Second Activation (The Activation Series Book 2)

by Darren Wearmouth

  He shined it around the room and headed for a display cabinet. Jack took out framed pictures and threw them all against the wall and smashed Jerry’s small fantasy ornaments with the butt of his rifle. He tipped over the bookshelf, kicked over the couch, picked up a DVD player and threw it at a retro record player. I felt a small amount of satisfaction at seeing Jerry’s property being destroyed. He deserved it, and I hoped it had a therapeutic effect on Jack.

  Jack tipped over an armchair, took a lighter out of his pocket, and set fire to it. He encouraged the small licks of fire with paper that he ripped from a large atlas. Once the flames took hold and the fire started to crackle with a healthy rage, he jumped back out of the window.

  Jack rubbed his hands together and slung his small pack.

  “How did that feel?” I asked.

  “Like we’ve given him a virtual punch in the face. That will have to do, for now.”

  Picking back along Interstate 84 in the dark used up a lot of energy-sapping concentration; the car took a bit of a battering off the side of other vehicles and loudly banged over debris on the road. Thankfully, it only took an hour to reach the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge, a nice sign of progress. I suggested to Jack that we not enter the more heavily populated areas of New York until daylight. He agreed and I stopped on the bridge at half past four in the morning.

  I gazed along the moonlit river in both directions. Looking south, faint orange glows burned against the dark skyline, perhaps the route of a Genesis Alliance advance party. I couldn’t imagine they’d be collecting any prisoners or messing around with siege tactics. I sat down next to Jack against the concrete sidewall.

  “I’m getting pig sick of this traveling about with threats around every corner,” Jack said. “I can’t wait to get out onto the open water.”

  “You want to sail to England?”

  He sighed and rubbed his face. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world. We’ve spent half of our time here, struggling up and down roads, and all we’ve achieved is a black eye each, weight loss, and a couple of dead and missing friends.”

  “Keep your chin up. We’ve discovered a lot too and have an opportunity to strike.”

  Jack picked up a stone and hurled it across the road. It clanked against a metal railing on the opposite side.

  I wondered if Bernie dominated Jack’s thoughts. If we’d stayed in his apartment, the chances were that we might have ended up with a group of survivors in New York. Then again, in a densely populated city area, more killers lurked. Choosing the right answer had proven impossible, but so far I thought we’d made reasonable decisions. We were still alive and could help people in the city.

  We sat in contemplative silence for ten minutes, and I closed my eyes. A sound like crashing thunder rumbled in the distance. The clear night sky showed no signs of an imminent storm, so I strained to listen as the sound grew steadily louder.

  Jack sat up and peered west. “Whatever that is, it’s coming toward us.”

  “Into the car,” I said.

  I lay across the front seats, Jack dived in the back. The rumbling sound changed into a bashing of metal. I leaned over the back seat.

  Two bright headlights stabbed through the dark. Others followed. The lead vehicle closed in, and the noise intensified. The GA convoy—it had to be.

  Jack glanced at me. “Think it’s them?”

  “We’ll find out in a minute. Hold your fire unless they see us.”

  A large snowplow powered past and smashed a Mustang to the side of the road. It barged aside anything in its path, creating a clear route for the following vehicles.

  I raised my rifle to just below the window, ready to thrust it up and fire if required.

  Two noisy five-ton trucks came next, common logistical vehicles for armies across the world. I couldn’t see the drivers in the dim light and tried to keep my night vision by focusing away from the dazzling lights. A flatbed followed, with two activation devices strapped to its back, similar in size to the one in Jerry’s barn. Six black Range Rovers brought up the rear.

  “How did they get here so quickly?” Jack said.

  “Drove nonstop, like us.”

  I thought about the implications of what we were seeing. GA was executing its plans for the second activation, and crucially, its members were now ahead of us. Brett had mentioned the technology team needing time to set things up, so the timeline matched the notebook. The countdown had begun.

  We watched the convoy as it crossed the bridge and continued down the highway. The engine noises died down as the red taillights disappeared from the horizon. A solitary black Rover crawled into view, possibly acting as some kind of backmarker. I resisted the tempting urge to pump it full of lead.

  After waiting another fifteen minutes without seeing anything else, we crawled out of the car and sat by the road.

  “We need Morgan and his group,” I said.

  “Yep. Can’t take on that with two rifles.”

  “And whatever else is coming.”

  Occasional distant noises punctuated the last two hours of darkness, mostly sporadic gunfire. A long, loud crashing noise echoed as dawn began to break. Perhaps a building collapsing after a fire or something more sinister, related to GA’s advance.

  Conscious that I should at least get an hour’s sleep before we headed into the city, I stretched across the back seat. We didn’t have to worry about what was behind us anymore. All the danger lay ahead.

  Jack shook my shoulder. “Harry.”

  My mouth felt like the Sahara. I swallowed and rolled over. “How long have I been asleep.”

  He had a look of urgency on his face that made me bolt up and reach for my rifle. “Ten minutes. Someone’s coming.”

  I sprang to the back window. Through the murky dawn light, a pair of dipped headlights headed through the cleared path. “Just one set of lights?”

