Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) (18 page)

We walked for about fifteen minutes through New Jerusalem’s deserted streets. The guards kept a few steps behind me, the pimpled-faced guy aiming the flashlight on the road, as they led me through the northern part of town—an area I hadn’t explored during my brief stay there. I strained to hear signs of people gathered nearby, but all I heard was our footsteps, my beating heart, and the faint, metallic clinking of the older guard’s assault rifle.

I sighed as a colonial-style building came into view, featuring exposed red brick, a church-like tower, and Greek columns at the entrance. The guard hadn’t lied—they’d taken me to town hall.

A white, wooden fence hastily erected in front of the building caught my eye. Its flimsiness suggested it wasn't meant for protection, and as we walked closer I noticed messages written in black pen across the boards. Nicknames, drawings, and addresses—all scribbled in distinct types of handwriting—accompanied each message. Refugees' prayers. I stopped in my tracks and swept my gaze around the board, looking for my mother’s neat handwriting or my dad’s careless scribble.

“You can write something down if you want,” the pimple-faced guard said, aiming his flashlight at a thick black pen hanging from the fence by a piece of string.

I took the marker, thinking of a new message for my parents, when a strange hesitation came over me—as if writing down their names would mean I’d never see them again. I dropped the marker.

“Sorry, but… have you guys heard anything from the city?” I asked, the red pins covering it on Mr. Raj’s map still vivid in my mind.

The older guard cleared his throat before the younger one could answer. “No, not really. We’re starting to get some information by radio, but things are still hazy over there.” The man rubbed his lower lip with the tip of his thumb. “I’m sure the city will be cleansed of those monsters soon, though.” The bleakness of reality showed clearly in the deepening wrinkles of his face.

“Oh, good. Thanks.”

We resumed walking to the town hall. Six guards had been posted by the entrance. The guards who’d brought me there explained the situation to their peers and left.

One of the female guards at the town hall—a stocky woman wearing a frilly beige sweater with khaki cargo pants—marched up to me. “Lift your arms.” I’d barely done so when she patted me down—thoroughly. My face flushed. I wondered if this was the standard procedure for everyone visiting town hall or if they just were extra careful with me… the murderer. “Follow me,” she commanded.

I marched after her, feeling my way through the twisting halls as only the moonlight streaming from the windows lit the building. My boots constantly banged against the various crates lining the walls, which were probably filled with supplies. The woman had no problem navigating the narrow corridors, and we soon got to a set of open double doors leading to a reception room at the back of the building.

A warm orange glow came from inside, courtesy of the electric lamps scattered around the room—all of them connected to a small portable generator rumbling in the corner. The receptionist, a young brunette in her early thirties, stood behind an ornate wooden desk in the opposite corner, facing away from us, as she rummaged inside a filing cabinet. Although professionally cut, her dark skirt suit seemed a size too small.

“In you go.” The guard stayed by the entrance, partly concealed in the shadows.

I stepped into the room’s warm glow. Not wanting to disturb the receptionist, I took a peek inside the spacious office attached to the room, where the mayor was working behind a wall of stacked papers. Although just a few silver streaks tinged the man’s black hair, his face already showed some wrinkles, especially around his mouth as he dragged on a cigarette. I bit my lip when I noticed his black suit and tie. The mayor must’ve made an appearance at Tommy’s wake.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked, startling me.

“Uh, yeah. My name’s Rebecca Stirling. I was told the mayor wanted to see me.”

She fluttered her long eyelashes as she glanced at the entrance, where the guard still stood, watching us.

“Yes, of course.” The receptionist placed a light hand on my shoulder as she pointed to a cream-colored couch by the wall. “Please take a seat over there; I’ll see if the mayor’s ready for you.” She smiled politely as she walked to the office.

A painful tingling shot through my body as I melted into the surprisingly comfortable couch—every single one of my joints was sore after marching across the island all day long. I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, wondering whether they’d bring in Mark and the other boys for the meeting. The fact that the boys hadn’t shot at me as I fled was slightly reassuring, but Danny wouldn’t let his brother’s death slide. If he managed to convince the others to testify against me, well… I’d certainly regret coming back to New Jerusalem.

“So it was you, then. You killed Thomas,” the guard suddenly said, taking a few steps into the light. Her hand rested casually on the grip of her holstered gun. “He was a very sweet boy.”

“It was an accident,” I said, struggling not to let my voice waver.

She gave me a scoffing look. Fortunately, the receptionist returned before the guard could elaborate on her disbelief.

“I’m afraid he’s still busy right now. He shouldn’t be long, though,” the receptionist said.

“Oh, okay. I’ll wait,” I looked back to the guard. She was gone.

“Would you like some coffee or cake? You probably haven’t eaten since… since the accident, right?” She gave a pained smile.

