Second Activation (The Activation Series Book 2)

by Darren Wearmouth

  “You can thank us later,” a voice called down.

  I ducked around the door. “We know all about Genesis Alliance and that you might have been recruited against your will. Let us go and we won’t say a word.”

  “Show yourselves, and we won’t shoot,” another higher-pitched voice added.

  Jack shook his head. “We can’t negotiate with these people.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” Brett said. “I think I recognize one of the voices.”

  “Not an option, Brett. They’ll have your guts for garters.”

  “We’ve got three options,” I said. “Win the firefight and carry out a tactical withdrawal. Wait here and hope their radios aren’t in range, or go up and take them out.”

  “Option one,” Jack said. “Pepper-pot out of here and get cover behind the buildings. Find a boat at the far end of the marina.”

  I heard a hiss of radio static above and quickly made up my mind. “Okay, let’s do it. Brett, follow my lead and stay behind me.”

  Pepper-potting was a fire and movement technique we’d learned in the Army. One part of the team would give covering fire to suppress the enemy, while the other would move. This would happen in small alternating stages until reaching the required ground. It’s all well and good being accurate on a range with a rifle, but facing a person who is shooting back is a completely different story. The people at the top of the monument would have to hold their nerve and risk their lives if they wanted a chance of taking us out. The buildings were around a hundred yards away. From there we would have cover to make it to the other end of the marina.

  Jack aimed up and prepared to move. “Ready?”

  Brett nodded and licked his lips. Anxiety had probably given him a dry mouth.

  “I’ll throw the buggers off track first.” I leaned inside the doorway. “We’re coming up. Don’t shoot—we just want to talk.”

  “Take it nice and slow, with your hands up,” a voice replied.

  Jack ran out ten yards toward the marina buildings and took up a crouching position, aiming at the observation deck. He took his left hand off the rifle stock and held up his thumb.

  I grabbed a fistful of Brett’s jacket, pulled him twenty yards past Jack, skidded to one knee and aimed. Brett ducked behind me, panting against the back of my neck. No men visible on the platform. They must have been waiting for us by the upper entrance.

  “Move,” I said.

  Jack sprinted past me. A loud boom emanated from monument, which confirmed the goons had no intention of negotiation. Shortly afterward, they appeared at the observation deck. I squeezed my trigger and fired. The bullet smacked against the stone between them. They both ducked.

  “Move,” Jack said.

  I directed Brett to the left of Jack, ensuring we had some width between our positions, thus avoiding being in the same line of sight. Jack fired two more shots.

  Twenty yards past Jack, I spun around and aimed. A red spatter sprayed up the deck wall.

  “Move,” I said.

  Jack darted past. “Got one in the shoulder.”

  A rifle appeared over the top of the wall and fired a few rounds aimlessly in our general direction. A pointless waste of ammo.

  “Move,” Jack said.

  I scrambled to my feet, grabbed Brett, who must have started to feel like a rag doll, and sprinted past Jack to a couple of large trees.

  “Move.”

  Jack hurried past. “I’m going for the building.”

  A rifle appeared over the wall again and fired another burst. I fired at the arms on the platform, but the men kept their heads down. They’d lost the firefight, and we both knew it. Cool, aimed shots had done the trick. We were fighting amateurs.

  Brett and I both rushed behind what was no more than a glorified shed, painted dark red with a white door. Jack bent double behind it, catching his breath.

  I felt confident that the goons on the roof would not suddenly grow a pair of balls and start peppering us with accurate fire. They’d wasted their ammo on pointless sprays.

  “More could be on the way,” I said, not wanting to break our momentum. “Head straight for the boats.”

  I charged ahead, along thin strips of grass and pavement, between boat sheds, shops, and houses. Three shots rang out from the monument in quick succession just before we reached the trees surrounding the marina. The spring canopy overhead did its job, allowing us to jog slowly between the trunks. From here, they would have to move from their perch to catch us.

  Keeping my bearings by using a straight road running parallel to my right, I wondered if the GA guards would follow. Attempting to start a boat might leave us exposed to gunfire, and chugging away from the shore would present an easy target for a marksman.

  Jack stopped and checked behind, most likely thinking the same thing.

  “Ambush, here—they won’t be expecting it,” I said.

  If they did follow, they had little choice but to directly pursue, based on the land around us being openly exposed. I gestured with two fingers for Jack to cover the arc to our rear.

  “We’ll cover the left flank, Brett,” I said and led him to two large trees. “If they appear, wait for my signal to fire.”

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  He leaned around a tree and aimed at our killing ground. I decided to give the goons five minutes to show.

  Calming my breathing, I practiced the technique of firing I had almost forgotten: exhaling, relaxing my body, and taking a dummy shot. I half-expected the men to come clumsily crashing through the trees like wild boar running after their prey. Jack looked over to me in expectation.

  “That man back at the monument,” Brett said. “I think he came to help us.”

  “Don’t think about it,” I said. “You’re gonna face a lot more of it in the next few days, so try to block things out. That’s all you can do.”

