Darren Wearmouth - Second Activation

Someone has to play leader in these types of situations. Bob seemed officious but friendly. I respected him for taking control and trying to organize things. An every-man-for-himself attitude would only further fragment the decimated population. It certainly wasn’t for Jack, Brett, or me to start dishing out advice to local people in Ohio, telling them how to run their wrecked lives.

We unloaded the contents of the Pontiac into the corner of the barn and relaxed against its timber wall. Jack pulled out a packet of cigarettes he’d taken from the café in Elyria and lit one up. Brett tugged at weeds that sprouted between cobblestones. I sat back and closed my eyes, enjoying a peaceful moment as the sun beat against my face.

Footsteps approached. I opened my eyes to see Bob jogging over. “I’m going to call the team meeting in five minutes. You need to tell your story, and I’ll be the first to take the cattle prod.”

“No problem. I’ll do it,” Brett said.

“You seem in a hurry, Bob,” Jack said. “Why not chain Amanda up and bring her over for a demonstration?”

“I lead by example. My priority is to keep everyone safe and show them we’re all equal.”

“Whatever you want,” I said. “We’ll do our bit and leave. We’re up against the clock.”

Bob crouched in front of me. “I’m going to put Hart Island to a vote. We can come with you and stop this thing.”

“Speed is the key. You also have to understand that the risk is significant.”

“Doing nothing is a bigger risk,” he said. “Convince the guys, and we’ll follow you.”

I considered whether a larger group would slow us down. Numbers would help to combat any threat we encountered on our way, but a smaller group would be more nimble. Brett might also be compromised when we arrived at Hart Island, when he did his thing. I doubted all would be as accommodating as Jack and me.

Bob stood in the middle of the courtyard. “Meeting in the barn in two minutes.”

The group trudged in through the two main doors, one after the other, and stood in a semicircle in the center. The barn had a straw-covered floor and an assortment of farming tools neatly placed along one side. Hay bales were stacked at the back. Behind them, I could see cracks of light shining through the thin gaps of a doorframe.

We stood to Bob’s right, in front of the group.

“These three have a story for you. The devil is coming and we need to be ready. They have a procedure to help you avoid the consequences of another radiation wave from the enemy. They’ll explain it from here.”

Jack stared at him. “We never mentioned a radiation wave.”

I elbowed Jack. “I’ll take it from here.”

It seemed pointless trying to undermine Bob’s understanding. The theory mattered little. The remedy was the most important thing, along with a warning of what people were facing. I decided not to pull any punches when taking the group through events. They had to know the reality of the situation and the consequences of not acting.

Looking around the barn at the various faces, I viewed a mix of emotions as I took the group through our own experiences since landing in New York. At first they listened intently. When I explained about Genesis Alliance and the information we’d gathered from Brett, the mood seemed to change. A couple of people stood open-mouthed; one lady put her hands over her face and muttered. A man put his hand on his forehead and tried to speak. No words came out.

Bob stepped toward the group and raised his cattle prod. “If you want to avoid being turned into a fruitcake, I need to buzz you.”

“Are you serious?” a woman said.

“I’m afraid it’s all true,” Jack said. “We will stop it if we can, but…”

“How long have we got till the shit hits the fan again?” Arun asked.

“Four days,” I said.

He looked at Bob. “If you believe it, you go first.”

Arun had displayed cynicism back in town. I didn’t expect everyone to believe us, and it came as no surprise that he’d piped up.

“I will lead by example,” Bob said. “After that, I want you all to form an orderly queue.”

He dropped to his knees, facing Jack, and passed him the prod. “It’s primed and ready to go. Just hit the button on the handle.”

Jack walked to Bob’s rear. “You know we’ve never done this before?”

“Yes, yes—get on with it,” he said impatiently, shaking his head.

Jack held the prod out, looking like the Queen knighting a subject, and pressed it against the back of Bob’s head. Bob gasped after the electric snap, leaned forward, and screwed up his face.

“Hit me again.”

Jack repeated the procedure. There was a sharp intake of breath. Bob’s eyes widened and rolled up in his head, and a string of saliva hung from his mouth.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Bob’s head dropped and he groaned. He slumped to the ground and made a strange croaking noise. Brett gasped and took a step back. Sal screamed.

“Shit,” Jack said.

He rolled Bob onto his back and slapped his face a couple of times but received no response. Jack leaned over his nose and mouth before grabbing Bob’s wrist and checking his pulse.

The group converged on their stricken leader.

“Oh my God,” a woman gasped. “Is he breathing?”

“You’ve killed him!” a man said.

Jack clasped his hands together and pumped Bob’s chest. I knelt next to his body and noticed a wet patch forming around the crotch area of his cream chinos.

I’d seen this before in my local village pub. The heart of one of the old regulars had packed up as he sat in his favorite chair, drinking whiskey. We’d tried to use our medical training from the Army, pumping his chest to get oxygen to his brain in order to preserve function until the ambulance arrived. It didn’t work; besides that, an ambulance wasn’t about to show up at the farm any time soon.

Jack stopped pumping, reached up, and closed Bob’s eyelids. Sal cradled his head and sobbed. A pistol slide sprang forward.

Arun aimed at Jack. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you.”

Jack reached for his rifle. “Jesus Christ, it was an accident!”

“Accident or not, a man’s lying dead and you’re responsible.”

“Who makes you judge and jury?” I asked and raised my rifle.

Dave grabbed Arun’s shoulder. “He didn’t mean it. We don’t need any more killing today.”

Arun stared into my eyes. “I don’t care about the old man. He’s been jacking me around for days. I’m more interested in you three. You show up with a crazy story and ask us to line up to be electrocuted.”

“Everybody calm down,” Brett said and stood between Arun and me. “We can talk this through.”

Arun broke eye contact and looked over my shoulder toward the barn door. A vehicle approached outside. Its engine cut and two doors slammed shut.

“I haven’t finished with you three yet,” Arun said. He gestured the others toward the entrance with his gun. “Let’s find out who our visitors are and deal with these three after.”

Sal wiped tears from her cheeks. “I’m staying with Bob.”

“You’re coming out with us. Bob was your husband. You need to be part of the decision.”

Dave eased Sal up by her arm. The group stepped around us and left the barn. Warmth had turned to cold stares. Arun closed the large double doors, and a bolt squeaked along its rail.

I peered through a small gap between two decaying pieces of timber. Three men, dressed in black, stood in front of a Rover at the property’s entrance, around forty yards from the group. Arun led the other five members of the group toward them.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said.