  Jack nodded. “Let it roll by. Ambush if needed.”

  I lowered the rear window in case I needed a quick, accurate shot. A risk I wasn’t prepared to take with a convoy, but a single car away from the pack would be easier pickings.

  The car approached at a steady pace and slowed when it reached the bridge.

  I raised my head just before it pulled level, hoping to catch a glimpse of the driver. A blonde-haired man, dressed in a red fleece, stared straight back at me.

  His head jerked back against the rest and the engine roared. Car tires screeched against the road surface. His car bucked forward and veered to the right. It slammed into the side of a caravan, twenty yards head, with a metallic crunch.

  I kicked open my door. “Go, go, go!”

  Jack ran to the driver’s side and pointed his rifle through the window. I covered him and swept around to the passenger side. Only one man in the car. Back seat empty.

  “Don’t move an inch,” Jack said.

  I opened the passenger door, keeping my rifle trained at the man’s face. Blood trickled from his nose. He groggily looked in both directions and held up his hands.

  “Don’t shoot—don’t shoot, please.”

  “What are you doing on the road?” I asked. “Who are you with?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Lower your guns . . . please.”

  “What’s your name?” Jack said.

  “Rick. Stop pointing that thing at me, please.”

  “Where are you heading?” I asked.

  “Eastchester, to see my bro.”

  I needed to press for more information. Bring out the possible maniac inside of him. “Why now? What have you been doing for the last couple of weeks?”

  “I’ve been keeping a low profile since it all went crazy last Friday. What’s with all the questions? Who are you guys?”

  “Just a couple of survivors,” Jack said.

  “What’s your story?” I asked.

/>   He frowned at me. “My story?”

  “You heard me. Run us through your events since last Friday.”

  I thought it would be the best way to judge whether, like us, he’d managed to evade being activated. Or if he had a few days of memory loss, like other killers we’d met along the way. If so, he posed a risk of flipping again like Amanda. Whatever he had to say, it needed to be convincing.

  “I was alone in the lab when I felt funny vibrations, like little shock waves. The next thing I knew, people were shouting, screaming, guys attacking each other, killing themselves—all kinds of weird shit.”

  “Where do you work?” Jack asked.

  “A pressurized environment, dealing with chemicals. I hid in the roof after the shit hit the fan.” His head sank. “My colleagues . . . they were killing each other.”

  He probably avoided the effects the same way we did, but on ground level, which was a whole lot worse. I remembered the carnage at the airport and shivered.

  “How long did you stay up there?” I said.

  “A day. I had lunch in my pack. To be honest I felt sick, wasn’t hungry. What happened to you when shit started going down?”

  “We were on a plane,” Jack said. “Some might say we were lucky, but it doesn’t feel like it to me.”

  “Where did you go after that?” I asked and lowered my rifle. Jack followed suit. Rick seemed to be conscious of his surroundings and didn’t appear to be a threat.

  His shoulders relaxed and he let out a deep breath. “Thank you. Most of the people around the complex were dead, but I met a couple of psychos on my way back home. One chased my car. Another stood in front of it. He threw a rock at the windshield. I swerved around him. In my mirror I saw them attacking each other.”

  “That figures. So you’ve just been hiding at home?” Jack said.

  “I stayed in the house, drew the blinds, and locked the doors. Things seemed to calm down after a few days, until yesterday. A naked man smashed through the front window with a hockey stick.”

  “He came for you specifically?” I said.

  “I don’t think so. I’d heard clattering all morning, coming down the street. He broke into other houses before mine.”

  “What did you do?” Jack said.

  “I didn’t have a choice. He screamed, ‘Kill, kill, kill’ but was all tangled up in the blind. I stabbed him in the throat.”

  Jack grunted in appreciation. “We’ve seen a lot of that kind of stuff from New York to Monroe. You can’t reason with them.”

  “We’ve an old saying here: ‘It’s better to be tried by twelve than carried by six.’ I wasn’t going to stand there and let him kill me. Do you know how far this thing has spread?”

  I shook my head. “It’s all over the place.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Globally,” Jack said. “The whole place is goosed. Where did you say you were heading?”

  “My brother’s place in Eastchester. He’s ex-Army, has guns and rifles. I figured if I’m going to survive through this, I’m going to need his help. What about you guys?”

  “New York City and Hart Island,” I said. “We know of a group of survivors from the plane.”

  “And we might be able to help them,” Jack said.

  “Eastchester’s on the way. Mind if I join you?”

  I looked at Jack, who shrugged. At some point we had to believe in people, and Rick seemed genuine.

  “We could always do with some local knowledge,” I said. “Hop in the Chrysler.”

  The sun continued to rise as we headed over the bridge. Nature’s wonders had stopped being things of beauty to me. Dark and light were considerations in our strategy for survival and attack. We had three days until the second activation, and possibly two until Headquarters showed up in whatever guise.

  Rick sat in the front with Jack. Although I felt sure he had good intentions, I took no chances and kept my rifle pointed at the back of his seat. He nervously babbled about his life story. We told him the short version of events since landing at JFK. As conversation continued, he relaxed a little.

