“Are you sure? Are you sure?” she kept repeating hysterically.
“Just open the bloody door. We’ve come to save you.”
After a brief pause, the lock clicked and the door creaked open.
“Come on guys—get in,” Jack said.
Rick backed into the room. I followed, closed the door, and locked it.
Five children, all around seven years old, huddled in the kitchenette area. Lisa looked terrified. She pulled at Jack’s sleeve. “Is it all happening again? Oh my God, is it?”
“If we stay calm, we’ll get out of this,” Jack said.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Who was outside? Did they come to kill us?”
“Probably,” I said. “You might see a bit more of it until we get clear.”
“We can’t move from here. It’s not safe for the kids.”
“It’s not safe to stay here, Lisa,” Jack said. “We need to find a safe place to hide.”
“People won’t find us here; we can keep quiet,” she said.
“If I wanted to find and kill someone, I’d look in the suites,” Rick said.
“We can wait here for half an hour,” I said. “Give them time to wipe each other out.”
“Get the kids ready to move in thirty minutes,” Jack said.
I heard a faint banging noise and put my fingers to my lips.
Somebody knocked on a suite door along the corridor and shouted. Then again, closer.
“Keep quiet—they’re not lingering,” I said.
Lisa sat among the kids and gave each one a reassuring rub on the arm. Jack, Rick, and I lined up behind a couch and watched the door.
Someone knocked on the next door along. Footsteps echoed outside. I took a deep breath.
“Come out—I know you’re in there,” Chip said. “Parade in five minutes.”
“He’s screwed,” Jack said.
I’d quickly grown to like Chip after finding him a warm man of integrity and action. GA had turned us into mortal enemies. I hoped he would move along and meet a swift end.
He banged on our suite’s door.
“Come out! I know you’re—”
One of the children screamed.
“Open it,” Chip said. “I’ll give you five seconds.”
The door shuddered three times. I imagined him outside, thrusting his large frame against it. I aimed at the center.
Two gunshots rang out. Wood splintered inward around the lock. The door boomed open and thudded against the wall. Chip stood in the open entrance and held his gun forward in a two-handed grip. The children screamed.
I pumped four rounds into his torso. A hot shell case from Rick’s rifle bounced off my cheek. Chip’s arms fell by his side. He jerked as the rounds slammed into his body, and fell flat on his back.
Lisa cupped her cheeks and gasped. I felt a lump in my throat but had to stay vigilant to the situation at hand. With the door broken, we were even more exposed.
“We need to get clear of the stadium,” I said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Won’t it be like this everywhere?” Lisa asked.
“The main concentration of people is here,” Jack said. “We’ll protect you, Lisa. Staying here is suicide.”
“I’ll scout the way ahead,” I said. “Jack, you stay with Lisa and the children. Rick, bring up the rear.”
“Roger that,” Rick said.
The kids surrounded Lisa, and she gave them a pep talk.
I checked the corridor in both directions and headed for a fire exit between our two suites. Somebody screamed on a lower level. Lisa and the kids linked hands and formed a chain. I depressed the metal exit bar and shoved the door open. A shaft of late morning sunshine flooded into the corridor.
I scanned the immediate area outside the stadium while descending the concrete steps. The parking lot was deserted, and the golf course showed no signs of the madness inside.
The kids and Lisa stood against the wall of a brick building, perhaps a former security office. Rick and Jack joined me, and together we surrounded them in a defensive formation. A seagull obliviously flapped overhead as screams echoed from the stadium.
“Take us back to the marina, Rick,” I said, thinking water might be our safest place.
He nodded and led the way around the stadium, toward Flushing Bay.
Forty yards later, Rick crouched and pulled his rifle into his shoulder.
Jack and I knelt in front of the kids. Multiple footsteps slapped against the ground, heading in our direction.
Harris and three of his team, all with packs strapped to their backs, bolted out of an entrance tunnel.
“Stop or I fire!” Jack shouted.
Harris skidded to a halt, swallowed hard, and rested his hands on his knees. “Thank God, it’s you.”
“Get over here,” I said.
The group joined us by the wall. Two of them swept the surrounding area through their sights.
“We took your advice—shock to the head,” Harris said, trying to catch his breath. “Doesn’t look like many others did.”
“They probably didn’t even know about it,” Jack said.
“How’d you get away?” Rick asked.
“When the killing started, we headed for the nearest exit and ended up in the locker room.”
“The logistics women were strangling each other,” one of the men said in a French accent.
“We left them to it,” Harris said. “Hid in my suite till it died down. What happened to Chip?”
“We shot him,” Jack said.
“Did he turn?”
“Didn’t have a choice. It was him or us,” Rick said.
Harris sighed. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Any ideas?”
“We came here in a cruiser, docked at Flushing Bay,” I said. “It’s not far from here.”
“What have you got in those backpacks?” Jack said.
“Emergency supplies. We grabbed what we could from the suite. Figured it could be a long few days,” Harris said.
