Second Activation (The Activation Series Book 2)

by Darren Wearmouth

  “Why did they kill her?” I asked.

  “Anthony started tracking you. He found your vehicle and traced your footprints to where they put the cars during the cleanup operation. His hands were covered in blood. He claimed it was from trying to stem the flow from her throat. Said that meant you must still be in the local area.”

  Jack pulled out a chair and sat opposite Brett. “That sly bastard. We should’ve killed him in Hermitage.”

  “I suppose he thought it would get us to cooperate with hunting you down. It might have worked if we hadn’t already met you.”

  “Can we take your car?” I asked.

  Brett paced around the table and rubbed his chin. He stopped in front of me. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You’re not serious—” the man on the mattress said.

  “You’re welcome to stay here and wait it out, Stan. But after what just happened, there’s no way I’m risking my life by being anywhere near those crazy bastards.”

  Stan sat forward. “What do I tell Anthony? What about your family?”

  “Just say I went missing. That’s what they’ll probably say about Kate. For all we know, our families might be in a big pit somewhere in the UK. It’s time to stop being GA’s bitch.”

  I stood and faced him. “Why the change of heart?”

  “I could handle it pre-activation. It was just a weird blackmail. I never thought they’d go through with it. After leaving the bunker three days ago, seeing all this and talking it through with people who are prepared to fight . . .”

  “Grab a rifle and let’s get moving,” Jack said.

  Brett picked one up from the workbench, stuffed three full magazines in his cargo pants pockets, and tossed us the remaining four mags. “We need to beat them to Hart Island. Forget the devices—they’re too spread out. If we destroy the control unit, they can’t use them.”

  “Should be easy enough,” Jack said. “We burnt the last one.”

  “Not this unit,” Brett said. “It’s in protective casing, like the transmission devices. I need to configure it from the console.”

  “Why didn’t they have one like that here?” I asked.

  “They were supposed to bring one here and leave the uncovered unit at Hart Island as a backup.”

  It hardly came as a surprise that the local team had fucked up. They were like the Keystone Cops, but with a lethal edge.

  “What about HQ?” I asked.

  “We avoid them at all costs. Forget about Boston—we’ll end up bringing a shitstorm on ourselves. The local team has roughly three days to try and get things working before the others arrive. We don’t want to be around when they meet up.”

  “You sure about this?” I said.

  Brett folded a map into the inside pocket of his blue Gor-Tex jacket. “I’m not sure about anything anymore. But I feel a whole lot better after making this decision.”

  I respected Brett’s courage in the face of his situation. He reminded me of a close friend back in England, not only in looks but also attitude. My English friend faced different kinds of problems from Brett’s: an alcoholic brother and a cheating wife. Eventually, he made a brave decision and faced down both problems by helping his brother get dry and getting a divorce.

  “One question: Where’s Hart Island?” Jack asked.

  “New York, opposite Pelham Bay.”

  “I think I know it,” I said. “And we drove up here from the city.”

  “No time to lose. Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.” He ushered us up the basement steps and knocked three times on the trapdoor. It swung open almost immediately.

  “All clear, come up,” a voice said. “They drove away after leaving the house.”

  We made our way back along the thin hall.

  “Jim, I’m out of here,” Brett said. He extended a hand to an overweight silhouette by the door. “I’ve got a feeling you’ll be all right without me.”

  Jim grasped Brett’s hand. “You sure about this?”

  “Positive. Good luck. I hope you see your wife and kids again.”

  Jim gave a resigned nod and opened the front door. “I’ll tell them you went back to Ron’s to try and salvage some equipment.”

  “Thanks, man. If I run into HQ, I’ll clear you from this shower of shit.”

  “I doubt it.” He sighed. “Got a feeling that we’re all going to pay.”

  Brett clapped Jim’s shoulder and nodded before heading out. Jack and I followed without saying a word.

  After squelching across the field, we reached his car. He walked around it.