  I realized we’d probably played a part in his death. But who could blame us for a lack of trust after what both Jack and I had been through? If I stewed over every incorrect decision or loss of life we encountered along the way, I would turn into a gibbering wreck. The only solution was to push things to the back of my mind, among all of the other horror Genesis Alliance had imposed on me.

  A gentle breeze blew through the woodland, rustling leaves. A wasp landed on my knuckle. I tilted my hand away from the rifle to encourage it away.

  A twig snapped in the distance.

  Jack peered down his sights and slowly nodded. A figure darted from a building into the woodland and hid behind a tree. He advanced slowly toward us, stopping intermittently to aim forward and observe the area ahead. I had him in my sights, and he presented an easy hundred-yard shot, but I wanted his partner too.

  I searched through my sights for his accomplice. He appeared to the rear of the first man, carrying a rifle in his left hand. His right arm hung limply by his side.

  I took aim, breathed out, and fired into the chest of the second man. He yelped and collapsed to the ground. Jack fired a split second later. The first man’s shoulder jerked backward and he tumbled over, crying out in agony. Brett fired. The man instantly clutched his left thigh. He writhed on the ground and screamed a garbled insult.

  Jack sprang up and sprinted toward him. The man shakily held up his bloodstained right hand.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Brett.

  We ran to the second man. He lay motionless on the forest floor. I kicked his rifle away from his limp hand. He appeared deathly still and didn’t react when I crushed his fingers under my boot.

  “Nice shooting, Brett,” I said. “We’ll make a solider of you yet.”

  He turned and looked at Jack, who grabbed the other man by his jacket and pulled him to a sitting position. He scrunched his face and took rapid, shallow breaths. I removed the man’s weapon sling from around his shoulder
and patted him down, finding one full and two empty magazines.

  He opened his eyes and sneered. “Who the fuck are you?”

  I crouched in front of him. “We’re just a couple of landscape gardeners that you’ve managed to piss off. The guy behind me is one of your former tech geeks. How many of you are in the area?”

  He grunted and spat blood down his goatee. “Fuck you.”

  “Have you called in our position?” I said.

  “You’ll be dead in half an hour.”

  “I won’t, but you will.”

  He took a deep raspy breath and grimaced. “Anthony’s going to skin you alive when he catches you. Do you realize who you’re taking on?”

  “From what I hear, they’re going to have their hands full with HQ,” Jack said.

  The man laughed, causing him to cough. “They know they’re in the shit. That’s why they’ve broken away from the main group and are coming after you.”

  “Where are they?” I asked.

  He struggled to keep his eyes open. “You’re dead men.”

  Jack shook him. “Where are they? Answer us.”

  The man exhaled and his eyelids dropped. Jack let go and the man flopped to the dirt. Jack kicked the man in the chest, turned to me, and shook his head.

  “Should we hide the bodies?” Brett asked.

  Jack scowled at the fresh corpse and wiped his mouth. “I’d throw him in a big pit of Genesis Alliance bodies if I had my way. Fuck him.”

  I guessed Jack also carried the same mental scars from our experience. I certainly couldn’t shake it, and it continued to fuel the fire of anger inside me. I reminded myself that our moves needed to be calculated through logic and not motivated by rage.

  “Can they still launch the activation without Anthony and Jerry?” I asked.

  “Depends if they’ve got the codes,” Brett said. “As far as I know, only Ron and his niece had a set.”

  “Martina?” Jack asked.

  Brett raised his eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

  “Long story,” I said. “But we’ve got bigger things to think about in the next three days. Beating the main group to Hart Island, so you can do your thing. Avoiding nutjobs stalking us, and a bigger group being activated, probably wanting to wipe us all out.”

  I searched the other man’s pockets and found a half-eaten packet of mints and a notebook. I flicked through the pages, scanning each one for anything of interest. He’d written down GA radio voice procedures, listed weapons, and jotted down Ron’s address in Monroe. On the back page, he’d drawn a time line. The second activation had yesterday’s date. Below it said “Hart Island—SA/Processing—Next Tuesday.” I doubled-checked the date and time on my watch. Friday the 12th of May, just past eleven.

  I held the page up. “Brett, this claims the second activation’s in four days time.”

  “Three was always optimistic. They probably don’t want any more fuck-ups.”

  “What about HQ?” Jack said. “Didn’t you say they were arriving on Monday?”

  “I estimated, but I do know they’re heading for Boston, and the local lot are for the high jump. Trust me, fellas, we need to beat them. The local team I can face; the UK lot . . . they’ll be a larger and more clinical force. That’s where they stationed all of their elite.”

  Jack grabbed the notebook and ran his eyes over the page. “We need to get back to the mainland and lose ourselves on the back roads to New York. The earlier we hit that island, the better.”

  “No arguments here,” I said. “Let’s move out.”

  As we jogged toward the marina, I considered this island would have been perfect to visit pre-activation. A lovely bay, monument, manicured gardens to relax around, and fishing on the lake. I scanned the marina and lake for any signs of movement and listened for the sound of distant engines approaching. Without hearing or seeing anything suspicious, I proceeded down a wharf toward several larger boats.

  Jack peered along the line. “Which one?”

  “Any with keys and fuel,” I said. I headed to the closest, a solid-looking launch with tinted windows. “We don’t know if those two managed to get in touch with mainland force.”

