rectangular bulletin board from behind it. His wife cleared the rest of the table, and Mr. Raj gently placed the board—about thirty by twenty inches in size—on the desk. A map of Long Island and the surrounding areas had been secured to the board, with colored pins stuck to it.

A knot built up in my throat as I studied the map. A piece of red string ran through the middle of Nassau County, and everything to the west of that was a sea of red pins. Blue ones were stuck on the eastern area of the island except for a solitary blue pin over New Jerusalem—right next to the red string. A bunch of crosses had been drawn in black pen along the northern part of the island, each with a date and time scribbled next to it. At the center of each black cross was a hole, as if pins had been stuck in them and then removed.

“The army’s been able to hold their perimeter.” Mr. Raj pointed at the red string. “But four more places were attacked last night.” His finger travelled eastward to Long Island’s northern shore, stopping at four black crosses in turn. “Very few survivors.”

“Attacked? What, by those monsters?” I looked from Martin to Mr. Raj.

“Thankfully no. Only New Jerusalem has been attacked by those things, as far as I know. All of this has been the work of the raiders.” Mr. Raj swept the tip of his finger across the black marks on the island’s northern shore.

“Raiders? What raiders?” I asked.

“From the mainland,” Mr. Raj said, indicating the red pins stuck along the shore west of Long Island. “It’s amazing how fast those bastards managed to organize themselves. They’ve been attacking pretty much since the day of the earthquake.”

“You can’t be serious. How did you manage to get all of this information?” I held onto the desk to steady myself.

“By using the news that's relayed every so often across different stations on the island,” Mrs. Raj said, walking up to her husband. “A few survivalist types had working transmitters shielded against the EMP—or whatever it was.” She added, glancing at Mr. Raj. “We hoped to hear of a safe escape route from the island, but no one’s heard back from anyone who’s tried to leave by boat. It’s obvious the raiders don’t want anyone leaving and have the coastline pretty heavily patrolled.”

“What about the city? Have you heard anything from there?” I asked, automatically reaching for my necklace as I thought of my parents. Mr. Raj and his wife exchanged a timid look.

“Nothing good,” Mr. Raj said, frowning. “Apparently, raiders have taken over the city, as well.”

I grabbed Mrs. Raj’s arm. “Taken over the city? But what about the monsters?”

“They’re still there, but… we don’t know why they don’t attack the raiders.” Mrs. Raj lowered her gaze to the map.

“Could someone be controlling them or something?” I looked at Martin. “Remember how those monsters quit chasing after us right at the edge of the city?”

“It sounds likely,” Martin said, nodding, his voice hoarse.

“I’m telling you, it’s the aliens,” Mr. Raj whispered to his wife. She didn’t bother to contradict him.

The sun melted behind the sea of pine trees to the west as we neared Martin’s cabin. We hadn’t spoken a word since we'd left the Indian settlement, my mind still reeling from what I’d learned there. I'd expected bad news from the outside world, but raiders, working side by side with demons? My stomach twisted into a knot as I imagined what this bizarre turn of events meant for my parents. Part of me wished I’d stayed in New Jerusalem, happy in my ignorance.

It was too late for that, of course. Not only had I found out just how bad things were out there, but I’d killed a local kid during my ill-fated expedition with New Jerusalem’s scavengers. I pondered the worst-case scenario that awaited me back in town. Only God knew what would pass for law in our apocalyptical world. The familiar concept of “innocent until proven guilty” might’ve been abandoned for Old Testament justice. Witch burning could be making a comeback for all I knew.

“If you’re pushing on to New Jerusalem, I’d be happy to go with you, Rebecca,” Martin said, looking at my face—which was plastered with sweat despite the air’s chilliness. “It’s getting dark soon, and… well, you’ve seen the map. It’s not exactly safe out here.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I wiped my face with my sleeve.

“To be honest, though… maybe you shouldn’t go back. There are safer places to the east, along the southern shore. At least those areas haven’t been attacked yet. I’ve got an extra room in the cabin; you could spend the night, and tomorrow I’ll take you there. What do you think?” The edge of his lips twitched into a smile despite his wrinkled brow.

I rubbed my thumb’s cuticle against the rough grip of my gun—returned to me by the Indian guards—as I considered Martin’s offer. Silly
fantasies flashed into my mind of the two of us living in his charming little cabin like exiles forced to live on the fringes of society. I looked into Martin’s large, dark eyes. They sparkled as the sun’s golden rays struck them, turning almost hazel… the color of Karla’s eyes.

“Thanks for the offer, Martin, but I’ve got something important I need to deal with in town.”

I couldn’t leave Karla behind. The fallout of Tommy’s murder was bound to reach her, being so close to me during our time in New Jerusalem. Besides, I might be able to persuade her to leave town once I explained just how messed up things were and how vulnerable New Jerusalem really was.

