The Survival Chronicles (Book 7): Hard Mercy

took off through the long grass.
They emerged from a stand of trees into a cultivated area. Rows of raised beds stretched into the distance. Makeshift greenhouses and long poly-tunnels took up much of the Mall to the north. Basic tools lay on the tilled soil where workers had left them. A horse drawn plough stood in the next field, upright in the mud. A small fenced area on the right housed cattle and sheep. Mercy stopped and stared at the ploughed land and the livestock.
It’s almost medieval, I wasn’t expecting this… here, in the National Mall—
Rose shook her head, “The only thing separating us from the Stone Age is what little fossil fuel there is left.”
“Pretty basic, ain’t it? Think they’ve got peasants and serfs?” Barnes spat on the ground. “So this is the New America—”
Mercy pursed her lips, “Eyes and ears guys, we’re drawing level with some of the main buildings. We need to get close to get a measure of what’s going on. Remember… a big slice of the NSA operations will be underground—”
They worked their way over the cultivated areas, passing more open air livestock enclosures.
Goats and pigs. Well, the NSA ain’t gone vegan, that’s for sure—
They crossed over an irrigation channel and picked their way through a stand of trees to an imposing brick building. The rain beat on Mercy’s bare head. Her hair hung in wet strands around her face. She looked at Rose and Barnes.
Drowned rats, that’s what we look like. Three drowned rats, stowed away on this sinking ship. Hah… just go with it, until you no longer can—
Rose jabbed Mercy’s shoulder and pointed to a grimy sign on the nearby sidewalk: SMITHSONIAN CASTLE. “It kinda looks more like a church than a castle. No lights, no vehicles… just some carts—”
“Look over by that wall there,” Barnes pointed to the right. “Looks like stables—”
“Yeah, this feels… agricultural. Come on, let’s continue up the Mall. We’ll know our target when we see it,” Mercy walked through the trees and onto the sidewalk. A street sign declared: JEFFERSON DRIVE SOUTHWEST.
New signs pointed to more buildings: THE SMITHSONIAN NATIONAL MUSEUM OF AFRICAN ART. THE HIRSHHORN MUSEUM.
No sign of life, goddammit. Just that huge perimeter wall lurking behind every building. It’s the world inside the wall and the infected world outside. Talk about siege mentality. It’s like Noah’s Ark in here—
They crept across 7th Street Southwest and stopped on the corner. In the distance two vehicles turned off Jefferson Drive Southwest and disappeared to the right. Mercy blinked and rushed forwards, keeping to the trees. She came to a gap and peered through. Lights blazed from a grand, glass fronted entrance in the distance. A group of uniformed men left the building and climbed into the two vehicles. A few seconds later the vehicles pulled away and headed back up Jefferson Drive, towards the Capitol Building.
This is it. This is it. I know it—
Rose leant forwards, “It’s the Smithsonian all right… the National Air and Space Museum. It’s where they keep all the rockets.”
“It figures, with the ego that prick has this would suit him fine,” Mercy replied.
Mercy’s come a calling Mitchell… you bastard—

Chapter 8
Crack
“Come on, we’ve gotta recon this building, it’s huge,” Mercy said, withdrawing through the trees.
“Yeah, well, the front is obviously a no go,” Rose said.
Barnes was crouching in the rear, looking through his night scope. “Hold it, I’ve got something… round the side of the building. Can’t make it out properly. Movement—”
Mercy waited beside Barnes. She squinted over his shoulder. She bit her lip, her body tense.
It’s all come to this. We need to get in there. What if we’re running out of time?
Finally, Barnes lifted his head from the scope, “It’s a Clydesdale horse, it’s partially obscured by a wall… looks like an old coach park. We need to check it out—”
“Agreed, let’s go,” Mercy said. She led the way through the trees and long grass lining 7th Street Southwest.
They moved fifty yards. Mercy stopped when they had drawn level with the horse.
Barnes used his scope to check the area, “Yeah, it’s a horse and cart. The horse is facing us. The cart’s parked on a downward slope, looks like a ramp. It’s an entrance to a basement level. There’s pallets of food lying around, this must be where they bring in the crops from the Mall—”
Mercy checked her watch, “Yeah, but it’s late. Can you see any people?”
Barnes looked through his scope again, “Negative. Could be just a skeleton crew as it’s night. We won’t know unless we get closer.”
We’re inside the walls. They feel safe. This is probably as good as it’s gonna get—
“It’s worth checking. Everyone good to go?” Mercy asked.
Rose nodded, “Right behind you.”
Barnes grunted and stood up. Mercy went forwards through the weeds and long grass. She stopped ten yards from the Clydesdale horse and scanned the area for people.
Nothing, no cameras that I can see. Keep going—
Mercy crouched and edged forwards, being careful not to startle the horse. Pallets stacked with crates of vegetables lay in a neat line on the downward sloping ramp.
Nobody around. Keep going—
Mercy gave the horse a wide berth and descended the ramp. She pulled out her knife and the HK45.
Wish I had a silencer about now. Go with the knife first—
The ramp led down to a large set of double doors.
Christ, they’re huge. Steel plate, they probably used to bring the exhibits in this way—
Dim light filtered out through a narrow crack in the doors.
They’re unlocked. Keep moving, no point being caught out here in the open—
Mercy pressed her face close to the crack and peered inside. The area behind the doors was dimly lit by three storm lanterns resting on the floor. A vast space opened up before her. Stacked crates lay in neat rows.
There’s enough food here to feed an army—
Rose peered over Mercy’s shoulder, she gasped, “I ain’t seen so much food in one place since before the Fall. It’s like Thanksgiving