Second Activation (The Activation Series Book 2)

by Darren Wearmouth

  In the kitchen, Brett found a sealed box of Belgian chocolates, cans of potatoes and carrots, and a tube of processed cheese. I took a small bottle of sherry from the living area.

  “Back to the observation deck,” I said. “See if we can spot another boat or place to dock on the mainland.”

  We arrived back at the monument just before nine on Friday morning. Almost exactly a week since boarding our plane in Manchester. I climbed the stone spiral staircase inside the structure. The smell and buzzing of flies told me that we had obstacles to cross on our way up. Sure enough, I came across a bludgeoned corpse; a bloodstained rock lay a couple of steps above.

  “Do you think that bloke outside did this and jumped off the deck?” Jack said.

  “It makes sense I suppose,” I said. “Although I’m bored with playing CSI.”

  Brett winced after his trailing leg bumped against the body. I considered telling him that things got easier with time, but I would be lying. The bodies served as a constant reminder of the evil that had to be stopped. If anything, each one hardened my resolve.

  I continued upward to the viewing platform. A stone deck gave us a spectacular three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. I scanned across the quiet, glistening, deep-blue lake and the buildings dotted along the distant Michigan coastline. I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked south, at a small group of islands and the green fields of Ohio, stretching into the horizon.

  Brett rested his elbows on the ledge and gazed into the distance. “Great view up here.”

  Jack pointed over my shoulder. “We’ll aim for that peninsula about five miles away. Doesn’t look like a built-up area.”

  “There’re plenty of boats in the marina. No point hanging around,” I said.

  Brett dug the binoculars out of the top of Jack’s pack and planted them against his face. He leaned forward.

  “Guys, you better come and look at this. We might have company.” He handed Jack the binoculars. “A boat. Over there.”

  Jack pressed them to his eyes and twisted the focus. I searched the water and located a gray speck, heading south.

  “It’s not heading in our direction. Do you reckon it’s GA?” Jack asked.

  “Traveling by boat’s a good idea for a survivor,” I said. “Although we’ve no idea how GA are spread around the country. Maybe it’s the group who shot at us.”

  “It has to be them, surely,” Brett said.

  I wasn’t ready to believe it yet. My general rule had always been to expect the best, but plan for the worst. If the boat diverted here, we would easily have time to set up an ambush. I hoped it would merrily stay on its current course.

  Jack lowered his binoculars. “I think we’re good. It’s not coming here.”

  The boat traveled at speed across the water, sweeping between the island and mainland in a southerly direction. I switched my focus to the southwest and inspected the marina for a larger craft for us to use.

  I nudged Jack and pointed down to an impressive looking Viking 65 Sports Cruiser. Sleek and white, with a thick blue band running around the hull. “Have a look at the second house, the one with a long dock. Can you see it?”

  “Pretty nice boat. I’m sure Brett can get it going.”

  “Might have all kinds of stuff—” Brett said.

  Jack ducked down behind the edge of the wall and gripped his rifle. “Holy shit.”

  Brett crouched and shot nervous glances at Jack and me. I quickly looked around the quiet marina before kneeling. “What did you see?”

  “There’s someone in that boat. They stared right at me.”

  “Give them to me,” I said, taking the binoculars.

  If we’d already been seen, there seemed little point in hiding. I focused on the windows of the boat. A curtain twitched, followed by the noise of an engine spluttering into life.

  A man ran to the back of the boat, released the mooring rope, and vanished back inside.

  “Whoever it is, they’re out of here,” I said.

  White water bubbled behind the boat, and it edged forward. Brett peered down. “Why didn’t he talk to us? We’re not the bad guys around here.”

  “He probably saw our rifles. What would you do if you were him?”

  “Fair point. For all he knows, we’re the new occupying force.”

  “I suppose we are, in a way,” Jack said. “He’s probably about as trusting as us.”

  Jack and I had been part of an occupying force during our time in the Army. Although the circumstances were vastly different, this man’s behavior didn’t surprise me. Even when freeing people from the oppression of local warlords or brutal regimes, we were seen as aggressors and not to be trusted. Despite the fact that we meant no harm and wanted to improve their infrastructure, the bottom line was that we were generally despised. As odd as it sounds, no matter how bad things get, the only change that can be readily accepted by a lot of people is from within, whether that is personal or regional.

  The boat noisily plowed out of the bay and picked up speed as it headed in a southeasterly direction.

  Jack spun to his right and looked through his binoculars. “For fuck’s sake.”

  I immediately knew his concern. The boat we had previously seen. This person had broken cover and would be easily spotted in open water by anyone observant—or a group on a hunt.

  We watched for a few more minutes as the boat made its bid for a smaller island.

  “It’s turning,” Brett said.

  Jack kicked the wall. “Bollocks.”

  I could see with my naked eyes. The other boat headed directly to intercept the smaller craft, which slowed when the skipper probably realized he was being stalked.

  The first boat, long and gray, rapidly closed in.

  “Can you see who’s aboard?” I asked Jack, who continued to observe through the binoculars.

