Darren Wearmouth - Second Activation

I wondered how suspicious we actually sounded. If I were in Bob’s shoes, and a group of survivors turned up with this information, I’d be asking questions and thinking they were part of it.

“You just met one out of the blue?” Bob said. “And more are coming?”

“That’s right,” Jack said, his mouth still stuffed with cake. “This isn’t a small operation.”

Bob sighed and pulled a black book from his pocket. “I have something to show you that you might find interesting.”

He licked his finger and flicked open a few pages before placing it on the table. “Read it. Transcripts of the radio contact I’ve had with a man named Anthony Olney.”

My heart sank as I reached forward and grabbed the soft leather-bound book. I read the first page, his written journal of events, all dated and with times filled in. The book began with details of every call made by Bob, including some contact with pilots in the air. Then a period of radio silence until the first transcription of his conversation with Anthony.

Anthony had told Bob that he was part of the surviving government and was rallying the country to gather up all survivors and organize their sanctuary. Bob replied, saying a group of survivors were in a hangar close to Elyria. Anthony instructed him to wait for rescue.

The book recorded radio silence again for a few days until early this morning. Anthony transmitted again, telling him to keep an eye out for two British men named Jack and Harry and a New Zealander named Brett.

With Anthony and Jerry on our trail, and in the local area, it was only a matter of time before they showed up here. I closed the book and looked up at him.

“The guys told me your names,” Bob said. “I could have radioed Anthony, but it didn’t feel right. I wanted your side of the story, and you saved my men in town.”

“You’re on very dangerous ground here—” Jack said.

“What do you mean?”

“Anthony is their hatchet man,” I said. “He slit a woman’s throat and blamed it on us. Beat a man’s brains out with a bat. If he knows your location, I suggest you find another one, and quickly.”

“We were going to move to my farm, but as things were going well here…”

“If Genesis Alliance comes here,” Jack said, “they will be well armed and will show you little mercy.”

“Why do they want you?”

“They want us because we’ve taken a few of them out,” Jack said. “We burned down the local leader’s house. That’s why they’re going to Hart Island.”

“You’ve led them here,” Bob said.

I slid his notebook back across the desk. “We’re not special cases. You’ve seen the world outside. The threat is real, and you need to move.”

“They already know about you, and that fact should give you enough motivation to find another place,” Jack said.

“Bring Dave here,” I said. “Ask if those goons in town looked like a friendly force.”

“He already told me they looked like a mean bunch. We’ll head over to the farm and work it out from there. Do you mind helping? It shouldn’t take long.” Bob looked at Brett. “You sure you’re okay, son?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit under the weather.”

“You’re certain using a cattle prod on crazies will work?” Bob said and rubbed his beard. “I guess we could always give it a go on Amanda.”

Brett gave a single firm nod. “It’s the best solution available.”

Our story would sound silly to any rational human, but we were living in irrational times. At least Bob considered our words and acted.

He called the other seven into a group in the center of the hangar. Besides the old lady and the two men we’d met in town, the other three men and two women looked bedraggled and worn out.

Bob stood on a small wooden box, like a second-rate politician. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s come to my attention that we have a potentially immediate threat. Unfortunately, it means we have to leave our location and find a new home.”

The group whispered among themselves; two shook their heads. He continued, “It’s not a bad thing. We can use my farm. You know I have a limited amount of supplies, but we can take what we have built up here and carry on expanding our community.”

“What threat? We were okay until those two turned up,” said a man in a dirty yellow shirt and brown trousers.

“They’ve come here to warn us,” Bob said. “Apparently, another disaster wave is coming. I’ve been provided with a solution by which we can stay safe. The first priority is moving from here. I’ll provide more details once we get to the farm.”

The group looked at each other and continued whispering.

He clapped his hands. “Get to it, guys. We’ve been compromised and need to relocate.” He turned to us. “Bring your car to the back, and help me load the stores. You’re helping me explain what’s going on once we arrive.”

“No worries. You’re doing the right thing,” I said.

Jack nodded toward Amanda. “Are you going to test the prod on her?”

“After we clear ourselves, I’ll come back and cure her.”

“Why not do her first, and show your group that it works?” Brett said.

“Prod’s at my farm. Do you want her in your car?”

None of us needed to answer his rhetorical question.

For the next twenty minutes, we loaded food and equipment into the back of our vehicle. Bob busily ran among his group members, helping carry boxes and giving words of encouragement. Amanda struggled against her restraint and shouted insults at anyone who passed.

I got the impression Bob was well liked among the group. Survivors in this world had little choice of companionship if they wanted to form a group. I could think of worse choices than for him to be in command.

After finishing packing, we formed a convoy with the vehicles outside the hangar. Bob led from the front, weaving along back roads through the countryside.

“They seem to be doing all right,” Brett said.

“If you keep acting like you were back there,” I said, “people are gonna smell rat.”

“Fair point. The problem is knowing what to say.”

I had to keep reminding myself he was a tech geek and in a difficult situation, but we had to be tight and convincing when coming across survivor groups. People would be paranoid, scared, and suspicious.

I peered through the window for any signs of GA. My thoughts drifted back to Bernie, for some reason; the thought of him waddling out of his bedroom in pants and vest made me smile. The activation had made me evaluate friendships in my previous life, and I realized that I hadn’t spent enough time with the people who mattered. We all had busy lives, and I’d used it as an excuse. If we managed to get through this, I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

The convoy snaked through narrow country roads with fields on either side. The sparsely populated area probably provided ideal survival ground—the opposite of our intended destination, although I had no intention of hanging around Bob’s farm, especially now that we knew about the convoy.

We rattled over a cattle guard and entered a rural property with a smart Victorian farmhouse at the end of the road; a darkly stained, rickety wooden barn stood opposite, surrounded by lush green grazing fields.

The vehicles stopped in a disorganized formation at the front of a house on a cobbled yard. I got out of the car and stood behind the group already surrounding Bob.

“Unload into the barn, and we’ll discuss arrangements,” Bob said and disappeared inside the house.

He quickly returned with a wooden cattle prod and a shotgun. Dave stared across a field at a distant plume of smoke. Bob clicked his fingers. “Come on now—this isn’t the time for daydreaming.”