Second Activation (The Activation Series Book 2)

by Darren Wearmouth

  OTHER TITLES BY THE AUTHORS

  Fast Forward by Darren Wearmouth

  Critical Dawn by Darren Wearmouth and Colin F. Barnes

  Critical Path by Darren Wearmouth and Colin F. Barnes

  Sixth Cycle by Darren Wearmouth and Carl Sinclair

  Eximus by Marcus Wearmouth

  First Activation by Darren and Marcus Wearmouth

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2015 Darren Wearmouth and Marcus Wearmouth

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 978-1477828588

  ISBN-10: 1477828583

  Cover design by Jason Gurley

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014955282

  CONTENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  1

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Jack’s arm rise to meet Ron’s handshake. As it carried on in an upward motion past the height of Ron’s chest, I turned to look.

  Jack pulled the trigger.

  At the ear-splitting crack of the Ruger, I blinked hard and focused back on Ron.

  He tried to speak. His lips quivered and his mouth erratically opened and closed. He looked up at the ceiling. A thin stream of blood, running from the forehead entry wound, momentarily pooled in his twitching left eye before rolling down his cheek.

  Ron’s legs buckled. He collapsed lifelessly to the ground. His head slammed with a dull thud onto the tiles at my feet, and his left leg twitched.

  Jack stood motionless. A wisp of smoke curled from his pistol, still raised and pointing at a now blood-spattered cupboard. Lea stared open-mouthed.

  I looked down at Ron. The round had blown out a fist-sized chunk of skull as it exited, confirming he wouldn’t be getting back up, even though it appeared that he was still breathing.

  Twisting toward the kitchen door, I waited for the inevitable sound of gunfire that would accompany the guards when they burst through.

  “What the hell have you done?” Lea asked.

  She rushed over to Ron and knelt over his body. I edged over to Jack and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Are you okay? Jack?”

  He lowered the pistol and stared into my eyes. “Sorry, I couldn’t . . .”

  “It’s done Jack. We were never leaving here anyway.”

  Lea stood and slowly shook her head. I unhooked a bunch of keys off Ron’s chinos, identified the long, thin one for the cuffs, and freed her wrists. She caressed the red marks and inhaled sharply.

  Perhaps the goons were circling and coming in slow. I strained to hear any sound outside the kitchen but couldn’t detect anything. Jack looked quizzically at me. He gestured with his head toward a back entrance.

  I scrambled to the window. A neatly manicured grassed area, a couple of old tires in the corner, and a chain-link fence that formed the boundary to the rear of the property, but crucially, no guards.

  “What’s beyond the fence, Lea?” I asked.

  “Oh my God. Martina’s gonna think I killed Ron. I need to speak to her,” she said.

  “You’ll never see her again if we can’t get out of this mess. Concentrate: What’s the ground like beyond Ron’s garden? Can we get out that way?”

  “There’s a marsh that leads to the river. It’s open country. Why aren’t they here yet?”

  “We can’t escape through the back door,” Jack said. “With machine guns at both ends of the road, they’ll easily cut us down in the open.”

  He took up a firing position and aimed his pistol at the interior entrance. “They’ll be coming. Mark my words.”

  I rummaged through the kitchen drawers, pulled out a carving knife, and positioned myself against the wall, out of sight to anyone who approached via the front door.

  “Is that all we have?” Lea asked.

  “No guns in Ron’s house—you should know that,” Jack said.

  We waited silently and braced for the expected assault or a shout to drop our weapons. I tried to imagine what was happening outside. Our chances of survival hung on the general incompetence of the enemy. So far, they’d proven to be far from Special Forces material.

  “We need to create a diversion. Any ideas?” I asked. “Quickly—the Genesis Alliance goons are probably sealing off the perimeter or planning a house clearance.”

  I watched the digital clock on Ron’s wall flicker and change to 11:02. My hand cramped from squeezing the knife, and I loosened my grip. The longer we failed to act, the less were our chances of survival. I was sure of that.

  “We could pretend we’ve taken Ron hostage,” Lea said.

  “That won’t work. They’ll want to see him alive.”

  “What if I stagger out, pretending I’ve been shot?” Jack said. “You could say Ron wants me to go for treatment?”

  “They won’t fall for that. We’d be instantly heavily outnumbered and outgunned. Besides, after what Ron said about his house rules . . .”

  Ron’s retro control panel clicked, and an internal fan started to whir inside it. Its speaker crackled and squelched. I ran over to inspect the panel, brushing my hand over the buttons and switches, but pulled it away at the thought of accidentally triggering a second activation.

  “You think they’ve frozen?” Jack said.

  “It’s possible, or they’re laying siege.”

  Jack edged toward the internal door and looked around it. “It’s now or never. We need to move.”

  I decided to take the initiative in case something bigger and badder than the goons outside was on its way. “Wait here until I call out; I’m going to take a look.”