  “I think there’s one . . . no, two. Dressed in black.”

  “I think it’s safe to assume it’s GA.” I tracked them through my sights, but had no chance of hitting them from a mile away. “Let’s just hope they don’t come here.”

  Jack stuffed the binoculars in his pack. “He could lead them right to us. We need to move.”

  “We’re in a good position here,” Brett said. “I think we should wait.”

  Jack glared across to Brett and clicked the straps on the pack. The silver boat pulled alongside the other. Figures on both stood on the rear decks and appeared to be talking as the vessels gently rocked on the lake.

  The man from the island slumped off the side of his boat as the sound of three shots reported across the water.

  The two crewmen ran to their cockpit, and the silver boat turned in the direction of our island. White water sprayed around its bow as it powered toward the marina.

  “Downstairs, now,” I said.

  We scrambled down the spiral staircase. I realized that trying to escape on a boat would only expose us. The last thing I wanted was a shootout on the lake.

  I reached the entrance and paused for breath. Brett and Jack staggered out shortly after. I gave a crisp indication to a group of trees to the left of the marina. “That’s where we set up an ambush. As soon as they’re in range . . .”

  “We shoot the bastards,” Jack said.

  4

  The marina curved around a small bay. Landings jutted out at regular intervals, with a few small boats tethered. Woodland surrounded the area, interspersed with single-story buildings, mostly boatsheds and shops. I chose the thick copse because of the overall view. We crouched behind two large oaks and waited. My pulse quickened as the faint engine noise grew gradually louder.

  “You remember how to use that thing?” I asked Brett and motioned my head toward his rifle.

  “Yeah, but don’t expect Billy Sing.”

  “Who?” Jack said.

 
; “Famous Aussie sniper from Gallipoli.” He groaned and looked through his sights. “Forget about it.”

  Footsteps pattered behind me. I spun around and aimed my rifle.

  An Alsatian bounded toward me. It stopped a few feet short and barked. Jack approached it, and the dog sat down. He knelt and held out his hand. The dog raised its paw.

  “I’m Jack—what’s your name, boy?”

  The dog rested its front paws on Jack’s thighs and licked his hand. I grabbed a can of Spam out of our pack and opened it with the hunting knife.

  I turned my back to the dog, chopped the processed meat into small chunks, and threw them in a wide area between the trees. “That should keep her distracted long enough for us to find another place. We can’t have barking when those goons show up.”

  The dog bounded to the closest cluster of chunks and wolfed them down.

  Jack stood and brushed pine needles from his knees. “There’s a similar spot on the other side of the marina.”

  The dog sniffed around the woodland carpet for more. We took the opportunity to move and sprinted eighty yards, across grass, past two small wooden boathouses, and took up fresh positions in a copse on the other side of the marina. From here we could still see across the bay and hear an approaching engine.

  Jack shuffled around the trunk and pointed his rifle toward the lake. “We need to let them get close. No firefights—just take them straight out.”

  A silver boat cruised around the corner at the opposite side of the marina, slowed, and came to a stop by the farthest empty landing.

  Two men, both with GA standard issue AR-15s, hopped onto the wooden boards. One protected his eyes from the sun and looked at the monument. The other secured their boat with a thick rope. They prowled along the marina, aiming at the monument and edging closer. One paused, took a radio out of his breast pocket, and held it to his mouth.

  “That bloody snitch,” Brett said.

  “Some good it did him,” I said.

  Jack nudged me. “They’ll have no clue if it’s us or not. Probably need recognition before the cavalry descends.”

  The dog bounded out from between two trees halfway between our two locations. It faced the GA guards, wagged its tail, and ran at them.

  The first man approached the dog, slung his rifle, dropped to one knee, and started stroking its neck. He took a pistol out of a holster attached to his leg, placed the muzzle into the dog’s chest and fired.

  The dog yelped and fell to its side. The men continued along the path.

  Jack grunted and curled his finger around his trigger. “Those bastards.”

  “Those stupid bastards, you mean,” I said. “If there’s anyone still activated on the island, we know where they’re heading.”

  The men continued forward, heading further out of our range, and reached the monument entrance. They briefly halted and gazed at the twisted corpse at the foot of the large column. After a quick conversation, they disappeared through the door leading to the staircase.

  One of the men shouted, most probably a warning to the people they expected to be on the observation deck. He had a voice like a foghorn.

  Shortly afterward, the goons appeared at the top and completed two circuits—the first, slowly; the second time, looking down at the immediate surrounding area.

  I pressed my back against the tree to avoid detection. “As soon as they head back down, we move and take them out by the entrance.”

  Jack didn’t respond, but I could see the determination in his face, a look I’d recognized in him since his childhood, when he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way. No matter who got hurt. Brett appeared less confident and took slow deep breaths while fidgeting with his charging handle.

  “Just stay behind me,” I said to Brett. “We need you alive.”

  He nodded and swallowed hard, no doubt bracing himself for his first taste of real action.

