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

holding injured body parts and screaming for help. Every so often, vaguely human sounds could be heard from within the wrecked buildings.
    I felt the urge to ask Mr. Jenkins—who’d taken over our class—for permission to check for survivors. None of my classmates seemed to be aware of the faint moaning coming from the wreckage, though. Either I was the only one who heard the noises, or they were very good at hiding their concern. Maybe it really was all in my head, since even with my nostrils clogged with dust I thought I could smell the stench of spilled guts and pooling blood nearby.
    “Hey, Lala, can you hear that?” I asked Karla, leaning toward her as we walked by the wrecked buildings.
    “What?” she asked, staring at the fractured pavement.
    “I don’t know. Sounds like someone’s hurt.”
    “Maybe it’s one of the guys up ahead.” She nodded in the direction in which our injured schoolmates were being carried. “I’m sure they’ll be fine once we reach St. Anne’s.” She rubbed her shivering hands as she walked. “I just… God, I just hope Tom pulls through. I know my dad can get him looked at straight away… when we get there.” She closed her eyes and failed to stifle a sobbing spell.
    My mind raced for something to say that would cheer her up, but I kept stumbling over thoughts of my own parents. Sometimes it might’ve felt as though we went for days without crossing paths, with them treating our apartment more like a hotel room than a home, but during the few hours we spent together, they always tried their best to make me feel loved. I remembered trading beauty tips with Mom, watching movies with Dad… just talking about whatever I felt like talking about.
    There was no time for self-reflection, though, as we had to be on the lookout for cars and clumps of debris strewn along the road, hindering our journey to the hospital. Again and again, we ran into streets in which the rubble was heaped up to ten feet or higher, and the shambling procession of students and teachers had to skirt around it, only to find the next street blocked as well. At every intersection, it wasn’t ruined buildings that barred our way but heaps of twisted steel and broken glass where cars—sometimes more than a dozen—piled up in burning wrecks.
    I watched with morbid interest the outcome of an especially gruesome crash when I spotted a blue minivan with one of those “Baby on Board” stickers on its cracked rear window. Concern overtook me, and as we marched by the pileup, I scurried over to the smashed vehicle and wiped the dirty passenger window to take a look inside. I instantly regretted my decision.
    A young woman sat behind the wheel, her beige slip dress and light-blond hair spotted with blood… and her brains scattered across the dashboard. Splotches of bright-red blood and gore gelled on the busted windshield, the same color as the solar eclipse that was still lingering in the sky almost three hours after the earthquake had ended.
    I breathed in short gasps as my throat tightened and my heart fluttered in my chest. The woman’s gruesome remains didn’t bother me as much as I would’ve thought, but the empty baby seat in the back was a different story. I frantically swiped the rear-side window and pressed my face against the murky glass until I could make out a baby-shaped figure lying on the carpet. I covered my mouth with my filthy hands to muffle the piercing shriek escaping my lips.
    “Hey, wait a second!” I screamed to my oblivious classmates already several feet away as I yanked on the van’s door handle. Locked. I desperately searched for something to break the glass with and found a chunk of concrete the size of my head. I slammed it at the window by the passenger’s side. My wrists stung from the impact, but the glass burst and spilled onto the empty passenger seat, far away from the baby. I unlocked the sliding door, pushed it away, and crawled inside the minivan.
    “Come on, Becca!