Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) (23 page)

Dr. Johnson finished patching up Esha almost two hours after Amy left. All the while, I sat on the floor, staring into space and feeling sorry for Mr. Forcellati… for Danny… for myself. The revolver lay by my side. I couldn’t even look at it without choking up.

“Time to go.” Martin reached down to take my hand. I placed Mr. Forcellati’s revolver in his palm instead.

“It’s yours. I don’t want it.” I got up on my own.

“It’ll be hard to find ammo for this,” Martin said, inspecting the gun. “I’m sure we can trade it for something a little more practical, though.”

The edge of his lips curled into a grin although his eyes remained tired and sad. I made an effort to smile, but my lips shriveled. Martin placed a hand on my arm and caressed it, the warmth of his touch spreading through my body. I took a step closer to him and pressed my forehead against his chest, hungry for more of that comforting sensation. I didn’t have to wait long. His fingers slid down my hair, from the top of my head all the way to the small of my back. I reached around him and grasped a handful of his shirt’s thick, rough fabric. Tightening my embrace, I placed my cheek on his chest. Martin’s heartbeat pounded against my ear.

Karla cleared her throat. The Indian girls stood behind her. They looked around the room—everywhere but at Martin and me—their cheeks glowing red. It seemed like our embrace lasted only a second, but clearly the girls had been standing there for a while.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” Karla said, raising an eyebrow. “I hope you won’t forget our little talk… about nature and stuff.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Lala,” I said, practically shoving Martin away. “Do you think Esha can handle going back home?”

“As long as the trip’s not too rough.” She turned toward Esha. “But you’re welcome to spend the night here, if you want.”

“No. My family must be worried. Thank you very much for all you’ve done for us.” Esha tried—wincing—to bow her head. The younger girls followed her example.

Karla chuckled, stroking the back of her neck. “Oh, don’t mention it.” She turned back to me. “I hope you’ll visit us more often, Becca. Just let me know if you’re expecting someone to barge through the door looking for you, okay?”

“Sure, Lala. I might let a few days pass before I do, though.” I leaned closer to her. “You know, to give people time to forget this little incident. And hey, maybe I’ll show you where I’m staying. I think you’d like it.”

“Sounds great. I’ll have some… protection for you by then,” Karla whispered into my ear, looking at Martin.

“Listen, I’m not—”

Ringing church bells cut my reply short.

“That’s odd,” Karla said, her brow creasing. “It’s way too early for mass.”

We marched across the hospital to the doors. Dr. Johnson stood at the threshold, his hands tucked inside the pockets of his white coat, staring outside.

“What’s going on, Doctor?” Karla asked. A stream of people walked in the street, directed to the church by the security volunteers. A hum of worried chatter flooded over me as I stepped outside.

“I don’t know,” the doctor said. “Must be something important, though.”

“Let’s check it out,” I said, grabbing Karla’s hand while waving at Martin to hurry up.

Karla resisted my pull. “Doctor, do you think I could go take a look?”

“Sure, go ahead. Just let us know what all the fuss is about.” Dr. Johnson went back inside, frowning.

Martin and the girls approached the door. “What’s the matter?” he asked, staring at the string of security volunteers on the sidewalk.

“Some sort of announcement, I guess. We should check it out.”

“No, too risky,” Martin said, stepping back inside. “We should wait for the street to clear up and then leave town while we can.”

“I’ll just go take a peek and hurry back, okay?” I said, inching toward the street. “You watch over Esha and the girls, we’ll be back soon.”

“Hang on, I’m sure we’ll hear all—Rebecca!” Martin called out, but Karla and I had already reached the street. The crowd dragged us toward the church like pebbles in a stream.

***

Over a thousand people had answered the bell’s call in the five minutes it took us to get to the church. The crowd packed the streets surrounding the redbrick building, the buzz of their chatter almost muting the ringing bells. Hundreds of people even climbed onto the nearby rooftops to get a better view of the church’s entrance.

Its solid oak doors were wide open, flanked by large speakers. A solitary podium stood at the top of the church’s steps. All eyes were fixed on it in anticipation of the announcement.

Karla and I shoved our way to the front of the crowd. She crossed herself with difficulty as she walked before the church. Her elbows were pressed against her body by the shuffling sea of sweaty people. I tried to imitate her, but my fingers had barely touched my forehead when Brother Tim walked up to the podium, decked in an impeccable white suit. Mayor Gleason, a Catholic priest, and an Army officer trailed behind him and stood a few feet away. Two members of New Jerusalem’s militia exited the church next, dragging a man along. They made him kneel at the top of the steps, a few feet from the podium.

I made a fist around the cross on my necklace, fighting the urge to throw up.

The man they’d dragged before the crowd was the raider Martin and I had captured that morning.

