Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) (2 page)

Thick beads of sweat streamed down my face, and a cool, wet patch built up on the back of my shirt. The mixture of body splash and sweat made me smell like vanilla-scented crap, and all the effort I’d put into looking halfway decent had been wasted. At least I’d made it to school on time for my exam. A flurry of activity could be seen through the large windows of the grey, three-story building, which meant everyone had just started crowding into their classrooms.

The school’s flabby security guard obviously didn’t expect to see any action in the boring, middle-class neighborhood at the edge of Queens, and amused himself by sniffing his fingers as he stood by the metal detector. He did have a policeman complex, though—particularly since he’d been given a gun. I made sure he wouldn’t hold me up on my way to class by limping up to the entrance as if a Rottweiler had mauled my foot. I struggled not to laugh when he held the door open for me.

“Oww… thank you,” I said in between gasps.

“Are you all right? Do you want me to help you get to the nurse’s office?” he asked, his greasy brow furrowed with concern.

“Oh, it’s just a twisted ankle; I’ll get there just fine by myself. Thanks anyways.”

I kept on limping until he finally took his eyes off me, then I raced down the empty hall, whizzing past rows of beige lockers. I took the stairs two at a time to the second floor and jogged over to the classroom of Ms. Greenlee, my math teacher. I took a moment by the door to catch my breath and wipe the sweat off my face before making my entrance.

The door’s dry hinges squeaked as I gently pushed it open. My classmates were already seated but still carried on their morning chatter—probably boasting of how little they’d studied. I found Karla in her usual spot at the front of the class, by the window. She looked up from her notes and shook her head as she took her backpack off the desk besides her. Apart from her, only a few boys noticed my arrival, their wolves’ eyes going over my body as they flashed suggestive grins. Ms. Greenlee had been too busy fiddling with her phone to notice me. The stream of text messages reflecting on her rimless glasses as she furiously typed away, coupled with the scowl on her usually cheerful face, indicated that something was amiss in our young teacher’s life.

As I sat next to Karla, I couldn’t help but feel jealous of her glossy black hair and the freshness of her cinnamon skin. As usual, she’d made an extra effort on her appearance for the exam. She claimed it made her feel more confident, but I suspected that her strict study schedule had a greater impact on her impressive grades.

“For a minute, I thought you’d called in sick or something,” the buxom Latina said, giving me a sideways glance with her hazel eyes.

“You know my mom would rather have me flunk the year before going along with that. Besides, it wouldn’t do me any good to reschedule the exam if I didn’t have my best friend beside me to give me a hand.” I gave her a knowing smile.

She replied with an angry sigh. I suspected she’d rather end our decade-long friendship before involving herself in a cheating scandal.

“I was kidding, Karla. Just don’t make your handwriting so damned loopy, okay?”

Her face softened, and she cracked a smile. She wouldn’t whisper me the answers or anything, but at least I could count on her not covering her exam paper like an inmate guarding his meal. Things were looking up, and my mood improved considerably—at least until I heard Amy Parker’s bored drawl behind me.

“Is it just me, or did someone take the garbage truck to school today? The smell’s giving me a headache.”

I tried to come up with a suitable comeback to her jab, but all I could think of was yanking on her long, blonde hair and ramming my forehead on her perfect little nose. If we’d been in elementary school, I might’ve done just that. Hell, I'd gotten a bit violent with a few boys before I grew up and they mysteriously started acting all friendly toward me. That sort of thing wouldn’t fly anymore, though. I took a deep breath through my gritted teeth and pretended not to have heard anything, even though the subdued giggling from Amy and her entourage felt like knives being buried in my back.

“I think it’s time, Ms. Greenlee,” Karla said, calling the teacher’s attention.

Thanks, Lala.

Ms. Greenlee rested the phone on her desk and looked over at the large clock by the door. Startled, she grabbed the pile of exam sheets and handed them out to those of us seated in the front row. Fighting the urge to crumple them after taking mine, I passed them over my shoulder.

“Oh, God—they’re all sticky,” Amy whispered as she took them, which prompted more giggling from the girls surrounding her.

“Keep that up, and I’m taking your exams away. And I'd better not catch you with anything that isn’t a pen or calculator,” Ms. Greenlee said, her eyes already fixed on her phone again.

I looked at Karla out of the corner of my eye. She had her eyes closed and crossed herself like the devout Catholic she was. I glanced at the silver cross dangling from my neck and felt the temptation to do the same. I decided against it and took a deep breath before attacking the exam instead.

Just as the tip of my pen touched the exam paper, the bright fluorescent lights overhead flickered out. A mixture of cheering and complaints rippled throughout the classroom. Ms. Greenlee strode over to the light switch, mutely cursing her phone’s dark screen along the way, and flicked the switch back and forth a few times. Nothing happened.

“Ms. Greenlee, my calculator’s not working,” one of the girls said.

“Yeah, mine either,” echoed at least ten of my classmates.

I checked mine and found it dead. I turned toward Karla, and judging by her frown after trying her back-up batteries, her calculator still didn’t work.