  “We’re right on the edge of the radio range here. Those GA handhelds are useless,” Brett said.

  The back doors to the cabin hung slightly open. I quickly boarded and rushed for the cockpit. A flock of startled seagulls burst out of the doorway. I ducked and covered my head as they flapped over me, collectively screaming.

  Inside the cabin, two gulls remained, greedily pecking a woman who slumped over a bench next to a small kitchen area. I aimed a kick at the nearest and it attempted to fly, bashing into the ceiling and dropping to the floor. The other perched on her shoulder, gazing at me with its black soulless eyes. I lashed my fist at it, knocking the bird over before stamping on it, collapsing it like a deflated bag.

  The cramped cabin stank, but the unease I’d felt at the marina forced me to continue to see if we could use the vessel. I clambered up to the raised cockpit and found keys in the ignition. Jack and Brett flapped around on the deck outside, scaring away a number of inquisitive birds, which flew away in search of an easier food source. Brett took one look inside the cabin, turned, and swore under his breath.

  I turned the key and sighed with relief. The engine instantly rumbled to life and steadily hummed while the fuel gauge smoothly raised to almost full.

  Brett and Jack carried the body to the dock. Brett placed a tarpaulin sheet over it and crossed himself. I liked his respectful gesture, but he was going to see a lot worse where we were heading. We would have no time to pay our respects to the dead.

  Jack untied the boat, and I returned to the wheel. I reversed the boat away with the grace of a drunk driver, turned, and increased the throttle. The engine whined and we picked up speed, slapping over the calm lake in bright sunshine.

  Nature would reclaim South Bass Island. I had little doubt about it.

  As we sped south toward the mainland, Brett and Jack stood on either side of the cockpit, keeping watch on the port and starboard sides. I rummaged through the drawers for anything of use. I found a chart of the lake and a map of the surrounding area.

  I passed the chart to Jack. “Have a look for a decent place to dock.”

  Jack oriented it to our position and traced a number of options with his finger. “Head southeast to Vermilion. Looks like there’s a few quiet spots.”

  “How far are we talking?” Brett said.

  “Just over fifteen miles. Should be there by midday.”

  I rolled up my shirtsleeve and rubbed the gash on my arm. During the last couple of hours, it had started to throb and sting with growing regularity.

  “Probably needs proper attention,” Jack said, looking down at my wound. “We’ll find a medical center once we dock and grab a decent first-aid kit.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I said, but I knew it needed cleaning to stamp out the early signs of infection. “See if you can find a small town near Interstate 80. Best to find a local pharmacy rather than heading into a city.”

  Jack gave me a curious look. “We’re heading back along the main highway?”

  “Don’t see why not. If we see GA, we can find another route. Speed is the key.”

  He studied the map and pressed his finger against it. “Elyria looks like a good candidate.”

  Brett leaned over his shoulder. “Should be a Walgreens there.”

  “A what?” I asked.

  “Local pharmacy. They had one in Monroe, and I’ve seen them in other towns and cities.”

  We swept around the coastline, making excellent progress. Brett opened a window to allow a cool breeze to rush through the boat and clear the stench. I kept a safe distance from the sporadically clustered buildings onshore. Only a well-placed marksman could hit us.

&n
bsp; “This is it,” Jack said. “Head for those trees.”

  I decreased the throttle and gently cruised toward a deserted beach. Trees lined the back of it, partially concealing a row of large residential properties, painted in various light pastel colors. Green seemed a popular choice around here. A set of wooden steps led to a road above.

  The boat drifted to a crunching halt several feet away from dry land. I looked over the side at water gently lapping against our hull and could see the bottom of the lake only a yard below the surface.

  “You two get out,” I said. “I’m sending this back out. We don’t want to leave any clues.”

  Jack strapped on his pack, held his rifle over his head, and swung his legs over the side, splashing into shallow water and wading the short distance to the beach. I passed Brett my rifle, and he clumsily flopped over the side and staggered to shore.

  I returned to the cockpit, put the engines in reverse, and turned it one hundred and eighty degrees before thrusting the throttle forward to maximum. I quickly checked the boat’s course—straight to the center of the lake—ran to the stern, and jumped. The cold water took my breath away, and I sank until I kicked for land and solid footing. I hauled myself out of the lake and turned to watch the boat powering to the depths of Lake Erie.

  Brett passed me my rifle. “Looks like you could do with a set of dry clothes.”

  “Thanks for stating the obvious.” I wiped water from my face and checked to see that my watch still worked. The second hand ticked around, and we’d made it to Ohio minutes before midday.

  “Look on the bright side. At least it’s not winter,” Jack said.

  I grunted approval and squelched across the beach to the steps. Pretty colonial-style detached houses lined the street above. One, painted brilliant white, with a spacious porch and huge oak in the front garden, had a red Pontiac Torrent in the driveway.

  “Looks like it fits the bill,” Brett said.

  Jack pulled his rifle into his shoulder and approached the house, aiming at the large ground floor window. My soaked, thick lumberjack shirt restricted my movement. I ripped open the buttons, peeled it off, and dropped it on the road.