“We can’t just go running in there,” Morgan said.
“They didn’t all come on boats,” I said. “We saw a black Range Rover earlier.”
Footsteps thumped along the ground. Two men dressed in black jogged along the Flushing Promenade toward the marina.
Both checked their stride to a slow walk within fifty yards of the marina and shouldered their rifles.
Rick dropped to the prone firing position and adjusted his sights. “I can take them from this range.”
I dropped next to him and remembered the marksmanship principles taught to me in the Army: No snatching. Relax. Make every shot count.
The goons collapsed after being hit by our collective broadside. One must have instinctively pulled his trigger as he went down and wildly sprayed bullets into the clear blue sky.
I felt we were making progress. Five of them dead in the space of an hour. I checked my watch to see how much natural light we had left. Quarter past three in the afternoon. A good few hours. After receiving a knock to my confidence earlier today, I felt it building again.
“Everybody down!” Jack shouted.
I spun around. Thirty yards away, a man with a pistol ducked behind a tree.
“Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up,” I said.
“I’m here to help you. I heard the gunshots,” a voice called back.
“Who are you?” Jack asked.
He thrust out a spread hand. “I was at Flushing Meadows with you. Saw what you did back there.”
“Do you know me?” Morgan asked.
He peered around the tree and focused on Morgan. “’Course I do.”
“Come out where I can see you,” Morgan said. “I interviewed every member of the company. I never forget a face.”
“Wait,” I said and turned to him. “You’re not calling the shots anymore.”
“You seem to be forgetting that I got off the same plane as you and led a group to a supermarket before taking over an entire stadium. What have you done besides fuck things up?”
I was about to reply when the man edged from behind the tree. He held his pistol in the air. Something about him didn’t look right. He looked like he hadn’t washed for days, and his neutral expression unnerved me.
“Whatever’s going down,” he said. “I think you could use an extra pair of hands.”
Jack circled around his side. “Drop your gun.”
“Not sure I recognize you,” Morgan said. “Did you work in logistics?”
The man continued toward Morgan and passed Rick, who leaned against a tree. He quickly lowered his gun and fired into the side of Rick’s head. A thin spray of blood speckled my face. I instinctively raised my rifle and pulled the trigger. Jack fired too and the man toppled backward by the force of the impacts.
Rick slumped against the tree trunk. The man lay a few yards away, with small chunks of blood, brain, and skull sprayed beyond him. Morgan clutched his rifle to his chest and looked back and forth from me to Jack.
“You fucking idiot!” Jack said.
I pulled Rick over. His bloodshot eyes stared vacantly to the sky.
“How was I to know?” Morgan asked.
“Because you got off the same plane as us,” Jack said.
Jack lunged toward Morgan. I grabbed his arm. “There’s nothing we can do here. Let’s get to the marina, but it’s our way now. Morgan, you got that?”
Jack shook his head toward the marina.
I made a visual sweep of the area before deciding to head for a boat. “We need to stay mobile. After all that shooting, everyone in the area knows exactly where we are.”
We moved with stealth toward the marina. Jack led the way, followed by Morgan, who thankfully kept quiet. He did have experience leading groups after the first activation. I’d never doubted his organizational skills or fondness for giving orders. The success at Flushing Meadows in such a relatively short period of time was impressive. I would still trade a hundred Morgans for one Rick, who’d had a heart of gold. I felt his loss deeply.
Jack quickened his pace as we reached the deserted marina, and headed for a small silver powerboat. I could understand his concern and hoped Harris would be capable of dealing with any GA threat.
“What if the hostiles find us?” Morgan said.
“What do you think?” I said. “Shoot the buggers.”
We couldn’t find a key after searching the boat, so we continued along the marina. Jack had an air of panic about him. His head darted in all directions as he ransacked his way through a white cruiser, throwing around any loose object he could get his hands on.
Morgan discovered a six-berth cruiser, with a pair of maggot-infested corpses entangled in a strange embrace on the back decking. Holding my breath, I fumbled through their pockets, searching for any keys.
Morgan burst through the cabin doors and rattled a bunch. “On the table inside.”
Jack and I rolled the corpses overboard and released the ropes from the mooring. Morgan sat in the elevated driver’s seat and inserted the key. The engine spluttered a few times and rumbled into life.
“I had one of these for a week on Lake Geneva,” Morgan said.
“Shut the fuck up and head for the river,” Jack said. “Keep an eye out for Harris’s boat.”
Morgan shook his head and pushed the throttle. Our boat cut through the glinting dark water, away from the jetty. He steered between a couple of stray pleasure boats toward the entrance. I turned to watch how quickly our wake vanished.
Morgan’s withholding of our information on how to avoid activation had probably cost a lot of lives. Yet here he was, talking about a bloody holiday in Switzerland.
“Why weren’t you affected by the second activation?” I said.
“The what? Not sure what you mean?” he asked, avoiding eye contact.
“You used the cattle prod, didn’t you?” Jack said.
Morgan ignored us and navigated around a stray blue passenger ferry. Several decomposing bodies hung from the railing on the top deck. Three windows on the lower deck were smashed and stained with dry blood.
