Mercy (The Last Army Book 1)

Read Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) for Free Online Page B

Book: Read Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) for Free Online
Authors: John Freeter
fate. Right away, I recognized the warm brown eyes looking down at me, as well the apologetic smile on the man’s stubbled face. When I literally ran into him that morning in the station, I’d mistaken his chest for a brick wall. When banging the side of my head against his arm, I took it for a lamppost. Despite not being overly bulky, Martin was obviously a very solidly built guy. His well-defined muscles were outlined clearly under his white shirt, now stained with dirt and sweat.
    “I’m sorry, are you—?” Martin cut his apology short, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes.
    “Oh, it’s you. Rebecca, isn’t it? Hey, I’m glad you’re safe.” He smiled, showing two rows of perfectly straight teeth.
    I combed my dirty, greasy hair behind my ears, which felt as if they were on fire. The heat spread to my cheeks and to the tip of my nose. A cold layer of perspiration covered my palms. I wanted to cry even as a weak chuckle escaped my lips.
    “Yeah, I—thanks. You too. I… I have to go.” I rushed past him, my eyes fixed on my grimy sneakers.
    Stupid… so stupid…
    I didn’t raise my face until I reached my classmates, gathered at the edge of the park. Karla had already joined them and rushed to meet me. She frowned with concern when she took a glance at my face.
    “What’s wrong, Becca? Did the army guys say what’s going on?”
    I stared at her for a few seconds, but someone tugged at my shoulder before I could form a coherent thought. It was Mr. Jenkins. His face gleamed with sweat as he started scolding me, occasionally looking around to address the others.
    I couldn’t hear a word he said. His harsh-sounding speech went right through me, my brain still focused on my humiliating exchange with Martin. I peeked at him whenever Mr. Jenkins focused his attention on someone else. Martin had gathered a sizeable group around him—probably more than fifty people—and was discussing with them what must’ve been his plans for the immediate future. Even as some members of his group got all worked up and even yelled at him, he never lost his composure. He certainly didn’t run away, flushing with embarrassment, like a certain someone had done.
    Mr. Jenkins interrupted his rant mid-sentence as one of my classmates hesitantly pointed out that the other classes had begun to move toward the hospital. He checked that all of us were present again, and we took our places in the column. Large clusters of people trailed behind us, carrying with them most of the injured people. I didn’t fail to notice that Martin’s group had joined us as well.
    Not the soldiers, though. They stayed behind, struggling to reassure the few hundred panicked citizens left the park. That was their loss. It wasn’t as if we’d need an armed escort to cross the couple of blocks between the park and St. Anne’s. I made a fist around my silver cross and kissed my knuckles, hoping we wouldn’t run into any trouble along the way.

Chapter 9
    We marched at a glacial speed through the thick, swirling dust cloud kicked up by a warm gale howling through the streets. The faint red light from the darkened sun barely pierced the hazy veil, so we couldn’t even see the ground. Every step we took felt like wading through a shallow, murky pond.
    The dust in the air was so thick, a block away from the hospital, that breathing became difficult. Some of the boys took off their shirts and wrapped them around their faces, but our clothes were so impregnated with grime and sweat that I wondered if it was any improvement.
    I clasped Karla’s hand as we navigated the rows of abandoned cars along the street. A couple of hands kept hold of my shoulders, those walking behind me obviously fearful of getting separated and ending up stranded in the reddish haze. I could barely make out the blurry silhouettes of the guys in front of me. I didn’t let my apprehension slow me down, though—not when we were so close to our objective.
    “Hey, what the hell?” a

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