  “My bro will know what to do,” Rick said. “Wait till we get there; you’ll see, he’ll have a plan.”

  Jack sighed. “Don’t count your chickens, Chief. We came from that direction last Sunday. Total bloody mess. He’ll be lucky—”

  “You don’t know my brother. He doesn’t need luck.”

  “What makes you think he’s alive? I’d prepare myself for the worst,” Jack said.

  “Well, I’m alive. It could be genetic, right? You two are both okay.”

  Jack and I both sat in silence. I certainly didn’t have the heart to tell him that his environment probably saved his bacon.

  We proceeded quickly along the GA-cleared route. Rick instructed Jack to take the next exit. For some reason, probably habit, he flicked the indicator on. Ahead, a tangle of cars blocked the exit road.

  Rick pointed to the shoulder. “Pull over here; we can go through the trees.”

  Jack brought our car to a gentle halt and turned to Rick. “We take things nice and easy. Only fools rush in.”

  I visually scanned the surrounding area through my sights. Rick quickly moved past me and headed for the trees.

  “How far is it from here?” I asked.

  “Two minutes. This way.”

  He strode with purpose along a beaten path through the woodland. Jack and I followed, flanking him on either side, rifles at the ready. The path led to a cul-de-sac cramped with Gothic Revival–style houses. Rick froze and glared at the nearest. A body lay at the end of the driveway. He broke into a jog.

  I reached forward to grab his arm but clutched thin air. “Slow down. Be careful.”

  He ignored me and ran for a DHL van parked at the front of the property. As I closed in, I realized the body was a deliveryman’s. His bright red and yellow jacket hood flapped in the breeze. Rick stood over him and bit his right fist. Dried streaks of blood led a couple of feet to a street drain.

  He raced to the open front door and knocked on it. “Hey, it’s Rick—are you here?”

  Jack cut across the grass and covered him. “You don’t know what you might find in there. Let us clear the house. We’re armed.”

  “He’ll be in the basement. That’s where he keeps his stash.”

  We followed him into the house. He rushed through a living area containing a blue couch, a recliner, and a flat screen TV. The place stank of stale cigarette smoke and death. I noticed a trail of purple splashes on the green carpet.

  Rick paused above a flight of stairs. “Are you down there?”

  Jack looked at me, raised his eyebrows, and motioned toward the carpet. Rick thumped down the stairs. Moments later I heard a cry from the basement.

  “Oh God, no . . . no!”

  I clambered down and bumped into Rick after rounding a corner at the bottom of the stairs. Small windows, just below the ceiling, provided enough light to see his brother. He slumped against a chest of drawers and had a deep diagonal slice across his right wrist. A bloodstained bayonet lay by his left hand.

  Rick approached, knelt, and held his brother in his arms. The corpse made a strange burping noise. He jumped back and turned to me with tears in his eyes. “I thought he’d be okay. He was one tough son of a . . .”

  I decided to give Rick some space and check out the basement. None of my words would bring him any comfort. What could I say?

  Nothing looked immediately useful. To my right, an old computer sat on a desk, and a dusty exercise bike was propped against the wall.

  Jack appeared around the corner, took one look at Rick and his brother, and turned away. I imagined finding him in similar circumstances and shuddered.

  I sat on the swivel chair in front of the computer and flicked through a newspaper, dated the day before the first
activation. Some of the readers’ letters looked strange when viewed in current context. One complained about cyclists in the city; another, about garbage collection. A lady seemed to have a deep grudge against the mayor.

  I turned to the sports pages, perhaps for a final touch of the old world, and wondered if I’d seen my last game of football or swung my last club.

  A floorboard creaked overhead. Rick glanced up. I put my finger to my lips.

  Two seconds later another creak, then another. Somebody was crossing the living area in the direction of the stairs. My heart thumped against my chest, and I shouldered my rifle.

  Rick crept over to me. “What are we going to do?”

  “Looks like we’ve been followed,” I said. “Presume guilty until proven innocent.”

  “Too much of a coincidence,” Jack said. “One rule, Rick. We don’t let anyone get close.”

  I looked up as the noises above continued. The door at the top of the stairs groaned open.

  “I know you’re down there,” a female shouted. “Come out with your hands up.”

  Jack placed his back against the internal wall and leaned around the corner. “How about you come down here with your hands up?”

  After a lingering moment, probably shorter than what it seemed, she replied, “There’s three of you; why would I do that?”

  “You’ve just explained why you should. Three against one,” I said. We had to establish her faculties. “Why did you follow us?”

  “Just one of you come up. I only want to borrow a lawnmower,” she said.

  My heart sank. To escape the basement we would probably have to kill her.

  “Bollocks,” Jack said. “She’s activated.”

  Rick shook his head. “She wants a fucking lawnmower?”

  “Activated people don’t have a recognition about the events around them. They act normally until they have a chance to strike.”

  “What do you mean ‘activated’?”

  “Crazy. You’ve seen them yourself,” I said.

  “It’s all so damn weird,” Rick said, and he looked back at his brother. “Do you think he killed the guy upstairs?”

  Cupboards and drawers slammed overhead.