“This… this must be an EMP or something,” said Tom, a scrawny guy at the back. Although his theory was met with a few nervous chuckles, no one dared challenge it directly. An EMP—electromagnetic pulse—certainly would’ve been able to fry all the electronics in the room, and more.

“Oh, God. Do you think it’s the terrorists?” one of Amy’s friends whispered, barely keeping her panic in check.

“No way. It’s the Chinese. It’s got to be them, the sneaky bastards,” said the handsome guy behind her. The eyes of half the class fell on Jason Okada, who sat by the door. He wasn’t even of Chinese descent, but he sank in his chair under the weight of the accusatory glances.

A loud bang came from outside, followed by squealing tires. Screams rang out not only in our classroom but throughout the entire school. My heart trembled in my chest like a newborn chick, and I held my breath for the few seconds it took me to get over my shock. We all rushed to the window. A large delivery truck had just plowed through a car at the nearby intersection. The streetlights had stopped working. Several people got out of their cars, many of them rushing to the aid of the wrecked car’s driver.

I flipped out my phone, hoping to get some news of what was going on—or at least call my parents—but it was bricked. Karla grabbed my arm with a frigid hand. Her lips trembled slightly, as though she were on the verge of tears. I put my phone away and tapped her hand, trying to push back my fear as I soothed hers.

Ms. Greenlee banged on the whiteboard to get our attention, scaring the hell out of everyone in the process.

“Okay everyone, calm down and take your seats while I—”

Total darkness. In the blink of an eye, the sunlight streaming through the window was snuffed out like a candle. A thousand blood-curling shrieks echoed in the darkness, mixed with the screeching of desks and chairs violently jerked around. Karla and I held each other and crouched against the wall, under the window, screaming at first and then weeping as we ran out of breath.

“What the hell’s going on? I can’t see!” I shouted into her ear.

“Oh God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t…” She broke down into terrified sobs and held me even tighter.

Karla started shaking badly. I shook quite violently myself. After the window beside us shattered, and pieces of broken glass rained down on our heads, it didn’t take long for me to realize the building itself trembled.

One of the guys yelled at the top of his lungs, managing to make himself heard over the terrified screams.

“Get down—it’s a bomb!”

What, a nuclear bomb?

We were all about to die.

I dived under the desk beside us, dragging Karla along with me. Our blinded classmates trampled my legs and kicked my back as they rushed for cover. They grunted and shrieked, running into each other or banging against one of the scattered desks in their frenzied dash.

The tremor became even stronger. The floor bounced up and down, tossing us as if we were on a raft at sea in the middle of a storm. The ceiling tiles loosened and crashed to the floor, over desks, and onto anyone caught in the open. I had to shut my eyes and mouth as the falling tiles kicked up clouds of fine dust. The textbooks lining a tall shelf against the classroom’s back wall fell to the floor with sharp thuds, followed by the bookshelf itself, which triggered a wave of anguished cries from those trapped beneath it.

The noise of falling objects and furniture throughout the school became deafening. What seemed like massive thunderbolts could be heard—far away at first, but nearing every second. The building itself groaned and wailed like a wounded animal dying around us as the trembling intensified. In the midst of all that uproar, Karla prayed.

“Our father who art in heaven… hallowed… hallowed be thy name…”

I didn’t find it comforting—particularly not in her broken, panicked mumbling. She didn’t pray for long, though, as a thick stream of dust showered us from above. It sounded like a stampede going through the school’s upper floor, its roar escalating as the building swayed even more violently. The concrete over our heads cracked like a breaking bone, pouring debris upon us. A terror-stricken shriek pierced the trembling’s roar, followed by shouts and curses. Several of my classmates rushed for the exit.

I didn’t dare move and stayed curled up in a ball under the desk, next to Karla. I repeated, in my mind, bits and pieces from the few prayers I could remember, slipping in a few obscenities as I cried. The terrifying rumble of buildings collapsing sounded closer and closer.

Oh, dear God, I don’t want to die… please… oh shit… please
.

A chunk of concrete crashed onto the floor beside us, pelting my face with rough bits. We screamed and held onto one another, burying our nails into each other's skin. I knew the building wouldn’t last long, and we’d soon be buried under tons of rubble. I found a little comfort in knowing that at least I’d die next to my best friend.

I thought of my parents, though. The little girl in me wished they were with me, as if everything would be okay with them around. I hoped they would be safe, even if I wouldn’t be.

Mom… Dad… I’m sorry I—

There wasn’t time to finish the thought.

The trembling finally subsided. It couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, but it felt more like an hour. The dreaded nuclear shockwave that would seal our fate never came. We were still alive.

When I could finally open my eyes, all I saw through the swirling dirt cloud was a faint red glow coming from outside the shattered window. Ominous as it was, it brought a desperate smile to my face after the disconcerting darkness.