  The men spent a few minutes resting their arms on the wall, staring out onto the lake. One spoke into a radio before they disappeared from sight. We waited a few minutes to make sure they weren’t just carrying out another circuit.

  I tensed and stepped into the open. “Ready?”

  Brett moved to my rear.

  Jack sprang from around his tree. “Let’s go.”

  We sprinted for the monument’s entrance. As I neared the base, a shot split the air. I instinctively looked up before diving for the base. Brett landed next to me and scrambled to his feet. Jack crashed against the wall, and we all stood with our backs against it, out of the platform’s view.

  Two more shots slammed into the concrete a couple of yards from my feet, creating puffs of dust. Small shards sprayed my shins.

  “This has just got a bit more awkward,” Jack said.

  I ignored his obvious statement and tried to think about a plan.

  Something metallic clanked down the internal stairs. I ripped Brett away from entrance. A large blast erupted from inside. More evidence of GA’s dangerous stupidity.

  “If they had half a brain, they’d have dropped it by our feet,” Jack said. “How many more do you think they’ve got?”

  Their radios were my biggest concern. They could confirm our location to a larger force. We were the ones that needed to act, and these two stooges probably knew it.

  In my peripheral vision, I detected some movement to our left, and focused in the direction of the houses we previously visited. A figure ducked behind an SUV.

  “Guys, we’ve got more company,” I said and jabbed my rifle in the direction of the new arrival. “This is starting to feel like we’re up shit creek without a paddle.”

  Brett flinched as another round slammed by our feet. “Is he wearing black?”

  “Civvy, I think,” Jack said.

  “Give yourselves up,” a voice echoed from the top of the staircase.

  “You give yourselves up,” I shouted.

  “We can wait up here all day. Turn yourselves over and we’ll spare you.”

  Jack craned his head around the entrance. “Like you did the man on the boat and the dog?”

  After a moment’s pause, the voice replied, “Suit yourself. We’ve radioed in, so you’re signing your own death warrant.”

  “Fuck you!” Jack yelled.

  While this hopeless negotiation ensued, I had my eyes glued on the SUV. A bald head rose above the hood.

  I decided to fire a warning shot at the SUV to hopefully scare the observer away. The round punctured a hole in the windshield and exited through the driver’s window.

  A man scurried from behind the vehicle, wearing a pair of khaki trouser shorts and a baggy lime-green T-shirt, and holding what looked like an ornamental sword. He reached within twenty yards and threw himself behind a short, bushy tree.

  “Aren’t you going to shoot him?” a voice called down the stairs.

  “Why should we? We’re going to send him up to you,” Jack said.

  “He’ll kill you.”

  “What do you care?” I said.

  The man poked his head around a branch. “I’ve been waiting for someone to come. Thank God, you’re here.”

  “Take one step closer and I’ll shoot,” I said.

  “Haven’t you come to save me?” he asked.

  “Don’t trust him,” Jack said. “Remember the nutter an hour ago.”

  I took a step in his direction. “We’ve got enough on our plate here, so do us a favor and fuck off.”

  “I’ll help you,” he said. “I saw what they did.”

  “What?” Jack asked.

  He shuffled to the side of the tree. “I’ve seen the killing and suicides. It’s not me.”

  Jack jerked his rifle to his shoulder. “Stay back.”

  Another object clanked down from inside the monument.

  I held myself flat
against the wall. The man put fingers in both ears.

  An explosion reverberated through the monument and echoed into the distance, no doubt across the water to the mainland. The place was starting to become a homing beacon for anyone looking for signs of life. I hoped that the handheld radios didn’t have the range to communicate with the GA forces on the mainland.

  “This is your last chance. Come out with your hands up, or face the consequences,” one of the goons shouted.

  The man hissed to get my attention. “Let me come over there with you.”

  “Just get the hell out of here,” Jack said.

  A round whizzed from above and hit the side of the trunk. Chips of bark sprayed against the man’s face. He covered his head with both arms, paused, and made a dash for our position.

  Another shot rang out. The man grimaced, slumped to the grass, and clutched his gut. He rolled to face me. “I’ve been here two weeks. I’m a survivor just like you.”

  “Holy crap,” Brett said. “There’s nothing wrong with him.”

  For a moment I felt speechless and stared into the man’s desperate eyes. His quivering hand reached toward me. “Please, help me.”

  I braced myself to spring out and drag him out of harm’s way. Jack unslung his rifle and edged around to me. “I’m gonna grab him.”

  “Leave it to me,” I said. “You step out and give me some suppressive fire.”

  A third shot thumped down from the top of the monument. The man jolted. A red patch formed on the back of his shirt in the left kidney area. He buried his face in the grass and screamed.

  “Now!” I said.

  At that moment, a round thudded into the back of the man’s head. His body relaxed, and his face flopped toward us, revealing an ugly exit wound on his left cheek.

  Jack growled and glanced up. Brett’s hands trembled on his rifle. I felt more in tune with Jack’s emotions. No matter where we went, GA continued to kick us and take lives.