I couldn’t recognize his face, which now resembled a squished tomato—all swollen and plastered with blood and purple bruises. Only his torn black tank top and soiled camo pants gave him away. The raider opened his mouth and made an animal howl. His teeth were broken and jagged like a rusty hacksaw blade. A bloodied stump thrashed inside his mouth. They’d cut off his tongue.

The crowd gasped. Curses and cries of disbelief rippled through the audience. The guards held the raider’s shoulders as he struggled to escape. Many of the people around me covered their eyes and shook at the sight, crying. The pastor raised his arms and motioned for silence with a scowl on his face. Soon only the raider’s hoarse whimpering could be heard.

“Just a few hours ago, our scouts captured this man,” the pastor said, trembling with rage and pointing his long index finger at the raider. “He is part of the opportunistic marauders who've brought so much suffering to the most vulnerable communities on the island while our military”—the pastor gestured toward the military officer—“focused on defending us from the demonic threat in the city.

“We all know these raiders are guilty of pillage, rape, and murder… but that is not all. This man has confessed that he and his brethren are, as many of us have feared, devil worshippers. This… beast”—the pastor dragged the word as he turned back to the battered, weeping man—“has revealed that the raiders have been acting under the direct orders of the satanic forces infesting the city!”

Another wave of gasping seized the crowd. I clasped my hands over my mouth, staring straight at the raider. Tears streamed down his cheeks, clearing a path through his blood-splattered face. He howled again, shaking his head and stringing together incoherent noises with his severed tongue.

I grabbed Karla’s arm and dragged her deeper into the crowd—out of the pastor’s sight. Cold sweat gathered on my hands as I realized the raider must’ve told Brother Tim all about Martin and me attacking their truck by the highway—and all about revealing the pastor’s secrets to me. I racked my brains, trying to remember if we’d used our names in front of the raider. At the very least, he’d be able to describe us.

Why didn’t I just kill him?

My legs shook. Part of me was eager to rush back to the hospital, get Martin, and leave town, but I had to see how the pastor would deal with this unexpected leak of his evil scheme to keep New Jerusalem supplied.

“Kill him!” a man shouted from a nearby rooftop. His call was echoed throughout the crowd. Even the women who’d been crying just seconds ago now wiped their tears and glared at the raider, clenching their fists as if their fingers were wrapped around his neck. Brother Tim called for silence once more.

“I will not hide the fact that we’ve resorted to extreme measures during this man’s interrogation,” the pastor said in a restrained tone, extending his hand to the raider. “But it has not been in vain. The raiders' assistance against the forces of Satan has not been all that this man has told us about. Once his threats and insults turned into tears, he revealed our enemy’s next move.

“As I speak, thousands of Satan-worshippers are gathering in New York City from all along the east coast.” The pastor waved his finger westward. “Tomorrow night, they plan on launching yet another assault. They believe that this time, they will be able to sweep through the military’s defenses and destroy our town, along with any other God-fearing settlement on the island.”

Hysterical cries swept through the crowd. People looked around, seeking comfort from their neighbors, whose expressions were equally terrified. Many of the people around me shut their eyes and prayed with trembling hands and lips. Karla grabbed my arm, squeezing until it became numb. I pried her fingers off and held her, whispering into her ear.

“We’ll be fine, Lala. I promise you we’ll be fine.”

Brother Tim held a single hand in the air. I rubbed Karla’s back as the panicked audience all turned their eyes back to him and tried to keep silent.

“Don’t lose faith, my dear brothers and sisters in Christ, for the Lord has not abandoned us. The Enemy’s plan will not succeed.” Brother Tim turned to face the mayor and the army officer. “Colonel Patterson—the commanding officer of our military forces on the island—Mayor Gleason, and I have come up with a plan of our own to counter the Enemy’s designs. I cannot make it public, lest there be enemy spies in our midst”—I turned my face away—“but I promise you that as long as we have faith in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, by nightfall tomorrow, New York City will be cleansed of the forces of Satan!”

The audience cheered with ear-shattering cries. Thousands of arms shot to the sky as prayers and cries of “amen” rang out, although many of those cheering still trembled with fear.

Brother Tim nodded at one of the guards holding the raider. The guard drew his handgun and trained it on the raider’s head. I clutched Karla’s hand and plowed through the crowd, heading back to the hospital. The crack of a shot silenced the people’s cheering for a second, but it was soon renewed with even greater passion. People even fired into the air.

Karla turned to look back at the church and stumbled as she covered her face with her free hand. I took a glimpse of the scene as I kept her from falling down. The raider’s blood was creeping down the church’s steps.

