Darren Wearmouth - Second Activation

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.