  “Look where?” Lea asked.

  “There’s none at the back, so they must be out front. I’ll try and find out their positions. At the moment I can’t think of any other plan.”

  “I’ll watch the back,” Jack said. “If you see any danger, come straight back. If we’re going down, we’ll do it here.”

  “This is crazy, guys. We need to give ourselves up. We’re surrounded,” Lea said.

  Jack put his finger to his lips. I ignored Lea and gently pushed open the door to get a view of the living area. The room remained exactly as we had left it.

  I turned to shake my head at Jack, then leopard-crawled across the lush cream carpet to the front window. Below the window, with my back against the wall, I listened. After hearing no sounds, I raised my head and peered through the sheer curtain.

  The immediate vicinity looked deserted apart from the Range Rover we’d arrived in, still parked at an angle opposite the house. I raised the curtain from the bottom and glanced up and down the street. There appeared to be no threat in either direction as far as my angle of vision would allow me to see.

&nbs
p; “Jack, Lea—get over here quickly!” I shouted.

  Both came through the living-room entrance in a crouching run and joined me, ducking below the window, with their backs against the wall.

  “What’s going on?” Jack asked.

  I gestured toward the street. “No idea—take a look.”

  He pulled the curtain to one side and craned his neck. “I can’t see anyone. Do you think they’ve taken cover?”

  “An ambush?” Lea said.

  It didn’t make sense. The guards had been all over us less than ten minutes ago. I knew the Genesis Alliance members we’d previously come across weren’t trained soldiers, but the ones around the house appeared more experienced or better trained. Their inconsistent nature meant I couldn’t tell what to expect. A potential opportunity presented itself, and I decided to take it with both hands.

  “I’m going to scout outside,” I said. “Jack, you search the house for anything useful. If we’re clear, we make a break for the Range Rover. There’s no way I’m waiting in this house like a sitting duck. Our best chance is to make a run for it.”

  Jack immediately ran to an adjacent door in the hallway.

  “What about me?” Lea asked.

  “Keep looking through the window. If you see any movement—anything—shout. If I draw fire, try to ascertain the location.”

  She feverishly nodded and raised the curtain.

  I crept toward the front entrance, keeping down to avoid throwing a silhouette in front of the frosted glass door panel. The brass handle turned easily, and I twisted the latch.

  I took a deep breath, mentally counted to three, and pulled the door open a few inches. The noise of a reversing engine echoed in the distance. I sprang out and hugged the exterior wall.

  Toward the west end of Oak Street, I caught a brief glimpse of a black Range Rover turning and disappearing to the right.

  I scanned the quiet tree lined street again in both directions, clutching the knife in my hand, trying to work out what was going on. Both cutoff groups and the previously circling guards had disappeared.

  We had to take advantage. I sprinted to the Range Rover, expecting shots to split the air at any moment. None came.

  The keys were still in the ignition, and the engine instantly roared into life. I clicked the vehicle into reverse, accelerated hard, and turned the wheel. The Rover shot backward, crashing through Ron’s white picket fence. I hit the brake hard, skidding to an abrupt halt inches from the front door. Jack appeared from the entrance and yanked open the passenger door.

  “All clear at the back. Where the fuck are they?” he asked.

  “I caught a glimpse of them leaving. Come on—get in. They might be regrouping.”

  He climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door. Lea jumped in the back and lay across the seat.

  A burst of automatic gunfire rattled in the distance, followed by several single shots in rapid succession. The firing appeared to be close, maybe only a street away, where the other Range Rover had turned.

  “There’s something else going on here,” Jack said. “They could be getting attacked from the Army or government. Maybe the cavalry’s arrived?”

  “Doubt it’s the cavalry,” I said and turned back to Lea. “Is there another way out of Monroe?”

  She poked her head between the front seats. “Turn left. Where do you want to go?”

  “Back to the Toyota we left on the outskirts of town. Hopefully, the rifle’s still there.”

  Jack kicked his door open. “Wait here a minute.”

  “Christ, Jack. We’ve just had a break here,” I said.

  He ignored me, jumped out of the Rover, and ran back inside the house. My eyes darted to either end of the street as we waited. I wondered what could be so important as to stall our escape.

  A minute later, he returned and buckled up. “Right, let’s go.”

  I shoved the Rover into drive. “What were you doing?”

  “Set fire to the house. If activations are controlled from there, it might stall them for a day or two until we figure out what—”

  “Martina’s going to kill me,” Lea said.

  “She’s the least of our worries,” Jack said. “She might not even be alive.”

  “She’s the least of yours. I know she’s alive.”

  I detected more than a hint of anger in Lea’s reply. I wasn’t sure what she expected us to do, and I wasn’t prepared to risk my life for a woman that seemed to be neck deep in Genesis Alliance. To be clear of the building, in a vehicle, was more than we could have hoped for twenty minutes ago.