Karla and I remained under the desk for a few seconds, crying and thanking God for making it out of that nightmare alive. It wasn’t until I heard the anguished sobs and cries coming from the back of the class that I ventured to crawl out, gently brushing away the glass shards and debris on the floor until I had enough room to get on my feet.

“Where… where are you going?” Karla asked in a scared voice, still crouching under the desk. Her long black hair and caramel skin were caked with grey dust. The tears streaming down her face left a muddy trail.

“I think there’s someone trapped over there. Don’t worry. Just follow everyone else outside.” I placed my hand on her trembling shoulder.

I tried looking out of the broken window to see the aftermath of what must’ve been an earthquake—even if an earthquake in the middle of Queens was as strange as the darkness that engulfed us—but the only thing coming through was a thick stream of dust faintly lit up by the reddish light.

I slowly felt my way across the classroom, barely able to see the outlines of the desks tossed around. I pushed them out of the way as I tiptoed forward. Broken glass and ceiling tiles crunched beneath my feet with every step.

Even with all that care, I still managed to trip over something.

“Ow!” I screamed.

When my hand shot to the floor, breaking my fall, bits of glass pierced my skin. I brushed them off and felt around my feet to see what had tripped me. A long crack, about an inch thick, ran across the floor. I could’ve sworn the concrete slab wobbled under my feet as if it were about to cave in.

I felt like running out of the building to the relative safety of the street, but the cries of my trapped classmates at the back urged me to keep going. I pressed on as fast as I could until the toppled bookshelf emerged from the blinding dust cloud. A girl had stayed behind to try to lift the large bookcase.

Amy?

Even covered in a thick coat of powdered concrete, that tall, slim figure was unmistakably hers. I’d have thought she would have been the first one out the door, but there she was, groaning as she tried to lift the bookcase with her slender arms. I rushed up to her and grabbed onto the edge of the bookcase. Fortunately, it was a cheap one, made out of compressed wood, which helped our chances of rescuing our classmates.

“Let me help you,” I said.

She turned and just stared at me for a few seconds, terror in her eyes. She nodded and took a deep breath before trying to lift the bookcase. I followed suit, and we managed to raise it until it slammed against the wall. The ensuing blast of dust made me cough violently, and before I could say a word, she was halfway to the door with one of her friends propped on her shoulders.

Tom—the guy who thought that the blackout could’ve been an EMP—had also been trapped beneath the bookcase, so instead of chasing after her, I grabbed his arm and helped him up. “Can you walk?” I asked.

A thick stream of blood ran down the side of his head, but he managed to stand up with only a slight grunt. He nodded with his eyes half-closed, and even though his lips trembled from the pain he struggled to suppress, he managed to stagger forward by himself. I walked alongside him to the exit and found the door almost closed. I tried prying it open, but it must’ve gotten stuck on the frame during the earthquake. As I helped Tom slide through the opening, I spotted Ms. Greenlee, who rushed back to the classroom along with Karla.

“Are you guys okay?” our teacher asked. Then she noticed Tom’s bloodied face. “Oh, no, Tom. These stupid kids. We drilled a dozen times, and they still ran away like that! Is there anyone else trapped inside?”

I shook my head, but she hurried inside anyway after instructing us to follow the throng of students shuffling through the grey haze toward the nearby staircase. Obviously, she didn’t feel like taking any chances after leaving some of her students behind once already.

Karla and I helped Tom walk along the hall and down the stairs. His strength failed him every now and then, so we made sure to take each step of the cracked staircase as carefully as we could to keep him from tumbling down. I wanted to ask Karla about the rest of the class, but the groans and weeping of the people around us—to say nothing of the rumbling still made by the building—made me stay silent. The thin streams of powdered concrete raining down from the fractured ceiling told me it was better to focus on getting out of there.

The air had cleared somewhat in the school’s first floor, so we quickened our pace, maneuvering through fallen lockers. The more seriously injured students only just emerged from their classrooms, aided by their teachers and classmates. A hefty boy screamed as five of his friends carried him away, one of his legs bent at a strange angle. I held back the tears welling up in my eyes and pushed on through until we reached the school’s entrance.

The source of all the dust flooding the area soon became apparent. Most of the redbrick houses along the street had collapsed, the drugstore on the corner was nothing but a pile of rubble, and a wide dust column stood in place of the small family restaurant where Karla and I sometimes went for lunch after school. In the distance, only a handful of buildings stuck out of the haze stretching across the horizon. Bright orange spots along the grey mist marked where fires had broken out.

“Sweet Jesus. They did it,” a man standing by the entrance steps said. Although his navy blue uniform looked grey under the coat of powdered debris, I recognized the school’s janitor by his balding head and bulging nose. His mouth was wide open as he stared intently at the sky.

I followed his gaze, and a cold wave washed over me. I almost tripped on the stairs as I took a step backward.

A bright red circle hung on the sky where the sun should’ve been, surrounded by an impenetrable darkness, as if the day had turned into a starless night. Fear clouded my mind, and it took me a few seconds to realize that the sinister sign on the sky—that glowing crimson ring—was the sun, turned to darkness in a total solar eclipse.