“We share. Not a problem,” French said.
“You up for a boat trip?” I asked.
Harris nodded. “Sure, let’s get those kids to safety.”
“You four flank the kids; Rick and Jack can bring up the rear. Let’s move.”
A ground-level emergency exit banged open. A man in a chef’s apron staggered out of the door, holding a carving knife. He looked in the opposite direction. I raised my rifle. He slowly turned around. Our eyes met. He raised his knife and sprinted forward.
Before I had a chance to fire, multiple gunshots zipped through him, checking his run and peppering his dirty white apron with red spots. He dropped to his knees and weakly threw the knife in our general direction, before crashing face first on the road.
French drew a Glock from his hip holster, stood over the chef, and fired into the back of his head. I found his action chilling. The chef had already cooked his last stew.
“No pissing about— move!” I shouted.
We headed out toward Citi Field, the quickest route to our cruiser.
Harris, his men, and Lisa carried the children. Jack and Rick shuffled backward, covering our rear. I felt we were becoming too strung out, so we stopped below a concrete bridge to regroup.
“It’s alright, guys,” I said to the children. “We’re taking you somewhere safe. Who wants to go on a boat?”
The closest sniffed, wiped brown hair away from her face, and nodded. The landscape opened out to our right, where Citi Field dominated the skyline. I kept us between the trees at the side of the road, and we trudged through the long grass surrounding them.
A vehicle engine roared. I gestured downward and ducked behind a tree. Moments later, a black Range Rover with tinted windows tore past us, heading for the stadium. A s
urge of anger ran through me. I wanted to spray the Rover with rounds but didn’t want to compromise the kids. Although the second activation had killed our plans for Hart Island, we still had to fight back.
Jack crawled to my side. “Got to be them.”
“Reckon they’re after the community or us?” I asked. “We shouldn’t put everyone at risk.”
“Might be Anthony or Jerry,” Jack said. “Let’s drop this lot off and find out.”
Rick nudged in between us. “Are we coming back for those fuckers?”
“You read my mind,” I said. “I’m sick of running.”
I looked along the line and caught Harris’s attention. “Can you handle a boat?”
“Sailed one a few years ago on Lake Windermere. I’ll be all right.”
“No sailing involved,” Rick said. “You’ll be fine.”
“Take your guys and protect Lisa and the kids,” I said.
“Where you going?”
“We’ll come for you when the dust settles,” I said. “Keep within earshot of the launch point.”
A burst of automatic fire echoed in the distance.
Our group moved again in a formation similar to a World War II shipping convoy across the Atlantic Ocean. Those of us who were armed led, flanked, and protected the rear of our precious cargo: Lisa and the kids. We crossed the dry dock to our tethered boat.
Harris’s men ushered the kids into the cabin. Jack and I took up defensive positions, facing the city. Rick took Harris to the front of the cockpit to give him an overview of the controls.
“Do you think they’ve been watching us?” Jack asked.
“You mean GA? I don’t believe in coincidences. That Rover was nearly on top of us.”
“So much for bloody laborers,” Jack said. “Looks to me like they’re trying to catch anyone who survived the first activation.”
“Either Brett was lying, which I doubt, or they’ve gone off-plan again.”
The second activation led me to a few uncomfortable conclusions. Genesis Alliance had managed to get the backup base on Hart Island functional, ahead of schedule. I’d stupidly hoped that their Headquarters would turn up, kill the local goons, and leave us in peace. We had killers to deal with again, and I wondered if the global population would shrink to an unrecoverable level. Finally, if Martina had knowingly used the launch codes and was neck deep in GA, the chances of Lea being alive were slim. Jerry and Anthony wouldn’t take her along for the ride.
“Where are you going?” Harris asked.
“To find that black Range Rover,” Jack said.
“Why risk it?”
“We can’t stay out of their way forever,” I said. “Time to get on the front foot.”
“I come with you,” French said.
“You need to guard Lisa and the kids,” I replied. “If we don’t start protecting what’s left, there’s going to be nothing to fight for.”
Rick hopped off the boat. “They’re ready to go. What’s our plan?”
I narrowed my eyes. “We’ll get some ammo from the stadium and teach those assholes a lesson.”
We said quick good-byes and watched the boat plow away from the pontoon, into open water.
With a smaller group, we made quicker progress. I led us through a large parking lot to the left of Citi Field, ready for a fight.
“Look out for the fresh ones,” I said to Rick as we passed two decomposing bodies. “One played dead at the airport and killed a good woman.”
The state of the bodies littering our alternative route suggested they were victims of the first activation. I stopped fifty yards short of the tennis center. A black Rover was parked outside the main entrance.
A single gunshot rang out from somewhere inside the stadium.
“They’re still here,” Jack said.
“This one’s for my brother,” Rick said and ran for the concrete steps we’d descended half an hour ago.
His excitable streak came to the fore, and he dashed for the fire exit. I winced as his feet thumped against the concrete steps. Shouting at him to slow down and proceed with more caution would only further advertise our position.