Coffee stains your teeth, Rebecca. Cakes and sweets are just empty calories.

My mother’s words echoed in my muddled head.

“Coffee would be great, thank you,” I said, straddling the line between cheerful and desperate. “Cake would be awesome too. I’m starving.”

The receptionist took a pot of brewing coffee connected to the generator and filled up a dainty porcelain cup. She cut a slice of the pound cake next to the pot, as well, and brought it over to me. I wanted to put both things on the coffee table in front of the couch, but it was carpeted with documents, so I kept the cake on my lap as I awkwardly held the boiling-hot cup of aromatic brew by its slender handle.

“I can’t say the cake’s fresh, but it still tastes pretty good.” The receptionist smiled and went back to her work. A bite proved she wasn't lying—at least not about the dry, sugary cake being old—so I did the only thing you can do with lousy pastry and dipped it into the bitter coffee.

The receptionist took furtive glances at me every so often, her youthful brow creased. At first I thought she was distressed at my disrespect for her precious pound cake, but the longer I waited, the more I feared she knew exactly what was in store for me and preferred to have me sitting there like an idiot, sipping coffee and nibbling on her crappy cake, instead of risking trouble by letting her apprehension show. The thought of just bolting out the door and getting out of town started to form in my head when Brother Tim, the town’s pastor, strolled into the room… with Amy trailing a few steps behind him.

“Rebecca! Oh, thank God.” She rushed past Brother Tim and lunged at me with a hug. I cursed as a long stream of coffee landed on the carpet as well as on the edges of her white summer dress. “When I heard what happened, I just… I just…” She sighed, clutching her chest. “But the Lord has brought you back to us in one piece, and that’s all that matters.” Amy sat beside me—scowling as she noticed the stain on her dress.

I placed the cup on the carpet. “What are you doing here, Amy?”

“Oh, one of the security volunteers went to see Pastor Tim straight after dropping you off.” Amy gazed at Brother Tim—her dark-green eyes sparkling with emotion—as the pastor spoke with the mayor’s receptionist, the easy smile on his face as casual as his khaki pants and short-sleeved white shirt.

“What, and he went over to get you?”

Amy snapped out of her trance. “No, I’m working for him now.” She shook my arm with excitement. “Some of the girls from laundry and I managed to talk to him after today’s sermon, and he said he needed some help organizing everything—you know, spreading the Good News—so, basically, now we’re staying at his old church on Main Street.”

Is this guy building a harem or something?

As I grabbed Amy’s hand to ask more about her new living arrangements, Brother Tim strode toward us—the receptionist disappearing into the mayor’s office. Instead of taking the padded armchair next to the couch, he sat beside me, leaving me sandwiched between him and Amy. The room suddenly became suffocating.

“Hi, I’m Pastor Tim.” He offered me his hand. I slowly reached for it. His long, slender fingers wrapped around my hand, his touch limp and smooth like seaweed. “Amy’s been telling me a lot about you, Rebecca.” I quickly pulled back my hand and looked at Amy, who nodded enthusiastically. I smiled, even though I was gritting my teeth. He smiled back. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“I hope so,” I said, pressing myself against Amy. He leaned toward me and placed a hand on my shoulder, his neat eyebrows arched over light-blue eyes. “How are you holding up? I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

“Yeah, I… I can’t stop thinking about what happened. It was just so terrible,” I said, even if the only thing on my mind was the thirty-something man looming over me as though he wanted to get into my pants rather than comfort me.

“I want you to know that my door is always open if you need to talk to someone about it, no matter how busy I may appear to be.” He tried to grab my hand again.

I folded my arms over my queasy stomach. “Thank you, but I was thinking of visiting church tomorrow. I feel like confession would do me some good.” I hoped that would dissuade the evangelical pastor. Amy patted my back, and I seized the chance to lean closer to her.

“Of course. Forgive me for imposing. I hope you don’t believe I’m taking advantage of your troubles to try and make you join my flock.” He chuckled as he rubbed my arm. The pound cake I’d just eaten tried to make its way up my throat.

“You can come in now,” the receptionist said, looking Brother Tim straight in the eye and squinting. Brother Tim stood up and helped me to my feet. I casually wiped my palm on my jeans and walked behind him into the mayor’s office.

“Good luck,” Amy said, clasping her hands.

“Thanks.”

I’m gonna need it.

Mayor Gleason walked around his large desk to greet us. Thin red veins crisscrossed his eyes; the penetrating stench of tobacco trailed behind him.

