Errand of Mercy

I arrive at the convoy early. Near the front, I see Peter holding a stranger by the arm. With her long braid and white gown, the girl is clearly a Righteous runaway. She must have brought us the information on the new territory we are about to scavenge.

I wave Peter down. “We have a few minutes. Can I take the girl to get something decent to wear?”

“Be quick. She’s our navigator.” He lets go of her, and she follows me.

I can feel her staring at me. She probably hasn’t seen a woman like me before, growing up the way she did. The pants must be enough of a shock, let alone the armored jacket and the machete at my left hip.

I can tell she wants to talk, but she’s hesitating.

“My name’s Mercy,” she finally says.

“I’m Weaver.”

“Just Weaver?”

“I left my name behind in the Collapse. Don’t ask questions unless they’re necessary.”

“How do I know if they’re necessary? Sorry.”

“You’ll learn. You seem smart.” Mercy winces. “Don’t worry. It’s good to be smart here.”

I open the door to my one-room cottage. Mercy seems shocked by it. “All this is yours?”

“I had to work hard for it. Ever worn pants?”

She shakes her head.

“They won’t be comfortable at first, but denim’s sturdy.”

The jeans and jacket I find for her are heavily patchworked for strength. I give her my least favorite shirt. The clothes are big on her underfed frame, but with a belt, she manages. I’m glad she has decent boots.

I keep her dress. If she gets exiled, I’ll need my jeans back. I want Mercy to stay here, but preparing for a future you don’t want helps avert it. I learned that long ago. I was studying to be an accountant before the Collapse, when what I wanted was to start my own fiber craft business.

If you can make Fate laugh at you, you get to live.

Mercy interrupts my rumination. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think they’ll send me away? I know what happens if you don’t contribute enough. My mom came from here.”

I don’t ask her mother’s name. “They’ll give you some time before they decide. Keep it in your mind, though. Never stop proving your worth.”

I would offer to help her, but I don’t know if I can. Being chosen for a risky mission is a sign that I might be growing more expendable. My workers know what we need. Any of them could have gone, but they’ve become faster makers than me. There is no fabric surplus yet, so I still have some time left.

“Why did you come here if you knew?”

“There wasn’t any better place to be. The Righteous are going North to meet God or die.”

“After all this time.” I sigh. It makes no sense to me. I’m glad Mercy decided to live. “Anything else you want to ask?”

“Is it…” She hesitates. “Is it true you eat people? They say outside of us, everyone does.”

I can’t bring myself to lie to her. “It hasn’t been that dire in years, here. Some rovers still do, so if you do get exiled, it’s best if you stay close to the walls and go south to the Covenant. Cults love newcomers. If you do run into a good band on the way, though, stick with them.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I might not have another chance. Hopefully it won’t come to that. The Council can be harsh, but as long as you live here, you can sleep safely in your bed and have enough to eat. That’s rare.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Try not to stand out, except when you’re working hard. Don’t make people remember where you’re from. Got it?”

She nods.

“Good. Now let’s go.”

When Peter sees the transformation I have worked, he gives me a nod of approval. I climb into the back of the first truck’s cabin, and pull Mercy in after me.

She looks around nervously. “I’ve never seen a car work before. How do you have them?”

“They’re electric. By the time the gas went bad, we had enough windmill generators to run these in emergencies.”

Sitting idly is starting to make me nervous. I reach for the bag on my belt and pull out my drop spindle and a bundle of fleece. “Do you know how to spin?”

“I’m happy to learn.”

I show her how to twist the fleece to start it, then fluff it back out so she can try. Just as she gets to the point where she can hook it onto the spindle, the doors open. Mercy keeps twisting the fleece, her hands anxious, as Peter gets into the driver’s seat. Mel from medical gets in behind him and announces her attention to nap, and Mercy moves closer to me.

Once we are settled, Archer gets in the passenger seat. He gives me a stern look when he sees me teaching Mercy, but says nothing.

Mercy is about 17, the age our daughter would have been if she had lived. I shake my head slightly, trying to communicate that I didn’t stage this for sympathy. I know him well enough not to. Archer won’t stop the rest of the Council from exiling her. The resemblance will just hurt him more when it happens. If it happens.

A few guards with guns perch on the truck. With a whistle from Archer, the convoy rolls out.

Mercy is a quick study at spinning, but she can’t spin and pay attention to the road at the same time. Once we leave the compound, I am left alone with my work.