Our suite was only twenty yards to the right of to the stairwell entrance. Rick eased the door open and slipped inside.
“I’ll grab the ammo—give me two minutes,” Jack said.
“Be careful, Jack. We’ve got goons and killers about.”
I expected to find the place as we’d left it only hours ago. Somebody had ransacked it. Our bunk beds were pulled over, armchairs lay on their sides, and smashed crockery littered the floor.
“What the fuck?” Rick said.
I shook my head, crept to the window, and surveyed the stadium.
Morgan knelt on the baseline, hands tied behind his back. Two men dressed in black stood over him. Bodies from the second activation lay spread around them. One of the men punched Morgan in the stomach, and he cried in pain. The other yanked his hair back and shouted in his face.
“Are those GA?” Rick asked.
“Dressed in black. Rover outside. I’d put my house on it.”
“Whadda we do?”
“As much as I don’t like him, he’s one of us, and they are the enemy.”
One of the men walked to the tennis net and sliced off a length of cord with a knife.
I heard Jack’s double knock and gestured to Rick to open the door. Back home, he always knocked twice and burst in, no matter who was around or what I was doing. I didn’t mind; my house was his house, and we’d spent hours in that place, drinking cans and watching movies after finishing work. Now, he entered the suite with three full magazines, looked at the mess on the floor, and frowned.
“Two GA and Morgan,” I said.
Jack pushed the curtain to one side. “I’ll take the one on the left. You two kill the other.”
I slid open the balcony door. We crawled out and squatted behind the padded seats. Shouting echoed up from the court. Fist connected with skin.
“Ready?” I asked.
Rick nodded. “You betcha.”
I swung my rifle over the seat and aimed at the goon by the net. The three of us fired in unison.
My goon dropped to his knees, clutching his side. I repositioned my aim and fired. My next round punctured the side of his head. I looked to the left. The other sprawled on the surface next to Morgan. Jack fired again to make sure. The man flinched after a round slammed into his guts. His arms fell by his sides.
“Stay alert,” I said. “Might be others.”
Morgan’s battered and swollen face looked in our direction. His shoulders sank, and the noise of his sobs drifted up to our position.
“Players’ entrance,” Rick said.
By the time I swung my rifle across, he’d already fired. Another goon dropped to the ground.
“We can’t go down there,” Jack said. “Place could be crawling with them.”
“Morgan, get your arse up here,” I shouted.
He gingerly rose and headed through the court exit immediately below us.
“Guys, he could be activated,” Rick said.
“Something tells me he followed our advice,” I said.
A minute later, somebody knocked on the door. I covered Jack and he slowly opened it. Morgan stood outside. He had swelling around both of his eyes and blood across the right cheek of his tanned face. Jack grabbed him by his shirt collar, yanked him inside, and threw him to the couch.
Morgan scowled. “Touch me like that again—”
Jack jabbed a finger toward him. “Why didn’t you listen to us?”
“Listen to you? It’s all your fault.”
I needed to split this pair up and see to it that we remained vigilant. Besides the threat of killers, three dead goons out of radio contact could spell trouble.
“They asked for you specifically. We were targeted because you were here. If I’d only listened to my conscience when you showed up. I knew you were trouble.”
“What did you tell them?” I said.
“That you were here, but they already knew that.”
“How did they know?” Jack said.
“They said they’d been watching us since yesterday and caught one of our scavenging teams this morning. What’s the difference? They knew.”
He bitterly emphasized the last two words. Whether they knew our location or not, I doubted it would have made a difference to the overall plan. He glared at me like he’d found a piece of shit on the bottom of his brown tassel shoes.
“Anything else?” I asked, resisting the urge to slam my rifle in his face.
“Some came on boats. I heard them mention a rendezvous back at the marina.”
Jack bolted over and grabbed Morgan’s collar. “Which marina? Where?”
“How should I know? Get your hands off me, you asshole.”
I ignored his unoriginal insult. I never went for this whole north–south divide. A lot of my friends in the Army lived in the south of England, and I loved vesting London. Greatest city on Earth in my opinion—or it had been.
“You’re coming with us, Morgan—grab a rifle,” I said and cut loose the bonds behind his back.
He caressed the red marks around his wrist. “Where are we going?”
“The marina at Flushing Bay.”
“You’ve got to be joking!”
“I’m struggling to find anything funny.”
Morgan guided us to his personal arms store, a formal office like Harris’s orientation room. He took a rifle and pistol from a locked cabinet. The rest of us topped up our mags and grabbed a Glock each. I found a small collection of tasers and slipped one into my back pocket.
For the second time, we headed back toward the marina, this time moving between the trees that lined Shea Road, keeping Citi Field to our right. Our pace quickened after an extended rattle of gunfire to our front. I ran under Northern Boulevard, stopping a hundred yards short of the launch point, and scanned the secured boats.
Second Activation (The Activation Series Book 2) Page 20