“He used one,” I said to Jack, but I made sure Morgan could hear. “I saw a cattle prod in his private weapons store. He believed us all along. He just didn’t want it to affect his new community, controlling the information like some kind of tinpot dictator.”
Morgan’s left eye twitched. He steered hard right. Our boat scraped against the hull of a yellow water taxi. A flock of seagulls burst into the air from its deck. I ducked and they flapped inches over my head.
Once clear of the main clutter around the Bay’s entrance, Jack and I took up positions at either side of the cockpit and aimed at everything we passed. Any vessel could hold a GA ambush or an attack point for freshly created killers.
Jack shouted across Morgan to me. “He helped himself first before warning anyone else about the danger. Selfish prick.”
“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Morgan said.
“Tell us how you managed to avoid being activated then?”
“Okay, okay. I used a cattle prod. I didn’t know if you were telling the truth or not. It sounded so far-fetched that I thought it might have had an element of truth.”
“Element of truth?” I said, struggling to control my anger. “Rick’s dead because of you. Choose your words carefully.”
“I was going to make an announcement about the prodding and had already drafted a memo to all personnel. Information like this could have caused widespread panic and requires a process map for successful implementation. Did you consider that?”
“Fucking process map?” Jack said incredulously.
“You sound like a politician,” I said. “They deserved to know about it. The only goal is survival. You should have realized that and not tried to maintain your own position.�
�
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. I decided not to press him further. His decision must be weighing heavily on his conscience. Not that he’d admit that to us.
We passed Rikers Island on our left and entered the main part of East River. The smashed remains of the Bronx-Whitestone suspension bridge lay directly ahead. The middle section was collapsed in the water, and stray cables rocked in the wind.
Jack pointed to his right. “Over there. Four hundred yards away.”
Morgan increased the power, and we sped for what appeared to be our old boat. A recognizable thick blue stripe ran along its side.
I shielded my eyes from the sun and peered across the water. “Can’t see anyone on board.”
As we plowed nearer, I noticed the boat slightly listing to one side; the windows were shattered and a number of black holes peppered the hull and cabin wall. Morgan brought us alongside the stricken craft and our starboard brushed against its port.
Harris and two other men lay on the sun deck. He had two visible bullet wounds on his left cheek and forehead.
I rushed down from the cockpit, grabbed a boat hook, and pulled the vessels tightly together.
“Harry, can you see Lisa and the kids?” Jack asked.
He gulped and bowed his head.
I jumped across to Candy Cane’s deck and entered the open cabin doors. The scene of slaughter didn’t need sharing, and I immediately returned to the sun deck.
Jack crouched to jump onboard.
I shook my head. “Don’t. It’s too late.”
“Everyone?”
My silence told Jack everything he needed. He let out a loud roar that echoed across the water. I pushed our boat free and watched Candy Cane slowly bob away.
“Who was onboard?” Morgan asked.
“Men, women, and children,” Jack said. “People from Flushing Meadows. We thought they’d be safe on the water . . .”
He trailed off and gazed into the distance. I hoped the murders wouldn’t tip him over the edge again. We were under no illusions about the evil that we faced, but if we wanted to hit them hard, we had to be calculated about it. Lisa and the kids were another addition to the long list of those who needed to be avenged. I would remember these people after our job was done. At the moment, they supplied irresistible motivation.
“Why did they do it?” Morgan said.
“Look around for Christ’s sake.” Jack swept his arm in the direction of the city, where plumes of smoke rose from the tall buildings, and sporadic gunfire crackled. “That’s probably other survivor groups, killing each other.”
Morgan hands trembled on the wheel. He turned to me. “What do we do now?”
“Survive and fight,” I said. “GA has cars, boats, planes, plenty of manpower, communications, weapons, and the activation devices. But if we’re going to have a shootout, I’d rather it be on dry land, where we can have the element of surprise.”
“Don’t forget HQ,” Jack said. “This lot is only the tip of the iceberg. We’ve got something bigger and uglier coming, and they might show up tomorrow.”
“Let’s find a safe place to work out how to tackle this,” I said and turned to Morgan. “Take us back in.”
He gave me a single firm nod and increased the throttle. We sped back in silence to Flushing Bay. Morgan cut the engine close to our starting point, leaving the cruiser to drift toward the mooring.
I found it difficult not to feel intimidated by our current situation. We had threats coming from everywhere. Morgan couldn’t yet be trusted. I needed a way of defusing the potential confrontation between him and Jack, which would be sooner rather than later.
If we were going to hit GA, we needed every available resource. At the moment, though, we needed some kind of safety and familiarity, and I knew the answer.
“We’re going to an apartment in Elmhurst to figure out our next moves,” I said. “We know the area and left a few supplies there.”
“We’re going to Bernie’s?” Jack asked.
“Yep. You okay with that, Morgan?”
“That’s fine—lead the way,” Morgan said.
The insincerity in his voice grated on me, but he had little option unless he wanted to go it alone. Morgan knew Jack and I had survived in a small group, and a person like him usually went with the strongest chance of success.
