Darren Wearmouth - Second Activation

The larger man tapped me on the shoulder. “Why Hart Island?”

I put my finger to my lips and looked over the counter. I ducked down immediately as the front of a Rover appeared from the right, trundling along at around three miles per hour.

Footsteps crunched on debris outside. Somebody paused by the café window. I tensed and curled my finger around the rifle’s trigger.

The footsteps continued away, but another set followed.

“Are we looking in any of these?” A man shouted.

“We haven’t got time,” another said. “The convoy’s on its way, and we need to keep ahead of it. You can answer to the boss if the path isn’t cleared.”

The main body of men passed outside, loudly talking with one another. I heard one mention something about looking forward to a beer this evening. The larger man tried to suppress a sneeze but let out a short grunt. Jack shook his head.

Voices faded away. I wanted to make sure they were well into the distance before we moved. Shotgun sat with his back against the counter, his eyes tightly closed. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face.

We waited another five minutes in silence. Brett crouched at the far end of the counter, away from us. Jack or I weren’t about to tell his story, if that’s what his problem was.

“I’m taking a look,” Jack said. “If they come back this way, I want to be out of here.”

He slipped over the counter, and I watched him creep to the door. He looked back. “I think they’re gone.”

Sack Man let out a deep breath and wiped his brow.

“Take us back to your hangar,” I said. “I’ll give you the information you need.”

He rapidly nodded. “I know a few back roads. We can be there in ten minutes.”

“I suggest we move, now.” I put a friendly arm around Brett and led him outside. “You’re safe with us, mate. Don’t stress.”

“I don’t know what to say. What would you say?”

“Tell people you came over with us. That’ll do for now.”

I genuinely felt sorry for him. I could tell he was a decent man who had been forced to play a part in a wider evil plan. In our previous lives, I’m sure we would have been good friends had we met.

The other two men clambered over the counter and headed out. Jack stood outside, looking in the direction of GA’s travel. I joined him and gazed into the distance. The road curved away as it left the main part of town.

“I only want to be that close again when we’re taking the bastards out on Hart Island,” Jack said.

“Did you hear what they said about the convoy?” I asked.

“It’s probably not far behind if they were an advance party.”

“They’re moving at a snail’s pace,” Brett said.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “We need to get you down there as fast as possible.”

I turned at the sound of the pickup truck’s engine starting. Sack Man leaned out of the passenger window, still looking slightly rattled. “Follow us. It won’t take long.”

“What’re your names?” I said.

“I’m Dave, he’s Arun.”

We slipped inside the Pontiac and quietly closed the doors.

Jack started the Pontiac and pushed it into drive. “What about these two? They wanted to dump us before GA showed up.”

“I think we need to give people a chance,” I said. “At least we know a little bit about what’s behind it all. They’ve just seen their world go to shit without explanation. I don’t blame them.”

“I suppose you’re right. I’m keeping my distance, though.” He looked over his shoulder at Brett. “You okay, Chief?”

Brett gazed out of the window. “I’ll live. I think…”

Jack turned in a semicircle and followed the pickup. It steered down a side road, passing through a small new development of three partially constructed houses and headed for what looked like a dead end. The pickup turned right, disappearing behind a yellow-painted bungalow, and as we followed, the road turned into a snaking mud track with a stripe of grass running along the middle and hedges on either side.

The track led to Elyria airport. The pickup crossed the tarmac, in front of two hangars, and came to a halt just before the large sliding door of the first. Both men sprang out and rushed inside. Dave returned a minute later with another man, old with gray hair, stiff and vigorous. He approached the Pontiac and gestured to me to lower my window.

I dropped it and heard the buzz of a generator. Not the smartest idea if they wanted to remain inconspicuous in this location.

“The name’s Bob. Park immediately on the right side—go on,” he said, beckoning us away.

“Short and sweet,” Jack said.

Bob slipped back through the gap. The door wound open a few feet. Jack eased into the hangar and parked to the right of three small single-engine planes. I would normally be excited and curious to examine them, but as the hangar doors closed and the darkness descended, I felt less enthusiastic. We disembarked and stood by the car.

Rapid footsteps echoed to my right. Metal scraped across the concrete floor. A figure charged out of the gloom. I spun and aimed at a greasy-haired woman in a filthy lilac dress. Brett jumped behind me. A trailing chain, bound around her wrists, snapped rigid, halting her forward momentum. She yanked at it, panting vigorously while staring at me with hunger in her eyes.

Lights along the ceiling thumped alive from back to front in sequence. Bob stepped from behind a plane. “Welcome, welcome. Put down your weapons. You’re safe here.”

“Who the hell is that?” Jack said, thumbing over his shoulder at the woman.

“Don’t worry about Amanda. I took her in four days ago, and she acted sweet as apple pie. She attacked Dave with a hex driver on Wednesday, and we couldn’t calm her down.”

“She was normal for two days, then attacked?” I asked.

“That’s right. Turned completely nuts. Must have swallowed another dose of that damned chemical.”

“What chemical?”

He smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. “Dave tells me you’ve got some information. We can compare notes while I get you something to eat.”

Our last meal had been in Vermilion just after midday, only two hours ago. But since we’d landed in this mess last week, I never turned down food. “If you’ve got something, we’d be grateful.”

“Follow me, gents.”

I glanced back at the woman. She attempted to rip the chain free again and scowled at me.

Bob headed for the far end of the hangar and broke into a half jog before slowing after several awkward strides. I smiled to myself, remembering how my granddad used to do the same thing. I think they did it to prove they still had a level of vitality.

I slowed, allowing him to get thirty yards ahead and walked alongside Brett. “Any idea what he’s talking about?”

“I doubt it’s anything to do with chemicals. She’s been triggered again by something.”

“Like what?” Jack said. “Are you saying this could happen to anyone we meet?”

“No idea. Could be a malfunctioning device. She might have had a delayed reaction. It’s probably wise if we treat everybody with caution.”

“That’s just great. Can’t you people do anything properly?”

Brett sighed and shook his head.

I searched for potential exit points and areas to use for cover. The appearance of GA had me paranoid, and if they swooped in on the hangar, we needed at least half a plan. The revelation about the woman’s behavior also concerned me. The inconsistent nature of the post-activation left us with little option but to trust nobody.

We reached a gray door marked with orange safety flares. Bob led us through to a basketball court–sized room with diagrams of engines and pictures of planes around the walls. Wooden tables with metal legs, like army chefs used in the field, were piled with food supplies. Eight camp beds were set up at the far end, with blue mummy-shaped sleeping bags neatly lying on top of them.