I always want to feel free outside of the walls. I never do. My head is too full of static. I try not to notice landmarks as we pass. Half the memories they bring up are too idyllic to think of for long, the other half are too bloodstained.

The pale houses in the town don’t look dilapidated enough. The paint is peeling, a few shingles are missing here and there, but the windows are unbroken. Our truck separates from the rest and pulls into the driveway of one of the largest houses.

I motion for Mercy to follow me.

Lola steps out of the back of the trailer, where she must have been riding, and cheerfully hands me and Mercy bags. She’s in charge of agriculture, and Zayne, who just stepped out of the trailer, runs tech. It's good to see more coordinators here. Maybe I’m not in as much trouble as I think.

Den, who pulls double duty between culinary and guard duty, hops down from the trailer’s roof and lines up with the rest of us.

“You get 12 bags total of fabrics, so make them count,” Archer informs me. That will fill a quarter of this trailer. I’ll tuck smaller tools in my bag and pockets to stretch our resources as far as I can.

Opening the door of the first house feels sacrilegious. It is unlocked, presumably from when the Righteous first swept it, but it still seems untouched.

If we could afford to waste time, I would take the pictures of the family down. They line every hallway. Here, the daughter makes a wish on a dandelion. There, she is held aloft by her parents. Based on the photos, she was seven when her family fled.

Lola has a daughter that age. I hope there will be something here for her, and I find it almost immediately in the front closet. There is a warm winter coat, bright yellow, and a pair of boots to match.

I hear Mercy rustling in the kitchen and call her upstairs to help me sort. She hands me a chocolate bar as we head up the stairs, with a cheerful, “Den said they should still be good!”

I tuck it into my bag for later.

The upstairs is a treasure trove. There are no white fabrics, but the Righteous left everything else behind. Some of it is a little moth eaten, but it can be patched up with quick darning or clever embroidery. On past trips, I looked for wool, but now we have sheep, so I focus on lightweight and waterproof fabrics.

It becomes easier to search the houses as we go. I treat it like a game. One house’s prize is crochet hooks and yarn, while another yields colorful embroidery thread, perfect for mending kids’ clothes. A full set of motorcycle leathers is ready-made armor. Zayne discovers walkie-talkies. Mel crows when she finds a completely full bottle of antibiotic pills.

We are in our last house of the day when Den calls me down into the kitchen. “Weaver, flax is the plant they make linen out of, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I have some uncooked flax seeds. They might grow.” He holds out a sealed bag.

I hear myself let out a shriek of delight that I can only recognize from my college self. We’ll be able to make all of our own fibers for every season.

I find Lola in the backyard, cradling a scarlet poppy, soil dangling from its roots. There are more blooming in the corner of the backyard. “I’ll get Mel,” I tell her. “We found flax, too, but I’ll get Mel first.”

Mel cries when she sees the poppy. Medical has been making do with willow bark painkillers for years. “This will change everything.”

I call out to Mercy, to tell her the good news.

She doesn’t respond. I search the house quietly, afraid to call attention to her.

Soon, I hear a whistle. It’s Archer, signaling that it’s time to rendezvous with the rest of the convoy. I sigh. “Mercy, please, it’s your last chance.”

She is gone. I get in the truck.

Lola takes the middle seat in Mercy’s absence, cheerfully explaining her plans for cultivating her new finds. She holds the poppies in a mixing bowl in her lap. When Archer and Peter are distracted, she whispers in my ear. “It’s for the best.”

The guards cheer as we enter the gates. When the truck is parked, Archer turns around and looks Lola and I in the eye. “The Council is opening up some new seats for coordinators. Give it some thought.”

I have never wanted that kind of responsibility. I was offered a Council seat when Archer and I were still together, and I didn’t take it. But today, circumstances changed. A tiny part of me hopes that I can do some good.

“I’ll consider it.”

When I get home, I can’t rest. I don’t want to think about how Mercy should be here. I don’t want to think about my future on the Council. I don’t want to cry.

I put the chocolate in the cupboard and start sorting through my pockets. I don’t recognize the heart-shaped locket in my hands. A tiny piece of paper falls out when I open it.

“Dear Weaver, I’m sorry for disappearing. I won’t let anyone but God judge my worth. I’m going to hide in an attic and wait for a band of rovers that seems nice. Don’t worry about me, I have a knife and plenty of canned food. Thank you for the advice and the jeans. Sincerely, Mercy.”

Maybe Mercy made Fate laugh. Maybe she will make it.