“Barnes you get the rifle and the shotgun. Listen guys, stay here don’t move, it’s just me in here. I’m all on my own. This is not going to be easy. I’m going to have to figure something out. Finish the water and lie low, check your weapons and be ready. I’m going to have a look around—”
Mercy crept over to the camper van and listened to the sounds coming from the guards’ building. The cooking smell had dissipated and all was quiet. She checked her watch; 12:07 am.
OK guys, time to settle down for the night—
She was about to move when the door to the building opened and an armed man stepped out. He stretched then belched then wandered over to the nearest palisade ladder. Mercy watched him from her concealed spot.
Changing of the guard—
He stopped at the top of the ladder, lit a cigarette then called out, “Drake… I’m on, you can turn in now—”
Shit, he’s calling to the other guard. Should I answer? No, just leave it… he doesn’t seem too bothered. There’s at least two ladders down from the wall so it’s not as if they have to meet each other to hand over—
Mercy waited until the militia man had passed from view on the walkway behind the guard house, then she crept forwards to the side of the porch, listening. Candlelight spilled out from inside the house.
Keep it quiet, get a closer look through the window—
Mercy crept up the steps onto the porch and picked her way through fallen chairs and around an outdoor table. A barbeque with a small propane tank stood beside the front right window. She checked its pressure gauge.
It’s reading full, that could come in useful—
She peered through the window’s frayed insect mesh. A table and chairs were visible. A man was sitting on a winged chair in front of a wood stove. A shotgun lay across his lap and a liquor bottle stood on the floorboards at his feet.
He looks asleep. This window’s open, it’s just the insect screen… maybe I could pry it off with my knife and lift the gas bottle through. There’s probably more than ten guys in this building. I’ll need maximum chaos, maximum mayhem. What else is out here—?
Mercy crept over to the far side of the porch and found a discarded toilet bowl, a tool box and a roll of barbed wire.
OK, the wire I can use for a grenade trap—
Footsteps on floorboards.
Shit—
Mercy pulled back into the shadows. The front door opened and a man stepped out reaching for his fly. He stopped on the top step and unzipped his trousers.
A chair scraped inside and a slurred voice rang out, “Barnabas, close the fucking door for Chrissakes—”
The man swore and turned around. His eyes widened as he registered Mercy crouching in the shadows. She squeezed the silenced Glock’s trigger once, her round entered the man’s chest shredding his heart. He crumpled to the ground and sprawled down the steps.
Shit, shit, shit—
Mercy held her Glock 17 at the ready and stepped over to the open front door. The man at the wood stove was reaching for the liquor bottle, his back to her. She raised her pistol and took aim.
No, I’m not ready yet—
She closed the door and listened.
Nothing—
Mercy looked out across the compound, towards the wall.
The guard up on the palisade? We’re good… hopefully his eyes are on the outside—
She cut a length of barbed wire, using wire cutters from the tool box. She set up a trip wire attached to a grenade in front of the door.
They’ll come out from the front and back of the building when the shit hits the fan—
Mercy returned to the propane tank and the window. Using her knife she cut the frayed insect screen away from the open window. Next she turned off the gas valve and removed the tank from the grill. She looked through the window, checking on the militia man inside. He was snoring softly in his chair, the whiskey bottle in his hand.
Good, stay exactly like that for a couple minutes longer—
Mercy removed the regulator and lifted the propane cylinder through the window, placing it on the floor inside. She reached in and opened the valve then pulled herself back outside.
Maximum chaos, that’s the only way out of here—
She started counting, aware of the propane cylinder’s soft hiss inside the room.
Twenty four, twenty five—
Mercy stood up, pulled the pin from her second grenade and lobbed it in through the open window. She threw herself over the side of the porch, landing behind an old sofa and a discarded mattress. A second later a huge explosion ripped through the building. Sheets of flame burst through the windows. The front door was ripped from its hinges and thrown half way across the compound.
Christ—
Mercy ducked low and let the flaming debris settle around her. Her ears rang, she reached up to touch them. Her right hand came away glistening with blood.
Should’ve covered my ears, goddammit—
The screams started, she looked up and saw four men pile out of the front door, their clothes on fire. The lead man tripped on the barbed wire and the second grenade went off, sending shrapnel into flesh and bone. Mercy looked up, more muffled screams came from the rear of the building. Movement caught her eye on the far side of the compound, she turned to look. A man and woman were emerging from the caravan near the prisoners’ building.
Shit, I should’ve known there’d be someone in there. They’ve got guns—
Another two men came stumbling out of the burning building and staggered down the porch steps onto the ground outside. They rolled in the dirt desperately trying to put out their burning clothes. The couple from the caravan ran over to them, the man took off his jacket and used it to smother the flames on one of the writhing men.
Mercy stepped up, her Glock 17 raised. The woman saw her and brought her rifle up.
