Darren Wearmouth - Second Activation

We watched the convoy as it crossed the bridge and continued down the highway. The engine noises died down as the red taillights disappeared from the horizon. A solitary black Rover crawled into view, possibly acting as some kind of backmarker. I resisted the tempting urge to pump it full of lead.

After waiting another fifteen minutes without seeing anything else, we crawled out of the car and sat by the road.

“We need Morgan and his group,” I said.

“Yep. Can’t take on that with two rifles.”

“And whatever else is coming.”

Occasional distant noises punctuated the last two hours of darkness, mostly sporadic gunfire. A long, loud crashing noise echoed as dawn began to break. Perhaps a building collapsing after a fire or something more sinister, related to GA’s advance.

Conscious that I should at least get an hour’s sleep before we headed into the city, I stretched across the back seat. We didn’t have to worry about what was behind us anymore. All the danger lay ahead.

Jack shook my shoulder. “Harry.”

My mouth felt like the Sahara. I swallowed and rolled over. “How long have I been asleep.”

He had a look of urgency on his face that made me bolt up and reach for my rifle. “Ten minutes. Someone’s coming.”

I sprang to the back window. Through the murky dawn light, a pair of dipped headlights headed through the cleared path. “Just one set of lights?”

Jack nodded. “Let it roll by. Ambush if needed.”

I lowered the rear window in case I needed a quick, accurate shot. A risk I wasn’t prepared to take with a convoy, but a single car away from the pack would be easier pickings.

The car approached at a steady pace and slowed when it reached the bridge.

I raised my head just before it pulled level, hoping to catch a glimpse of the driver. A blonde-haired man, dressed in a red fleece, stared straight back at me.

His head jerked back against the rest and the engine roared. Car tires screeched against the road surface. His car bucked forward and veered to the right. It slammed into the side of a caravan, twenty yards head, with a metallic crunch.

I kicked open my door. “Go, go, go !”

Jack ran to the driver’s side and pointed his rifle through the window. I covered him and swept around to the passenger side. Only one man in the car. Back seat empty.

“Don’t move an inch,” Jack said.

I opened the passenger door, keeping my rifle trained at the man’s face. Blood trickled from his nose. He groggily looked in both directions and held up his hands.

“Don’t shoot—don’t shoot, please.”

“What are you doing on the road?” I asked. “Who are you with?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Lower your guns… please.”

“What’s your name?” Jack said.

“Rick. Stop pointing that thing at me, please.”

“Where are you heading?” I asked.

“Eastchester, to see my bro.”

I needed to press for more information. Bring out the possible maniac inside of him. “Why now? What have you been doing for the last couple of weeks?”

“I’ve been keeping a low profile since it all went crazy last Friday. What’s with all the questions? Who are you guys?”

“Just a couple of survivors,” Jack said.

“What’s your story?” I asked.

He frowned at me. “My story?”

“You heard me. Run us through your events since last Friday.”

I thought it would be the best way to judge whether, like us, he’d managed to evade being activated. Or if he had a few days of memory loss, like other killers we’d met along the way. If so, he posed a risk of flipping again like Amanda. Whatever he had to say, it needed to be convincing.

“I was alone in the lab when I felt funny vibrations, like little shock waves. The next thing I knew, people were shouting, screaming, guys attacking each other, killing themselves—all kinds of weird shit.”

“Where do you work?” Jack asked.

“A pressurized environment, dealing with chemicals. I hid in the roof after the shit hit the fan.” His head sank. “My colleagues… they were killing each other.”

He probably avoided the effects the same way we did, but on ground level, which was a whole lot worse. I remembered the carnage at the airport and shivered.

“How long did you stay up there?” I said.

“A day. I had lunch in my pack. To be honest I felt sick, wasn’t hungry. What happened to you when shit started going down?”

“We were on a plane,” Jack said. “Some might say we were lucky, but it doesn’t feel like it to me.”

“Where did you go after that?” I asked and lowered my rifle. Jack followed suit. Rick seemed to be conscious of his surroundings and didn’t appear to be a threat.

His shoulders relaxed and he let out a deep breath. “Thank you. Most of the people around the complex were dead, but I met a couple of psychos on my way back home. One chased my car. Another stood in front of it. He threw a rock at the windshield. I swerved around him. In my mirror I saw them attacking each other.”

“That figures. So you’ve just been hiding at home?” Jack said.

“I stayed in the house, drew the blinds, and locked the doors. Things seemed to calm down after a few days, until yesterday. A naked man smashed through the front window with a hockey stick.”

“He came for you specifically?” I said.

“I don’t think so. I’d heard clattering all morning, coming down the street. He broke into other houses before mine.”

“What did you do?” Jack said.

“I didn’t have a choice. He screamed, ‘Kill, kill, kill’ but was all tangled up in the blind. I stabbed him in the throat.”

Jack grunted in appreciation. “We’ve seen a lot of that kind of stuff from New York to Monroe. You can’t reason with them.”

“We’ve an old saying here: ‘It’s better to be tried by twelve than carried by six.’ I wasn’t going to stand there and let him kill me. Do you know how far this thing has spread?”

I shook my head. “It’s all over the place.”

“Seriously?”

“Globally,” Jack said. “The whole place is goosed. Where did you say you were heading?”

“My brother’s place in Eastchester. He’s ex-Army, has guns and rifles. I figured if I’m going to survive through this, I’m going to need his help. What about you guys?”

“New York City and Hart Island,” I said. “We know of a group of survivors from the plane.”

“And we might be able to help them,” Jack said.

“Eastchester’s on the way. Mind if I join you?”

I looked at Jack, who shrugged. At some point we had to believe in people, and Rick seemed genuine.

“We could always do with some local knowledge,” I said. “Hop in the Chrysler.”

The sun continued to rise as we headed over the bridge. Nature’s wonders had stopped being things of beauty to me. Dark and light were considerations in our strategy for survival and attack. We had three days until the second activation, and possibly two until Headquarters showed up in whatever guise.

Rick sat in the front with Jack. Although I felt sure he had good intentions, I took no chances and kept my rifle pointed at the back of his seat. He nervously babbled about his life story. We told him the short version of events since landing at JFK. As conversation continued, he relaxed a little.

“My bro will know what to do,” Rick said. “Wait till we get there; you’ll see, he’ll have a plan.”

Jack sighed. “Don’t count your chickens, Chief. We came from that direction last Sunday. Total bloody mess. He’ll be lucky—”

“You don’t know my brother. He doesn’t need luck.”

“What makes you think he’s alive? I’d prepare myself for the worst,” Jack said.