How many bullets left?
Her fingers found the revolver’s cylinder release latch and she pushed the cylinder out.
One round left—
She closed the cylinder and staggered to her feet, her breathing laboured. She moved towards the prisoner block and a single shot rang out from the camper van’s door. Mercy’s head snapped up, her finger poised on the Colt’s trigger.
Shooter in the doorway—
A man staggered out from the camper van. He was wearing militia uniform with shoulder markings. He straightened up and waved his pistol at Mercy.
An officer—
“You… bitch, who are you? How did you—?” the man roared, his voice slurred.
Drunk—
Mercy brought her gun up and took aim, “The name’s Dawes, you loser.” She squeezed the trigger, her last round slammed into the door frame beside the man’s head.
The militia officer stared at her, unflinching. He licked his lips, “That all you got left bitch? Well, wrap your head around this—”
He fired twice, Mercy felt a searing pain in her right shoulder. She dropped her gun and fell to the ground.
Oh—
A single shot rang out from across the compound and the officer’s skull burst open. He crumpled to the ground, his body twitching for a few seconds. Mercy turned to see Barnes standing beside the prisoner’s block, he lowered his assault rifle.
I’m hit—
Mercy brought her hand up to her right shoulder. Her fingers came away slick with blood. She tried to move her arm and winced.
I’m hit, arm’s useless—
She looked down at her shoulder. Her sleeve was shredded, she explored the wound with her fingers.
Hurts like hell… but it looks superficial. Pressure, put pressure on it—
Mercy looked around and reached down to take the bandana from the dead militia woman. She pressed it onto her wound and held it there. She turned to see Barnes wave from the prisoner block.
“You OK?” Barnes shouted.
He took the shot. A sniper to the end, Barnes. I’m all out. You though… that’s the forty percent rule right there—
Mercy nodded at Barnes, “Yeah, the bastard just nicked my shoulder. How are you guys doing over there?”
Barnes raised his hand and shouted “Keys, we need keys to get the prisoners out.”
Mercy went to the camper van, she picked up the officer’s CZ P-10 C pistol and searched his body and found a set of keys attached to his belt.
Has to be one of these—
She walked over to Barnes and handed him the keys. Two minutes later the prisoners’ block was open. The prisoners were chained to each other and to bolts set in the concrete floor. The room smelt of fear, sweat and human waste. A thick cloud of flies buzzed in the air.
Christ almighty—
Mercy brought a hand to her mouth. Bile rose in her throat, she forced it back down. She looked up and down the rows of frightened faces.
Men, women and children. There must be thirty or forty people in here. Poor bastards. Why the fuck do people do this shit to each other? Over and over again, I’m just sick of it—
Barnes bent down and fumbled with the keys. He succeeded in opening the first lock and pulled the restraining chain from the prisoners’ leg irons. They started struggling to their feet.
Mercy coughed then spoke out loud, “OK everyone, we’re here to help you. But we need your cooperation. There’s only three of us, there’s more help on the way but first there’ll be militia from the bridge to deal with. Free yourselves and find a weapon, there’s guns lying around outside over by the guard house. Search the caravan and the camper van, you may find weapons there too. We’re going to have to keep the main gates locked until our people arrive. Once you’ve found a weapon join us at the gate and be ready to fight—”
I hope that sounded convincing. Those militia bastards are going to get here before our guys do. And that means a shitload of trouble—
Barnes cradled his M4 carbine, “We’ve gotta hold that gate—”
I feel wasted Barnes. I guess by your reckoning I must have sixty percent left in the tank—
Mercy forced herself to move, “Yeah, let’s go—”
Chapter 37
Damage
“So we’ve got heavy duty locks on the gate and concrete Jersey barriers out front… at least that’s something,” Barnes pointed out.
“Yeah, but a couple of slug rounds will bust those padlocks open, we’ve got to play the long game, play for time. Shit, look over there, see those lights coming—” Mercy said, alarm in her voice. She pointed through the gates.
“That’ll be the militia coming to check on the compound, they’re on horses, they’ve got head torches, looks like six of them. I’ll take position behind the palisade. See if you can talk them down, with a bit of luck they might think it’s a failed prisoners’ revolt,” Barnes said. He climbed up the ladder to the palisade with his assault rifle and the shotgun.
Mercy gritted her teeth.
Every second you can delay them counts. Don’t open the gate—
An older woman, a middle-aged man and a teenage girl shuffled up beside Mercy. The man held a captured militia pistol. He stared through the gates at the approaching riders.
Why are these people still in their leg irons—?
“They’re coming for us, ain’t they? They’ll kill us for this, for what you’ve done here,” the man nodded, his voice flat. “Well, I’ll fight them for what they’ve done to us here,” he staggered to the gate and pushed the pistol out through the bars. He squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
What the fuck—?
Mercy ran up to the man, she forced his gun down and spotted the safety switch was on.
“No, no,” Mercy said, “not yet… wait, we’ve got to delay them. Leave the talking to me. Go, hide over there, behind the wall, take your family away from the gates—”
Shit, he’s not right in the head. There’s nothing I can do about it now—
A barefoot boy ran over from the guard house, holding a box in his hands. Mercy squinted at him, then peered into the box.
Grenades,
