Mercy

The humidity wafted through the air with a heavy presence. The normally dusty and dirt streets were caked with a sticky, thick mud. My boots slogged across the ground as I patrolled through this empty city, alone and tired. I could hear the wind blow through the tall buildings which stood over me like obelisks watching every move I made. I eyed the occasional camera set up on corners or perched on the tops of empty offices, and knew that I probably was being watched. At the moment, I was walking through a street not flanked by sky scrapers, but instead lined with old store fronts and small houses. Old even for their time, but everything is old now. Nothing new has been built in decades. All that there is left to find, is broken, decrepit buildings that somehow still managed to stand.

The sun blared down on me, heating up the metal and kevlar armor that I wore for protection. Protection from the elements and attacks, but also protection from the Concord. Without it, they would not know I was one of them. I wouldn’t last long if that happened. If they saw me without it, they would send their people after me. People like me. Hunters and dogs. That’s what I am doing here. Hunting for anyone who has yet to swear loyalty to the Concord, and anyone who might oppose it. Rebels, or freedom fighters, or traitors. Whatever you want to call them. It’s a dreadful job. It is bloody and guilt ridden, and most Hunters are pitiless and without mercy. I could never be like that, and so I will always be weak. Or so they say.

Maybe I am weak, but I like to think I’m also clever. We get to choose where we go to hunt, and so I always go here. It’s an empty city; there hasn’t been a single person roaming these streets aside from myself in all the twenty years that I’ve patrolled it. It makes the days long and filled with silence, but for someone weak like me, that’s okay. I have probably walked every street and seen every corner of this city. There is a river nearby. A big one. There are museums and super stores. Parks and schools. Libraries and courts. All abandoned and empty, and perfect places for me to hide from the horror that the Concord expects of me. I have never found a single person to bring back to them, but as long as there is someone here to patrol, they don’t care. They will continue to feed me and give me a place to sleep. I won’t be pursued like those that oppose them, and though it creates a deep and heavy pit in my heart, I can’t help but feel grateful.

I had hoped that it could stay that way until I became too old to hunt, but I suppose that I am naïve as well as weak.

I walked passed a wooden building that was smaller than the rest. The door was opened. I did not leave it open; I always remember exactly how I left this city. I stared at it, trying my hardest to will myself to leave it, but my visor would have recorded that I noticed something. The Concord would ask why I didn’t check, so I had to. I slowly walked into the building. My eyes adjusted to the dark, and from the light shining in from the broken windows I could see that it was a bookstore. There wasn’t a single legible book left; anything still intact was taken long ago. All that remained was burnt pages or torn paper. Sometimes when I walk passed this store; I could swear I could hear the whispers of the lost stories shuffling from the ruined books. This time, I did hear whispers, but it was the quiet grumbling of something shuffling behind a shelf. I pulled out my gun, and pointed to the corner of the shelf. After a moment, a woman appeared around the corner.

She was a young woman. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. She was probably born after everything came falling down, and around the same time the Concord came into power. This world was probably all she had ever known. She had dirty, long, blond hair tied into a pony tail. Her face was filthy, and her clothes as well. The side of her shirt had a large red and brown stain on it, but I couldn’t tell if it was an old stain or if she was currently bleeding into it now. Her left arm was in a sling, and her right hand was bandaged with a finger in a splint. A small pistol was strapped to her hip and a golden heart shaped locket hung around her neck. It was scuffed and scratched, and much of the shine was tarnished off, but it was clearly gold. Something I haven’t seen in a long time. Remembering what I had once lost; I wondered what was inside of it. A picture of a lover? Of her parents? Maybe a child? I let the thought fade away. It was too painful.

She stood still, staring at me. Her eyes flashed with disbelief, and for just a moment a look of surrender dulled them, but she steeled herself. She looked around the store, her eyes moving frantically, searching for an escape. There was none, and stoic fear washed over her as her eyes fell back on me. She waited. Not one of us spoke. There were no words that could be said. She knew in her heart, that there was no convincing a Hunter. She likely believed that she was staring at her possible death and that she had no choice but to run or fight. Ironically, she had met the only one that may have listened to her. The only one she may have been able to convince. She said nothing.

What could I do? I have walked these streets, this skeleton of a city, for twenty years, and not once have I had to face someone. My heart pounded as I realized that it was my job to capture her and to bring her to the Concord. I looked into her eyes seeing the fear and pain that washed over her. She could not see mine, or she might have seen a similar sight. What could I do? If I take her in, she will be tortured. She will spend weeks being interrogated and beaten. She will be thrown into dirty cells and forced to work for the leaders that believed she was less than cattle. If she was strong, she might last a few years, but eventually she will succumb to the weight of subjugation and die like all the rest. I will have to live knowing I caused it all. I can’t do that to her, but I can’t let her go either. My visor had already recorded her face. She will be pursued by more ruthless Hunters and will eventually be captured anyway. The only difference it would make is that I would also be executed. We may see each other for a time in the labor camps, and she may show some kind of gratitude for my fruitless mercy, but it would be for nothing.

What could I do? I asked myself only in hesitation, for I already knew the answer.

I eyed her hand, wrapped up and shaking, and then looked at the gun at her hip. I lunged forward; making a show of aggression. Instinctively, she reached for the gun, but winced in pain as she tried to bend her broken fingers over it. It was too slow. I fired.

Her hair was blown out of her ponytail and spread over her as she fell backwards. She hit the ground, her hair landing in a yellow and red aura over her shoulders and covering her empty eyes. The locket came loose, and popped open as it hit the ground. I did not look to see inside, but just turned and left.