  “Aren’t we taking it?” I asked.

  “No. They’ll have the roads guarded. We need to head cross-country for a couple of miles at least. We’ll pick something up on the highway.”

  Automatic fire rattled in the distance. We sprinted south.

  3

  Our immediate plan consisted of running through open countryside, vaulting fences, and crawling through hedges, getting away from Monroe as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the route stayed clear of any search parties, but if Anthony could successfully track us, only the cover of darkness would conceal our escape.

  “I reckon we’re close to the highway,” Jack said after we stopped for a quick rest.

  We pushed through a hedge and emerged onto a road leading away from Monroe. The route seemed to be parallel with the highway, and the solid footing offered us a chance to increase our speed.

  Shadows of isolated houses began to loom on our left, and I considered searching them for supplies or a vehicle. We had to create distance from Monroe. Our pace faltered and we now were maintaining a fast walk rather than a run. I kept twisting around every few yards, checking for signs of pursuit.

  Brett wheezed alongside me. “You boys know how to run.”

  “We’ve had a lot of practice in the last week.”

  Jack stopped, put his hands on his knees, and vomited. Brett pulled out a water bottle from his jacket, had a quick drink, and passed it to him as he straightened.

  “You look like a zombie,” Brett said.

  Jack took three large gulps, swished the water around his mouth, and spat it on the ground. “I snuggled up with rotting bodies all afternoon. Are you surprised I’m sick?”

  Brett turned and peered into the distance. I thought we urgently needed a change of clothing. Who knew what kind of nasty disease had invaded our clothes while we hid among GA’s innocent victims. Jack’s illness didn’t come as a surprise.

  “We’re getting nowhere fast on foot,” I said. “We need to freshen up and get to the highway.”

  Jack nodded and drained the bottle. I led the way toward the closest property, through the trees, and toward the white façade of a house.

  “What the hell are you doing? We can’t stop now,” Brett said.

  “We’re not using this place for R&R. We’ll grab a change of clothes, scavenge supplies, and find the nearest vehicle,” I said. “Don’t tell me you can’t smell us.”

  Brett and Jack covered me. I found the front door unlocked, eased it open, and crept inside. Ignoring the stench coming from the adjacent room on the ground floor, I climbed the squeaky staircase and pushed open a bedroom door. Jack followed me inside.

  The wardrobes were packed full of adult male clothing. In the dim light, I selected underwear, jeans, T-shirts, and lumberjack shirts. Jack found a decent-sized backpack under the bed.

  “Where’s Brett?” I asked.

  “Searching the kitchen.”

  “Need to make sure we keep an eye on him, for now.”

  The jeans were my size but felt loose. I grabbed a belt from a pair of trousers hanging in the wardrobe. I must have lost a reasonable amount of weight since boarding the plane in Manchester. Jack also looked gaunt. I headed to the bathroom and had a quick wash, using som
e tepid water and a bar of soap, before putting on the rest of my clothes.

  I headed downstairs to the kitchen and found Brett rummaging through the cupboards. He piled up bottled drinks and packaged food on a kitchen table. Jack appeared after his wash and put the supplies into the pack. I checked my watch. Half past eleven.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Like I’ve got an alien in my stomach, but I’ll live.”

  “You can get some rest in a car.” I turned to Brett. “Do you think we’ve come far enough to escape their roadblocks?”

  “We’ve passed where they had them yesterday.”

  Jack crept to the back of the property and slid open a patio door. We listened for a moment, checking for any suspicious noises, before heading off. I looked forward to chatting with Brett when we were finally clear. He’d given us a lot of info, but I still had plenty of questions. Like how we could expand our operations against GA after spiking their secondary control unit. They had pushed me past a point where I wanted simply to survive.

  The brief respite gave me some energy back. The road disappeared behind us as we ran across an open field, toward the highway. Without a hedge line for cover, we were horribly exposed, but we quickly crossed the short distance and dived down on the highway embankment.

