Free Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) by John Freeter
Authors: John Freeter
town’s buildings, it lacked their quaint charm. The school had an angular, almost industrial look that gave it a sinister air. I couldn’t help comparing it to my own high school, and before I knew it, the memory of the school collapsing over my schoolmates rushed over me. I gasped and felt lightheaded but managed to restrain my emotions.
A row of over a dozen desks lay outside of a large, cube-like building right next to the school—what was probably the school’s gym. The refugee column split up, and everyone lined up in front of a desk.
“Excuse me; do you know what we’re in line for?” I asked the woman in front of us. She wore a grimy navy-blue skirt suit with nothing but torn stockings covering her feet. Most of the refugees waiting in line had been equally ill prepared for the disaster, wearing clothes and uniforms for jobs that didn’t exist anymore.
“I’m not sure, but they probably want to get our personal information. I can’t see why they can’t give us some hot food first, though.” She glared at one of the armed locals milling around.
I only nodded in response. Talk of food stirred up my empty stomach, but fortunately the line shuffled along pretty quickly. Ten minutes later, I reached the front of the line. An old lady with fluffy grey hair and narrow glasses greeted me from behind one of the desks.
“Hello, sweetie. Welcome to New Jerusalem. I’ll just need to jot down some information about you, and then you can come inside and have some food, okay?” She spoke in a sugary tone.
“Yeah, sure.” I struggled to smile.
“So, dear, what’s your name?”
“Rebecca Stirling.”
“Age?” the old lady asked, jotting down my name.
“Seventeen.”
“And where do you come from?”
“Queens.”
The old lady raised her face. “Oh, my. Not many people have reached us from the city yet. It’s pretty far away, though, isn’t it? Like twenty-five miles, or so?”
“Yeah, I guess. Things are… well, they’re pretty awful back there,” I said. “Sorry, but have you had any other Stirlings here? Sarah or Robert? My parents were at work when the earthquake struck, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with them.”
“I’m afraid not, dear, but I’ll keep an eye out for them,” she said. I nodded, biting my lower lip. “Okay, now, if you could just tell me your religious affiliation, that would be all.”
I stared at the woman with my mouth slightly open for a few seconds, not sure of what to say. It struck me as an odd thing to ask, but given the town’s name and the ominous eclipse it shouldn’t have surprised me that their aid came attached to some sort of religious solicitation.
“Well… Catholic, I guess.” I peeked down at the cross on my necklace.
The woman squinted at me and leaned forward on her seat, placing her elbows on the desk.
“Did your parents have you baptized?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, barely able to make eye contact with her, but she leaned back in her chair, smiling.
“And have you had your first communion and confirmation?”
“I’ve had my first communion, but I haven’t had my confirmation yet.”
The old lady adopted the subtly annoyed look I’d seen on countless teachers whenever I explained why I hadn’t done my homework. All I knew about the confirmation was that I'd need to go through with it to get married in a Catholic church. I was about to tell her I didn’t plan on doing that anytime soon, but she cleared her throat.
“Well, you obviously should get on with that, but there’s no guessing about it; you’re a Roman Catholic.” She filled out the last space on the questionnaire with an “RC.” My stomach stirred again, but not from hunger.
What’s wrong with these people?
“Thank you very much, Rebecca. Now, go right in and have some food, okay sweetie?” She pointed to the gym’s entrance and waved at Karla to usher her forward.
I waited for her and Martin at the end of the row of desks. Karla’s
A row of over a dozen desks lay outside of a large, cube-like building right next to the school—what was probably the school’s gym. The refugee column split up, and everyone lined up in front of a desk.
“Excuse me; do you know what we’re in line for?” I asked the woman in front of us. She wore a grimy navy-blue skirt suit with nothing but torn stockings covering her feet. Most of the refugees waiting in line had been equally ill prepared for the disaster, wearing clothes and uniforms for jobs that didn’t exist anymore.
“I’m not sure, but they probably want to get our personal information. I can’t see why they can’t give us some hot food first, though.” She glared at one of the armed locals milling around.
I only nodded in response. Talk of food stirred up my empty stomach, but fortunately the line shuffled along pretty quickly. Ten minutes later, I reached the front of the line. An old lady with fluffy grey hair and narrow glasses greeted me from behind one of the desks.
“Hello, sweetie. Welcome to New Jerusalem. I’ll just need to jot down some information about you, and then you can come inside and have some food, okay?” She spoke in a sugary tone.
“Yeah, sure.” I struggled to smile.
“So, dear, what’s your name?”
“Rebecca Stirling.”
“Age?” the old lady asked, jotting down my name.
“Seventeen.”
“And where do you come from?”
“Queens.”
The old lady raised her face. “Oh, my. Not many people have reached us from the city yet. It’s pretty far away, though, isn’t it? Like twenty-five miles, or so?”
“Yeah, I guess. Things are… well, they’re pretty awful back there,” I said. “Sorry, but have you had any other Stirlings here? Sarah or Robert? My parents were at work when the earthquake struck, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with them.”
“I’m afraid not, dear, but I’ll keep an eye out for them,” she said. I nodded, biting my lower lip. “Okay, now, if you could just tell me your religious affiliation, that would be all.”
I stared at the woman with my mouth slightly open for a few seconds, not sure of what to say. It struck me as an odd thing to ask, but given the town’s name and the ominous eclipse it shouldn’t have surprised me that their aid came attached to some sort of religious solicitation.
“Well… Catholic, I guess.” I peeked down at the cross on my necklace.
The woman squinted at me and leaned forward on her seat, placing her elbows on the desk.
“Did your parents have you baptized?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, barely able to make eye contact with her, but she leaned back in her chair, smiling.
“And have you had your first communion and confirmation?”
“I’ve had my first communion, but I haven’t had my confirmation yet.”
The old lady adopted the subtly annoyed look I’d seen on countless teachers whenever I explained why I hadn’t done my homework. All I knew about the confirmation was that I'd need to go through with it to get married in a Catholic church. I was about to tell her I didn’t plan on doing that anytime soon, but she cleared her throat.
“Well, you obviously should get on with that, but there’s no guessing about it; you’re a Roman Catholic.” She filled out the last space on the questionnaire with an “RC.” My stomach stirred again, but not from hunger.
What’s wrong with these people?
“Thank you very much, Rebecca. Now, go right in and have some food, okay sweetie?” She pointed to the gym’s entrance and waved at Karla to usher her forward.
I waited for her and Martin at the end of the row of desks. Karla’s