“I hope Sally offered you something while you waited. You wouldn’t believe all the juggling it takes to keep this town running.” He waved us toward the two sumptuous leather chairs in front of his antique desk. A similarly ancient-looking bureau stood behind the desk, flanked by the American flag and the town flag. The bureau was stacked with family photos. Three men of different ages appeared in them, all with the same closely cropped black hair. A woman with long, straight hair appeared in the older photographs but was conspicuously absent from the rest. Exquisitely framed pictures of the mayor with important-looking people lined the walls.

“Don’t lose faith, James. Ask the Lord for strength to keep on with your excellent work,” Brother Tim said as he pulled back my chair for me.

“The Lord shall provide, eh?” The mayor took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a long drag as he sat down.

“You’ll have to forgive Mayor Gleason. I’ve tried to get him to quit that dumb and dirty habit, but the Lord hasn’t shown him the light yet,” the pastor said as he sat beside me.

“The time is short anyway, isn’t it, Pastor?” The mayor sighed.

“You have no idea.” Brother Tim smiled. Mayor Gleason froze for a second. He opened his mouth as if to respond but took another drag from his cigarette instead.

“Let’s get to the matter at hand.” The mayor turned toward me. “Why don’t you tell me your version of what happened today, young lady?”

The mayor’s demeanor seemed relaxed, but his rough voice—probably from all that smoking—unsettled me. I rubbed my lips as I struggled to remember the afternoon’s events. It already seemed as if it’d happened to someone else, as if the disastrous scavenging run had been a movie I’d seen.

“Well… the boys—Mark, Vincent, Danny and… and Tommy—they asked me to go with them to get supplies from out of town.” I started fiddling with my hands as my throat tightened. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I went with them. I really wanted to help out, you know? Everything was going fine, until…” I rubbed off the sweat trickling down my forehead with my sleeve, breathing deep as I thought of how to relate the next part of my wretched tale. “Until, well… one of the boys’ pranks got out of hand, and I ended up hitting Tommy with a… a gas can.” I indicated its size with my hands. The mayor raised an eyebrow. “Tommy got mad, and he tried to shoot me. I mean, he actually aimed his gun at me, so I… well, I defended myself.”

My voice nearly broke at the end. I leaned back on the chair, the leather creaking, and rubbed my face with shaking hands. Tears welled up in my eyes as my breathing became labored. I hadn't expected to be so affected just by describing what had happened.

“Obviously, Rebecca shouldn’t have been there in the first place, but this has been just an unfortunate accident, mayor.” Brother Tim offered me a white, monogrammed handkerchief. I took it and wiped my tears away. Suddenly, the pastor showing up didn’t seem so terrible after all.

“Yes, well… I’m afraid it’s not so simple, Pastor,” the mayor said, putting out his cigarette on a solid glass ashtray. He opened a manila folder on his desk. “Her description of the events doesn’t quite match with what some of the boys have said.”

“You do realize that Danny’s Tommy’s brother, don’t you?” I asked, squeezing the handkerchief in my fist. The mayor closed the folder, frowning at me. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. “He’s not… he’s not exactly a reliable witness. He blamed me for what happened from the start.”

“We’ve known these boys all their lives, mayor,” Brother Tim said. “At the risk of sounding insensitive, I must say that in all likelihood, Tommy and the others share some of the blame for the accident.”

“Perhaps, but—”

“I believe I warned you that something like this was bound to happen.” Brother Tim leaned closer to the mayor, placing a hand on his desk. “Leaving a vital operation such as retrieving supplies from out of town in the hands of inexperienced leaders was a mistake. You’ve allowed me to handle the refugee issue, and I believe that, for the most part, my people have done a good job.” He glanced at me. I could only stare, an icy feeling spreading from my gut as I realized Brother Tim was directly responsible for New Jerusalem’s “Christians only” policy.

“We’ve got to take a more proactive approach to things, mayor,” Brother Tim continued. “This town needs decisive leadership, now more than ever.”

The mayor seemed to shrink with weariness, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Brother Tim turned his face to me with the hint of a smile. My chest felt heavy under his gaze. The same powerful aura that I'd felt during his sermon at the football field came off him now.

“I guess… I guess we should discuss that further some other time, Pastor,” Mayor Gleason said, sitting up. He opened his folder again. “Now, about today’s tragedy… I’m willing to believe that it all really was an accident, a childish prank that went too far.” The mayor flipped through the handwritten pages inside the folder. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you ditched your job assignment and lied to those boys in order to go out with them looking for supplies. There’s also the matter of the gun you carried, which you claimed to have gotten from a man called Henry Forcellati.”

“A very troubled man.” The pastor frowned.

“So I’ve heard, but he denies giving you that gun.” The mayor rubbed his temple. “The problem is that many of our townsfolk claim they’ve been victims of burglary. Some even say that weapons have gone missing from their homes—guns, just like the one you carried. As you probably realize, it’s important for us to establish exactly how you came across the gun that led to the death one of our boys. Did you really get the gun from Mr. Forcellati, Rebecca?”