  I shuffled on my elbows to its ridge, wincing as I received constant reminders of my injury. As long as I kept the wound clean, I felt sure the pain would eventually subside.

  Jack and I had learned many years ago to be absolutely still and silent when acclimatizing to the surroundings and before making any move. Lanes on both sides were clear of vehicles in front of us. I could make out a few dark shapes in the distance on the southern lanes.

  Something moved on the opposite side of the silent expressway. Possibly animals, rustling about in trees. Two four-legged creatures scampered along the shoulder. An owl hooted.

  “Ready to move?” I asked and indicated to my right.

  They both nodded. I sprang to my feet, skidded down the slippery grass banking and headed along the inside lane. Without wanting to waste any time, I jogged toward the distant shapes, hoping that one would be a usable vehicle.

  I dismissed a big old dirty truck. It had corpses in the cabin, and something smaller would be more suitable when the roads became more cluttered around the built-up areas.

  A driver’s door on a silver Honda hung open. There were keys in the ignition, and no bodies, so I jumped in and unlocked the passenger doors. Brett slid into the front and Jack took the back seat, checking for any lights to the rear. The Honda’s headlights immediately lit up the highway after I turned the key. I unsuccessfully fiddled with the controls, trying to switch them off. After quickly admitting defeat, I jumped out and smashed in both the headlights and taillights with my rifle butt.

  “You don’t mess around,” Brett said.

  “It’s a different world outside Monroe. I’m sure you know that.”

  “If I didn’t, I’m about to find out.”

  I crunched the Honda into first gear and pulled away. All our previous rides in America had been in a car with automatic transmission—a blessing when having to concentrate on other things besides simple driving.

  Heading slowly south, we suffered several minor collisions due to the darkness and state of the road. Our hunters would have the same issue unless they used headlights, which meant we would see them from a distance. As we passed the Luna Pier exit, my thoughts switched to Lea. I wondered if she’d survived. With Jerry and Anthony on the warpath, itching to exact some justice and crapping themselves about HQ’s imminent arrival, I hoped she’d met up with Martina and found some protection.

  “Christ,” I said as the Honda bounced violently off another vehicle, snapping a wing mirror off.

  “Bloody hell,” Brett said. “You sure there’s not an easier way?”

  Jack leaned between the front seats. “We’d be better off on bikes.”

  I swerved around and bumped over more debris on the road. “Our path could be tracked by a child, never mind Anthony. We have to lose the trail.”

  “Why don’t we find a boat at Lunar Pier?” Jack said. “Cut across to Ohio.”

  I loved the idea and immediately pulled over to the side of the highway, ripped up the handbrake and killed the engine. “Unless they do the same thing, that’ll put us ahead of the game. Great thinking, Jack.”

  “I can drive if we find a suitable model,” Brett said.

  “Can’t be that difficult,” I said. “We don’t need to be shy about bashing it about.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Jack grabbed the backpack and threw it over his shoulder. He seemed to show no signs of his previous illness, but knowing him, he probably hid his pain to avoid being a burden. When we were kids, he fell off his bike and cut open his thigh. He tried to hide it from our parents by wearing long trousers. They became suspicious when he refused to take them off for bed. The trousers had stuck to his wound, and he’d screamed his head off when our mum and dad pulled them off him.

  We slung our rifles and doubled back to the exit on foot. Halfway along Luna Pier Road, I glanced at the house that had provided a temporary refuge the previous night. Yesterday, I hadn’t expected to make it out of Monroe alive. Today, I felt vengeful and focused on destroying the Hart Island installation. Brett had given us a mission with a clear, tangible objective, and I felt for the first time that we had an advantage.

  At the end of the road, I expected some kind of port, but I couldn’t see a single boat. Turning left, we kept level with the water gently lapping against the shore. In the distance, a long dock stretched into the lake.

