Mercy saw a sign for a supermarket. She checked her map, then her watch; 8:27 am.
5th Street Southwest still. It seems to go on forever. No… we’re OK, we’ll be at the Interstate soon—
The radio crackled in her earpiece, its red LED light flashing. Barnes’s voice came through loud and clear, “This is B-man calling M for Mandy, come in Mandy—”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, we never agreed on call signs. Well, I guess I’m M for Mandy… it’s just as well the others can’t hear, they’d have hysterics—
Mercy spoke into her mouthpiece, “Acknowledged B-man, receiving you. What’s your status? Over—”
Crackling, static, then, “Yeah, all good. Packages on board, ready to go, should be in position over delivery area in two zero mikes. Over—”
Twenty minutes… Jesus Barnes, less of the military speak—
Mercy checked her watch and glanced at the map again to make sure. “Negative B-man, make that three zero min— I mean three zero mikes. Over—”
More static then, “Copy that. Understood. Three zero mikes. Hurry up and wait. Over—”
Hurry up and wait—?
“Acknowledged B-man. Out—” Mercy replied, her mind racing. She set the timer on her watch, counting down thirty minutes.
Rose sidled up to Mercy, “All good?”
Mercy nodded, “Yeah, sounds as if Barnes has his end ready. It kicks off in half an hour. We’re doing OK, let’s deliver this lot on time—”
Mercy looked back at the seething mass of undead that had gathered behind them.
“That sure is one hell of a horde of misery—” Mercy said.
“Yeah, the NSA militia are just gonna have to embrace the suck,” Rose answered.
Mercy sighed.
Not you too Rose, dealing with Barnes’s military-speak is hard enough. Embrace the suck… actually, that’s not bad—
“Yeah Rose, let’s hope—” Mercy said, quickening her pace.
Chapter 30
Silver Flame
OK Barnes, your thirty minutes is up, where are you?
Mercy hid in the trees across the road from Albemarle-Charlottesville Regional Jail. She scanned the sky, her whole body tense.
Horde, check. Interstate, check. Prison, check. Biplane, no show—
Annalise had turned the ghetto blaster off. They were sheltering in the trees, surrounded by thousands of shuffling tropes. Some had spilled out of the trees onto the interstate and were wandering aimlessly along the outer prison fence. Mercy could see the scores of tropes the NSA militia had chained to the perimeter fence as a deterrent to intruders.
The outer and inner prison gates were clearly visible from Mercy’s vantage point. The sky was an azure blue with a scattering of high clouds in the west. Mercy gripped her silenced Glock 17, conscious of the sweat trickling down her back. She rubbed her neck and checked her watch.
He’s ten minutes la—
The growl of an engine interrupted Mercy’s train of thought, she searched the sky. A yellow speck appeared from the north, she brought the binoculars to her eyes and adjusted the focus. Relief washed over her.
“It’s him,” Mercy whispered to Rose. “Get ready, pass it on—”
The biplane grew bigger, its NSA markings clearly visible on the fuselage and wings.
Will he do a fly-by to get his bearings or will he attack straight away?
The biplane swooped low and fast over the trees and the interstate. Barnes was leaning out of the co-pilot’s cockpit, a finned bomb in each hand. Mercy waved the others forwards and yelled at the milling tropes, the others joined in but their voices were obliterated by two explosions.
Go, go, go—
The horde, enlivened by the sound and activity, surged through the trees onto the interstate. They spilled out over the slip road and down the approach road to the prison. A dust cloud hung over the site of the first explosion. Mercy strained to see beyond the rows of tropes that had lurched ahead of her.
Did Barnes hit the outer gates—?
Confusion. Shouts from the prison roof. A doleful siren rising in the air. The dust cloud thinning.
Sweet Jesus, yes, he’s blasted the outer gates—
The trope horde pushed and lurched its way towards the shrieking prison siren. The militia men on the jail roof were pointing at the sky. Mercy looked past the fallen outer gates, the dust had settled. Her shoulders slumped.
Shit, the inner gates are still standing—
Mercy struggled to stay upright against the tide of undead bodies pressing in from all sides. Rose and Tawny were on her right.
Shit, where’s Flynn and Annalise?
“Over here. On me. Stick close, don’t get separated,” Mercy yelled.
A hand tugged at Mercy’s elbow, she turned to see Annalise with Flynn not far behind.
Thank Christ—
The biplane flashed overhead, its engine roaring. Automatic gunfire erupted from the prison roof and the guard tower behind the inner gates. The plane’s engine stuttered and a plume of thick smoke erupted from the cockpit. The plane dipped then recovered, just clearing the inner gates.
Oh—
Two bombs dropped from the biplane, landing behind the inner gates. The guard tower windows shattered outwards, spraying the courtyard. Shrapnel sliced through the first few ranks of the horde, shredding flesh and bone. Some tropes fell to the ground, most staggered forwards, towards the smoke and flames. The horde continued its inexorable advance into the prison grounds. Mercy looked right and left trying to spot the others.
One, two, three… four. Thank goodness we were shielded by the front ranks. Where’s the plane? Did they make it?—
Mercy looked up at the sky.
I don’t see them—
She turned her attention to the inner gates.
The gates are damaged but they’re not down, goddammit—
Two militia men appeared in the guard tower and levelled an M249 light machine gun at the horde.
Jesus, they’re going to—
The machine gun opened up on the horde’s front rows. Men appeared at the lower section of the guard tower and began pulling a dumpster towards the listing gates.
They’re trying to shore it up—
Bullets ripped through the heaving mass of undead tropes, scoring dozens of headshots. The first two ranks fell to the ground but were replaced almost immediately by those behind.
Shit, we’re getting closer to the machine gun—
The militia men
