Darren Wearmouth - Second Activation

Jack nodded and drained the bottle. I led the way toward the closest property, through the trees, and toward the white façade of a house.

“What the hell are you doing? We can’t stop now,” Brett said.

“We’re not using this place for R&R. We’ll grab a change of clothes, scavenge supplies, and find the nearest vehicle,” I said. “Don’t tell me you can’t smell us.”

Brett and Jack covered me. I found the front door unlocked, eased it open, and crept inside. Ignoring the stench coming from the adjacent room on the ground floor, I climbed the squeaky staircase and pushed open a bedroom door. Jack followed me inside.

The wardrobes were packed full of adult male clothing. In the dim light, I selected underwear, jeans, T-shirts, and lumberjack shirts. Jack found a decent-sized backpack under the bed.

“Where’s Brett?” I asked.

“Searching the kitchen.”

“Need to make sure we keep an eye on him, for now.”

The jeans were my size but felt loose. I grabbed a belt from a pair of trousers hanging in the wardrobe. I must have lost a reasonable amount of weight since boarding the plane in Manchester. Jack also looked gaunt. I headed to the bathroom and had a quick wash, using some tepid water and a bar of soap, before putting on the rest of my clothes.

I headed downstairs to the kitchen and found Brett rummaging through the cupboards. He piled up bottled drinks and packaged food on a kitchen table. Jack appeared after his wash and put the supplies into the pack. I checked my watch. Half past eleven.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Like I’ve got an alien in my stomach, but I’ll live.”

“You can get some rest in a car.” I turned to Brett. “Do you think we’ve come far enough to escape their roadblocks?”

“We’ve passed where they had them yesterday.”

Jack crept to the back of the property and slid open a patio door. We listened for a moment, checking for any suspicious noises, before heading off. I looked forward to chatting with Brett when we were finally clear. He’d given us a lot of info, but I still had plenty of questions. Like how we could expand our operations against GA after spiking their secondary control unit. They had pushed me past a point where I wanted simply to survive.

The brief respite gave me some energy back. The road disappeared behind us as we ran across an open field, toward the highway. Without a hedge line for cover, we were horribly exposed, but we quickly crossed the short distance and dived down on the highway embankment.

I shuffled on my elbows to its ridge, wincing as I received constant reminders of my injury. As long as I kept the wound clean, I felt sure the pain would eventually subside.

Jack and I had learned many years ago to be absolutely still and silent when acclimatizing to the surroundings and before making any move. Lanes on both sides were clear of vehicles in front of us. I could make out a few dark shapes in the distance on the southern lanes.

Something moved on the opposite side of the silent expressway. Possibly animals, rustling about in trees. Two four-legged creatures scampered along the shoulder. An owl hooted.

“Ready to move?” I asked and indicated to my right.

They both nodded. I sprang to my feet, skidded down the slippery grass banking and headed along the inside lane. Without wanting to waste any time, I jogged toward the distant shapes, hoping that one would be a usable vehicle.

I dismissed a big old dirty truck. It had corpses in the cabin, and something smaller would be more suitable when the roads became more cluttered around the built-up areas.

A driver’s door on a silver Honda hung open. There were keys in the ignition, and no bodies, so I jumped in and unlocked the passenger doors. Brett slid into the front and Jack took the back seat, checking for any lights to the rear. The Honda’s headlights immediately lit up the highway after I turned the key. I unsuccessfully fiddled with the controls, trying to switch them off. After quickly admitting defeat, I jumped out and smashed in both the headlights and taillights with my rifle butt.

“You don’t mess around,” Brett said.

“It’s a different world outside Monroe. I’m sure you know that.”

“If I didn’t, I’m about to find out.”

I crunched the Honda into first gear and pulled away. All our previous rides in America had been in a car with automatic transmission—a blessing when having to concentrate on other things besides simple driving.

Heading slowly south, we suffered several minor collisions due to the darkness and state of the road. Our hunters would have the same issue unless they used headlights, which meant we would see them from a distance. As we passed the Luna Pier exit, my thoughts switched to Lea. I wondered if she’d survived. With Jerry and Anthony on the warpath, itching to exact some justice and crapping themselves about HQ’s imminent arrival, I hoped she’d met up with Martina and found some protection.

“Christ,” I said as the Honda bounced violently off another vehicle, snapping a wing mirror off.

“Bloody hell,” Brett said. “You sure there’s not an easier way?”

Jack leaned between the front seats. “We’d be better off on bikes.”

I swerved around and bumped over more debris on the road. “Our path could be tracked by a child, never mind Anthony. We have to lose the trail.”

“Why don’t we find a boat at Lunar Pier?” Jack said. “Cut across to Ohio.”

I loved the idea and immediately pulled over to the side of the highway, ripped up the handbrake and killed the engine. “Unless they do the same thing, that’ll put us ahead of the game. Great thinking, Jack.”

“I can drive if we find a suitable model,” Brett said.

“Can’t be that difficult,” I said. “We don’t need to be shy about bashing it about.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Jack grabbed the backpack and threw it over his shoulder. He seemed to show no signs of his previous illness, but knowing him, he probably hid his pain to avoid being a burden. When we were kids, he fell off his bike and cut open his thigh. He tried to hide it from our parents by wearing long trousers. They became suspicious when he refused to take them off for bed. The trousers had stuck to his wound, and he’d screamed his head off when our mum and dad pulled them off him.

We slung our rifles and doubled back to the exit on foot. Halfway along Luna Pier Road, I glanced at the house that had provided a temporary refuge the previous night. Yesterday, I hadn’t expected to make it out of Monroe alive. Today, I felt vengeful and focused on destroying the Hart Island installation. Brett had given us a mission with a clear, tangible objective, and I felt for the first time that we had an advantage.

At the end of the road, I expected some kind of port, but I couldn’t see a single boat. Turning left, we kept level with the water gently lapping against the shore. In the distance, a long dock stretched into the lake.

Our boots thumped along the wooden decking that led to a medium-sized cruiser. It bobbed on the water in silent greeting.

I jumped onto its slippery deck and rattled the cabin door. Locked. With no tools handy, I absently smashed the rifle butt against the sturdy door, only managing to chip the paintwork. I looked back toward an imposing property on the shore.

“We’ll search the house. Jack, you keep a lookout.”

Jack searched around the deck area, pulling up padded benches, looking for anything of use. Brett followed me back along the dock. He unsuccessfully attempted to open the doors of the house. I tried to slide open the side windows without success and stood there, frustrated.

Picking up a stone, Brett smashed the closest window and knocked away pieces of jagged glass with his rifle. “You coming in or what?”