  Tires screeched against the road surface at the right end of Oak Street. A light-blue Mustang skidded around the corner, then came to a sudden halt around two hundred yards from us. The engine revved several times. Puffs of white smoke came from the wheels as they started to spin.

  “Go left— now!” Lea shouted.

  I punched the accelerator hard and felt the wheels rip out chunks of turf from Ron’s lawn. The Rover gained traction, and we sprang back onto the road.

  “Right here—that’s Clark Street.”

  The Mustang disappeared from the rearview mirror as we turned and sped along.

  “Right at the end of Wood Street, then take the first left. I’m taking us a different way out of town.”

  I kept the pedal to the metal, and the Rover gathered speed along Wood Street.

  The blue Mustang tore out of the side street. It skidded to a halt diagonally across the road, blocking our path.

  “Ram it,” Jack said.

  I had no other option and aimed at the side of the Mustang, bracing for impact. With a thunderous crash of metal and breaking glass, the vehicles collided, and I was thrown forward, then backward, in my seat.

  The scene outside whizzed past in a blur. The Rover spun out of control, and I slammed on the brakes. The car came to a juddering halt facing the critically damaged Mustang. Its front left panel and lights were crushed.

  Inside the vehicle, Jerry looked dazed while Anthony glared out of the window and his face contorted in anger. He shook Jerry, and they both reached backward.

  I shoved Jack’s shoulder. “They’re going for weapons, Jack—shoot the buggers!”

  He pressed a button on the door, and his window lowered with an electric whine. “Where the hell did they come from?” he asked.

  Both men in the Mustang struggled with the doors. Jerry elbowed out parts of smashed glass on the driver’s side and thrust out a rifle with a single hand.

  Jack aimed the Ruger and fired twice at the Mustang’s windshield. Both rounds punctured holes through the middle, and it splintered and cracked. Jerry dropped his rifle and ducked down. Anthony struggled to open his door.

  I pressed the accelerator and rammed the vehicle again, turning it backward and creating a gap to squeeze past and keep going. As we raced away, I spotted Anthony in the rearview mirror. He kicked the car door open and lay down flat on the road in a textbook prone firing position.

  “Get down!” I said.

  Two rounds hit our Rover. One shot went high through the rear window, and the other sounded like it ricocheted off the underside of the vehicle. As I turned right at the end of the street, two tracer rounds streaked over the hood. Seconds later, we were out of Anthony’s line of sight.

  “That guy’s skilled with a rifle,” Jack said. “I thought he was totally useless.”

  Anthony had showed no signs of lethal competence when we ambushed him in Hermitage and captured him with his pants down. Perhaps that incident pushed him into action. Whatever the cause, I was glad to be out of range. I glanced at Lea. She hugged herself and quivered as if she’d just climbed out of a pool of freezing water. I hoped she wasn’t going into shock.

  “Where now, Lea? Take us the quickest way out of town,” I said.

&nb
sp; “We’ll be on Hull Road in a few minutes. We can shoot straight to the southern edge. There’re a couple of farms and a few houses—that’s about it.”

  Open fields concerned me. The lack of cover would leave us painfully exposed, but our options were limited. I screeched around a corner, and we hit a main road. Jack had two rounds left in the Ruger and maintained aim out of his open window as cool spring air rushed inside, giving my arms goose bumps.

  “Think of a couple of alternatives in case we come across GA,” I said. “If we’re blocked off, we’ll have to go on foot.”

  As we passed a large lake to our right on Hull Road, speed started to drain from the vehicle. A burning aroma flooded through the vents, accompanied by wisps of white smoke from under the hood. I pumped the accelerator but received no response.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said flatly in disbelief.

  The Rover lost all power and coasted to a hissing halt.

  “Damn,” I shouted and slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “Everybody out.”

  A train track ran along our right side, with thick, impenetrable vegetation on the rising ground behind it. To our left, small white bungalows with generous yards and long driveways dotted into the distance along a tree lined road. This wasn’t the most affluent of areas, but America had the luxury of space compared to England.

  Jack gazed along the line of houses. “Garden hopping?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Gives us a bit of cover at least.”

  Without the advantage of speed, being off the road seemed a sensible option. Garden hopping was an activity Jack and I used to carry out as youngsters. It involved running through strangers’ gardens and avoiding capture by an angry resident. Prestigious estates and larger houses were prime targets. We’d only been caught once—and gotten dragged home by our ears.

  Lea’s eyes darted from side to side. “Can you hear that?”

  I crouched and listened to a confusing mixture of faint noises coming from the direction we had driven. Smoke towered into the darkening late spring sky—Ron’s house probably burning to the ground. The breeze dropped. I picked out the sound of dogs barking, some muffled shouting, and the roar of engines.