We still held an advantage over GA. Their activations couldn’t affect us, and we knew the location of the local team. Their time had come.
“It’s four miles from here,” I said. “The sooner we get there, the quicker we can plan our attack.”
“Stay alert, Morgan,” Jack said.
Morgan sneered and headed for the nearest vehicle.
We searched Citi Field’s parking lot. Car batteries and engines were still functional, but we faced the usual problem: A lot of them had disease-ridden bodies inside.
A rotting face pressed against the glass of a dark blue Volvo’s passenger window. Saliva gathered in my mouth. As the decomposition took hold, the face had slid downward, leaving a horrible trail of human grease above it. The receding skin and lips had exposed yellow teeth and red gums that made the face appear to be either screaming or laughing.
Finally, I found a usable but filthy Lincoln. I started the car and headed south toward Elmhurst. I knew the way from here and picked up the Long Island Expressway, retracing our original route out of the city.
Jack turned to Morgan in the back seat when we passed Aldi. “Why were you so rude when we met you here?”
Morgan ignored him and stared out of the window. I could slice the tension between the two of them with a knife. I hoped Jack wasn’t planning on making him his next target.
It now seemed strangely natural to be driving on the right-hand side of the road through stationary traffic, weaving and bumping through routes cleared by others since the first activation. We merged onto Queens Boulevard, which had more than just a feeling of déjà vu about it.
I stopped alongside the vehicle we’d taken to the Queensboro Bridge only a week ago. We made our way toward Bernie’s apartment block on foot from here. The neighborhood looked exactly the same. A clutter of two-story houses with wooden façades, mixed with larger apartment blocks, along streets lined with overhead cables. I avoided taking the route that took us past the little girl. Jack didn’t need any extra stress. None of us did.
Bernie’s street had noticeably lost its sheen. Weeds pushed through cracks in the paving; rubbish littered the road surface and drifted around in the light breeze. The smell in Queens had an increasingly suffocating effect. I dreaded to think what it was like in Manhattan.
I carried out a visual check of the immediate vicinity of Bernie’s apartment block before we entered the building. Jack lifted Bernie’s doormat and grabbed the key.
“Was he the fat guy with you last Monday?” Morgan asked.
“Watch your tongue,” Jack snapped.
“GA killed him,” I said. “I’m heading up to the roof first to scan for black Rovers.”
“Good idea,” Jack said and barged past Morgan. “I’m not staying down here on my own with him.”
Morgan puffed his cheeks and spun toward the stairs.
I decided to check the roof first, because we would lose natural light in two hours, around half seven in the evening, damaging any chances of reasonable reconnaissance.
As I passed the fifth floor, an apartment door creaked. I froze on the staircase, turned, and put my finger to my lips.
Jack crept to my side and craned his neck around the corridor. “An open door. Cover me.”
Six apartments were on this floor. I followed him to the closest. He kicked its door fully open and aimed inside. A smear of blood ran from the hall into a living area.
“Stay on guard outside, Morgan,” I said. “We’re going in.”
; Two fresh bodies lay on the fake wooden laminate floor, surrounded by dried pools of blood. One had a knife in her limp hand; both had multiple stab wounds.
Empty cans were piled in the corner of the open-plan living area. Bottled water, chocolate, and some fruit-flavored tea bags sat on the kitchen counter. I pulled a black plastic chair from under the glass dining table, rested my right boot on it, and retied my shoelace.
Jack gazed at the corpses and titled his head to one side. “Might have been hiding here last week.”
“Come on, let’s grab the stuff and get to the roof,” I said, not wanting to dwell on their history or fate.
We filled the remaining empty spaces of our packs with water and chocolate.
“What did you find in there?” Morgan asked me.
“Two dead—”
I spun and knelt by the door. The noise of slow, deliberate steps echoed from the staircase. Ascending toward us.
“Think we were followed?” Morgan whispered.
“Maybe,” I said and jerked my rifle to the left. “Get inside.”
After backing into the entrance, I lay in the prone position and closed the door ajar, leaving a crack to observe and aim outside. Jack crouched over me. Morgan paced around the lounge area, rubbing his temples.
“Morgan, keep bloody still,” Jack said over his shoulder.
The footsteps reached our level, and a man, dressed only in a pair of shorts, carried on trudging upward. His bloodstained arms dangled by his sides, and something glinted in his right hand. Possibly a knife. A door slammed on the floor above us.
“You see that, Jack?” I asked.
“Just another madman. We should leave him to it.”
“Was it one of my company?” Morgan asked.
“No idea,” I said. “But I don’t want to find out.”
A faint noise of a door opening sounded overhead.
“Was he armed?” Morgan said.
“Had a knife or something like that.”
Morgan tried to shuffle past Jack and me into the narrow hallway. “I’m not staying in the same building as a lunatic. Get out of my way.”
I grabbed Morgan’s shirt collar. “Wait a minute. He might be coming back down.”
Second Activation (The Activation Series Book 2) Page 21