The wind rushing into the truck’s cabin stung my eyes, which were still sore from crying after saying goodbye to Karla. At least we'd managed to slip away from New Jerusalem without incident and were now headed toward the Indian settlement to deliver the girls back home. Martin barely touched the accelerator, driving along the grassy median along the highway to spare Esha’s wounded shoulder even more abuse, as I related to him the events at the church.

“Sounds like Brother Tim’s planning to storm the city tomorrow,” Martin said once I finished my account of the pastor’s announcement.

“Yeah. What do you make of that?” I asked, inspecting my new rifle’s mechanism to avoid looking at him.

“Sounds like a terrible plan. You can’t rush such a large operation and hope to keep it a secret. I bet those monsters and their raider friends will just push their attack for tonight, before we’re ready.”

I stirred in my seat.

Unless the pastor orders them not to…

“But what if they don’t?” I wetted my lips before raising my eyes to him. “Do you think we’d have a chance then?” Martin shot a glance at me and sighed.

“Apparently, those creatures can’t stand the sun, so if by some miracle they don’t attack tonight, then the plan might work, I guess. Judging by the raiders we ran into this morning, they’re not much of a threat—at least, not for trained soldiers.” Martin turned his squinted eyes back to me. “You’re not thinking of getting involved, are you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s my home.” I held the rifle against my chest. “And if my parents might still be alive over there, I have to—”

“Don’t be stupid, Rebecca.”

“Hey, who the hell do you think you are?” I shouted, turning on the seat to face him. “You don’t know if my parents are dead, so shut up, okay?” A tear slid down my cheek.

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” Martin placed a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off. “The truth is that this whole thing seems like a trap to me. I get why you’d like to help, but—” He stared at the side mirror for a second and then banged his palm against the steering wheel. “Crap. We’ve got trouble.”

I poked my head out the window. More than fifty assorted vehicles—all with a white cloth tied to their antennas—were catching up to us. “They’re from New Jerusalem,” I said. A knot built up in my throat. I figured Brother Tim had sent them to silence me.

Martin grabbed my hand before I could lay my fingers on my rifle. “Hang on. I don’t think they’re after us.” He steered the truck away from the grass and onto the busted road. He parked the truck and switched on the blinkers. Without air rushing through the cabin, the stench of stale blood rose from the seat. I drew my handgun and shifted the mirror on my side in order to track the approaching vehicles. Their rumbling engines grew louder with every click from the blinkers.

I crossed myself and grabbed my gun with both hands.

The convoy rushed past us without slowing down, honking their horns and waving. Martin honked and waved back. I followed suit. The younger people riding in the back of the pickup trucks screamed something—distorted by their speed—and brandished their weapons.

“What the hell are they doing?” I asked, holstering my gun with an unsteady hand. They had enough guns to kill us a hundred times over if that was what they wanted.

“Tomorrow’s assault,” Martin said, lost in thought as he stared at the shrinking convoy. “They’re probably asking for help from the other settlements but won’t risk doing it by radio.” He gently drove back into the grassy midway. “Not like it’ll make much of a difference anyhow.”

***

It took us almost an hour to reach the Indian settlement at the airport. The road leading to the camp had been recently barricaded with vehicles and scraps from a plane’s fuselage. Its white paint glimmered under the afternoon sun.

“Shit, they’re back! Call the others!” one of the young guards posted at the entrance yelled, racking his shotgun’s slide as he shouldered the weapon.

“Wait, it’s us!” I screamed as Martin hit the brakes. I climbed out of the truck with my hands in the air.

The Indian guy lowered his shotgun once he recognized me—we’d been there a few times already to trade our venison—but didn’t let go of the trigger. Only when the girls walked out from the back of the truck did he sling the shotgun over a shoulder and run to help Esha. The three girls thanked us again and waved goodbye as they walked to one of the nearby hangars.

The other guard at the barricade—the wiry, muscled guy who’d threatened me with his steel club the first time I visited their settlement—tried to pull back a piece of fuselage from the barricade to make room for the truck to pass through, but one of his arms rested in a sling. A dark brown stain on the sling’s grey fabric suggested a gunshot wound. I rushed over to help him clear the barricade.

“Thanks. It’s actually not that heavy, but we just finished closing it after the truck from New Jerusalem left, and my arm’s getting sore,” the guard said as we pulled back the slab of aluminum.

“Wait, people from New Jerusalem have been here?” I asked.

The slim guard wiped his brow, frowning. “Yeah. Don’t know what they wanted though,” he said—although his measured tone suggested otherwise.

Martin drove through the gap in the barricade but stopped next to me and leaned out the window. “Listen, I’ve got to discuss something with the people in charge here. It shouldn’t take long, but could you please check on Mr. and Mrs. Raj in the meantime?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. A forced grin hung on Martin’s face—I’d seen the real item enough times to be able to tell the difference—but I decided to play along, wondering if he knew I was keeping things from him as well.