“I might drop by for a visit some other time, though,” I said, giving Martin a sideways glance.

“I’ll hold you to that.” A smile spread across his ruggedly handsome face.

***

A full moon hung high in the sky by the time we reached New Jerusalem. Apart from the drumming of our boots on the pavement and the wind blowing through the trees, a few scattered gunshots could be heard along the way, coming from the west. The town was too silent for the distant firing to be due to a demonic attack, and its dark streets were deserted, so I wondered if the raiders were making a move on the military’s perimeter—maybe testing its strength.

Fuzzy beams of yellow light swept the ground around the outskirts of New Jerusalem. The militia must’ve set up a night watch around town after the previous night’s attack.

“I’m heading back now, Rebecca,” Martin said, halting his march.

“Oh, okay. Hey, thanks a bunch for, you know… escorting me.” I looked into his eyes. Soothing as the sight was, my gut felt no less empty and cold with dread at my return to New Jerusalem. “By the way, could you hold onto this for me?” My hand shook as I handed Martin my gun. “The guy I shot… well, it was one of the local kids. I’m pretty sure they won’t let me keep it.”

“I see. Sure, I’ll keep it safe for you.” Martin took my gun and looked in the direction of the town for a few seconds and then back at me. “It’s not too late, you know. We can still go back.”

I sighed, closing my eyes, and shook my head. “No. My friend—Karla—she’s still in there, and… well, I’ve got to make sure she’s okay.” I tried to smile.

Martin smiled back, his gesture equally unconvincing. “I understand.” His face suddenly turned serious. “Listen, Rebecca, if they ask where you’ve been, just tell them you got lost, okay? It’d be best if you didn’t mention me or what happened at the airport.”

“Sure, yeah. Don’t worry—I won’t make any trouble for you.” I stared at my boots.

“I’m more concerned about you spreading tales of the scary Indian guards who are sitting on top of a million gallons of jet fuel.” Martin snickered. “You’ve seen their weaponry. Raiding their camp would be a cakewalk.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I took a step toward him. Another deep sigh left my chest. “Well, I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you soon.” Martin held out his hand for a handshake.

I didn’t take it, closing the gap between us in a stride and wrapping my arms around him instead. His hands caressed my back, but his touch felt light—restrained. The smell of deer blood had worn off but had been replaced by the dizzying smell of stale sweat. I could only imagine what I smelled like, so I didn’t comment on it.

“Thanks again.” I took a step back.

“My pleasure. It was fun.” Martin disappeared into the night, and I turned back toward New Jerusalem. After taking in a lungful of the cold night air, I crossed myself and marched forward with my hands in the air, fearing one of the sentries would be a scared kid, eager to fire at anything that moved. A minute later, a guard’s flashlight swept over me.

“Hey! You there, stop! Put your hands where I can see them!” the guard screamed, his voice young, almost whiny. Blinded by his flashlight, I raised my hands even higher. Two sets of feet stomped toward me. Once they reached me, the first guard finally lowered his flashlight. The skinny, pimple-faced guy’s appearance fit his voice.

An older man stood beside him, about half a head taller. A greying beard had begun to sprout on his careworn face. He cradled an assault rifle under his arm, aimed at me. “Okay, you’re going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing out here.”

The skinny guy raised his flashlight back to my face. It was like an interrogation scene from a police drama. I squeezed my eyes shut, and fortunately, the older man turned the light away.

“My name’s Rebecca Stirling. I’m staying with some medical assistants in town. I went out this morning to look for supplies, but we had… problems, and I ended up getting lost.” I struggled to maintain eye contact with the man.

The young guy leaned toward my interrogator’s ear, staring at me as he whispered. His pimpled skin looked deathly pale under the moon’s white light.

The man nodded, his piercing brown eyes fixed on my face, and then glanced at my empty holster. “Where’s your firearm?”

“I tossed it. After the… accident. I don’t remember where, exactly.” I slowly lowered my arms—which had begun to feel sore. The guards didn’t object.

“We’ll need you to come with us, Rebecca.” The man stepped aside, clearing a space for me in between them.

“Go where?” I asked, my feet firmly rooted on the ground. The guards knew who I was and probably what I’d done. Their cool demeanor only made me more anxious, like a helpless doe shivering in place as a pack of wolves circled around her, waiting for the right time to strike.

“Town hall. Mayor Gleason would like to have a word with you.”

I recalled the dark-suited man at the stage during the service for the victims of the demonic attack. The fact that the mayor was involved in the affair helped me breathe easier as the man surely would’ve been interested in maintaining the laws and regulations that had given him his authority. The odds of receiving a sound beating at the hands of an angry mob, followed by a shot on the back of the head, seemed a little more remote—as long as the guard wasn’t just lying to walk me into a trap, of course.