  Our boots thumped along the wooden decking that led to a medium-sized cruiser. It bobbed on the water in silent greeting.

  I jumped onto its slippery deck and rattled the cabin door. Locked. With no tools handy, I absently smashed the rifle butt against the sturdy door, only managing to chip the paintwork. I looked back toward an imposing property on the shore.

  “We’ll search the house. Jack, you keep a lookout.”

  Jack searched around the deck area, pulling up padded benches, looking for anything of use. Brett followed me back along the dock. He unsuccessfully attempted to open the doors of the house. I tried to slide open the side windows without success and stood there, frustrated.

  Picking up a stone, Brett smashed the closest window and knocked away pieces of jagged glass with his rifle. “You coming in or what?”

  I liked his style. He reached through, unfastened the window, and jumped inside the house.

  “You take upstairs. I’ll search down here,” I said.

  “No worries.” He shouldered his rifle and crept to a large open entrance.

  I began with the cabinets behind a long leather couch. This had clearly been a boat lovers’ place, with related maritime ornaments and pictures on the glass shelves. I wracked my brains, trying to think where they might store keys. I usually put them on the kitchen counter or in my jacket pocket.

  “There’s a safe here,” Brett shouted. I ran up a varnished wooden staircase with an ornate banister and found him sitting on a queen-sized bed, fiddling with a metal box. “It’s okay—I can open it.”

  I lowered my rifle and watched him place his ear close to the safe’s door and spin the dial. “I think you’ve been watching too many films, Brett.”

  “I just need a drill.”

  “A drill, seriously? Where are we going to find a fucking drill?” He looked slightly hurt and threw the box to one side. I sat on the bed next to him. “Sorry about that. It’s been a long day.”

  The temptation to lie down and rest almost overwhelmed me.

  Brett stood and picked up his rifle. “Let’s try next door. I’m not giving up that easily.”

  Outside, I waved Jack over and we moved along the lake
until we reached the next house with a dock. A smaller craft gently rocked at the end of it, but more importantly, it looked fast, like a speedboat.

  Brett stayed by the boat and kept watch. I shouldered my rifle and covered Jack as he swung into the house. Two bodies lay on the ground in the front hallway, twisted miserable figures with pasted rotting death masks. I couldn’t afford to linger and moved around the bodies into the dining room. After checking the cupboards without success, I heard Jack’s gleefully whispered, “Yes!” Meeting me in the hallway, he held up the keys and a pair of binoculars.

  I patted his back. “They’ll come in handy—good score. Where did you find them?”

  “Keys on a hook in the kitchen. The binoculars were on a hat rack in the hall.”

  We thudded back along the dock. Brett looked over in expectation. Jack rattled the keys and jumped behind the wheel. I untethered a thick, knotted rope from the mooring and hopped aboard before kicking us away. The boat gently floated free. Jack twisted the key in the ignition. The engine spluttered a few times but failed to start.

  “Let me check that the fuel line’s connected,” Brett said.

  I leaned by his side and watched him remove the upper casing, check the line, and prime the pump. He looked over his shoulder. “Give it another whirl.”

  The engine spluttered again, then coughed into life. I felt a rush of excitement over hitting open water and making swift progress away from any chasing goons.

  Jack pushed the throttle and we plowed away from the pontoon. I turned to get a view of the lakeside receding in the distance. Lights shone from the highway behind Luna Pier. A beam flashed across the water and positioned on us.

  Automatic gunfire rattled in the distance. Brett and I ducked, although our fiberglass hull wouldn’t stop an accurate round. He shot me a nervous glance. “Holy shit, Harry. They’ve found us.”

  I guessed they were around seven hundred meters away and gaining distance every second. “Don’t worry from this range.”

  Jack increased the throttle, and the boat rhythmically bounced across the surface, leaving a frothing white wake across the black water. We probably weren’t identifiable from this range as their quarry, but we were a sign of life.