I sucked in my lips, regretting lying about how I'd got my gun. If told the truth now—that I pretty much just picked it up from the street during the demonic attack—it would definitely sound a little too convenient, but what else could I say?

Brother Tim grabbed my arm, his cold touch interrupting my thoughts. “Don’t be afraid, Rebecca. That man is under custody; he can’t hurt you. If Mr. Forcellati… did something to you, in exchange for the gun, then now is the time to tell us,” the pastor said, nodding slowly.

“Please let her speak, Pastor. What happened, Rebecca?” Mayor Gleason leaned over his desk.

I choked up. The seconds sped by as both men stared at me. “Well… he didn’t—”

Brother Tim subtly stepped over my boot, his icy stare fixed on my eyes. I looked away, my stomach twisting into a knot.

Oh, God… I’m so sorry, Mr. Forcellati.

“He… he didn’t touch me or anything.” I stared at the papers on the mayor’s desk. “At least not… not
that
way, but… he was being, sort of… I don’t know, suggestive, I guess, and he drank a lot while we”—I tapped my heel on the floor, eager for that dreadful meeting to be over—“well, while he taught me how to shoot. At the yacht club’s parking lot.”

“So he gave you the gun?” the mayor asked. I nodded, my gaze still fixed on his desk. Brother Tim patted my shoulder, and I turned toward him, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“It’s okay, Rebecca. Everything’s going to be okay.” The pastor gave me a tight-lipped smile.

“I think that the best thing for now would be to keep Miss Stirling here in town hall, under protective custody, at least until everything’s cleared up.” The mayor clasped his hands over his desk. I shook my head as I blinked away my tears. All I wanted was to get Karla and leave New Jerusalem for good.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, mayor.” Brother Tim briefly patted my arm. “As a matter of fact, Rebecca and I were just discussing outside about her joining my team, helping me out. Many of her friends in town have joined up already, and I believe it’d be good for her after what she’s been through.” The pastor leaned toward the mayor, his face serious. “Besides, serving the town’s spiritual needs would certainly improve her standing in the eyes of the community and make it easier for everyone to forgive today’s accident.”

“That could work… We could frame it as a rehabilitation scheme of sorts.” Mayor Gleason looked at me with his head tilted, deep in thought. “As long as Rebecca proves she’s turning a new leaf, of course. Are you willing to make a real commitment to Brother Tim’s group, Rebecca?”

I ground my teeth, resisting the urge to scream. Brother Tim had me cornered, asking me to choose between being locked up in town hall or joining his creepy harem.

“Yes, I… I’ll try my best to help the pastor.” I bit my lip—already figuring out how I’d escape from that weird town. Brother Tim got out of his chair. The mayor and I soon followed his lead.

“God willing, everything will turn all right, Rebecca. You’ll see.” The pastor held my hand for a couple of seconds, letting go just before it’d seem inappropriate. He shook hands with Mayor Gleason, and we left the office.

***

Amy dragged me along the town hall’s cluttered corridors, lighting the way with a small flashlight. She gushed about how finding Jesus had changed her life and how great it’d be for us to work together from now on—turning her beaming face toward me and Brother Tim every now and then. I barely listened, wondering if I should’ve asked for a cigarette from Mayor Gleason after the thorough screwing I'd gotten at the meeting.

“Yeah, I think everything’s going to work out just fine.” I shook off Amy’s grasp once we finally made it out of the building. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“It’d be best if you joined your new teammates over at my old church tonight,” Brother Tim said, strolling up to us. “Tommy’s family’s been insisting that you should be punished for what happened today, that you callously murdered that boy over an insult. There are always a few armed volunteers patrolling around my church, so I can guarantee your safety there.”

I bet you can, you sick bastard.

“I guess you’re right, Pastor, but I’d still like to let Karla, a friend”— I smiled at Amy—“know that I made it back safely. I’ve got some things I’d like to pick up from her place, as well.” I thought of the ammo I’d left in Karla’s room, which would be useful once I left town.

“Say hi to Karla for me, okay? I’ll have everything set for you back at the church in the meantime.” Amy hugged me.

“You shouldn’t go alone, though,” Brother Tim said, his voice harsh with suspicion.

“I’ll go with her, Pastor,” the frilly-sweatered guard said with an affable smile. Not a trace of detached coldness remained from when she’d taken me to see the mayor.

“Oh, thank you very much, Silvia.” The pastor shook her hand—no awkward patting for her.

“That really isn’t necessary,” I said, my palms facing the guard. “It’s really close by, and it’ll just take—”

“Don’t worry, little girl; I won’t bite,” Silvia whispered as she marched past me.