Darren Wearmouth - Second Activation

Although it hadn’t been long since our last meal, entering a dangerous city left the timing of our next unknown. Numerous things could happen that would deprive us of food. Better to get more energy into our systems while we had chance, I thought.

“Take us in nice and slow, Rick,” I said. “I’m going to prepare us a snack before leaving.”

I returned to the cabin and heated water on the gas stove to make some chicken-flavored instant noodles. My watch matched the time on the wall clock. Quarter past eleven on Saturday morning. We’d made excellent progress since our escape from Monroe, but I was aware that we’d dropped our guard to make up the ground. Back in Queens, we couldn’t make the same concessions.

I took a large bowl and three forks back to the cockpit, along with a bottle of sparkling water.

Rick smiled, the first genuine one since I’d met him. “We docked here when taking clients to see the Mets.”

“Go for it,” I said.

I picked up a folded map from a shelf and oriented our docking position in relation to the expressway where we’d last seen Morgan. After that, I ran my finger across to Hart Island.

Rick expertly guided the cruiser while swooping his fork into the bowl I placed on the dash. He tossed it overboard after finishing and focused on the controls as we crawled to within twenty feet of dry land.

Jack and I aimed at the surrounding boats in case there were any nasty surprises. Our cruiser gently brushed alongside a vacant jetty. From here, we could spend no more than two days trying to build our army. Any more, and we’d risk facing HQ and a second activation.

I jumped onto the jetty’s wooden planks and secured our rope to a post.

“Weapons check before we head off,” Jack said.

We individually tested our firearms on the sundeck. I glanced across to Rick who showed no signs of nerves. This morning gave him all the motivation he needed to act. Wellins Calcott once wrote, “He that has revenge in his power, and does not use it, is the greater man.” On this occasion, I disagreed.

I gathered the other two in a huddle and spread the map across the deck “Here’s the plan. We gather everyone we can in the next forty-eight hours, starting with a search of Aldi. After that, we hit Hart Island with everything we’ve got. It might be three days to the activation, but we don’t know what time it’s going off.”

“And if there’s only three of us?” Rick asked.

“We come up with a strategy to beat them,” Jack said. “We should scout out Hart Island tonight or tomorrow. Find out their positions.”

“Tonight,” I said. “Gives us more time to work on it and think about what we need.”

I shouldered a pack filled with the Coke, water, cookies, and dried fruit.

Feeling organized for the first time in a week, we headed into Flushing, fed and armed. This time we also had the experience of the past nine days: ignoring the dead, identifying friend or foe, staying away from any black Range Rovers.

We headed for Citi Field, home of the New York Mets. Jack and I had planned to catch a game last week. It stood solemnly, empty and quiet as garbage drifted around its base. I ignored the temptation to look inside.

Stadiums had always fascinated me. I’ll never forget walking into my first big game as a child, hearing the roar of the crowd, smelling the enticing waft of junk food, and marveling at thousands of people, tightly packed together, focusing on the same thing.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jack said.

“Doubt I’ll ever feel it again.”

“Van Wyk’s on the other side; it’s straightforward from here,” Rick said.

I checked the map and confirmed our route from Citi Field, along the road, to the junction of the Long Island Expressway. It seemed sensible to use vehicles for cover and to avoid suburbia.

We continued past the stadium along Roosevelt Avenue. After crossing a rail track, we dropped onto the expressway, heading south.

It took thirty minutes of brisk movement to get to the store, weaving between battered vehicles and stepping over bodies and pieces of wreckage. We encountered no immediate signs of life, although a single distant scream momentarily halted our progress.

The mound of bodies in the Aldi parking lot had increased in size, although not significantly. Around forty fully clothed corpses were piled next to a row of shopping carts, rotting in the midday sun. I ran my hand over the splintered door, remembering the woman slamming her axe against it, in pursuit of Morgan and Harris.

Jack shoved the door open and entered. I followed into the dimly lit supermarket and lowered my rifle. Most aisles had been cleared, apart from a section of electrical goods. Empty cardboard boxes littered the floor. Although the group wasn’t here, the signs were positive.

“Must have found a safe place,” Jack said. “Transported the useful stock.”

“A defendable building with living quarters,” I thought aloud and turned to Rick. “Do you know what might fit the bill?”

“Could be any number of places. Your guess is as good as mine.”

I pulled the map out of my back pocket. “We can cover the area between here and the boat. Reassess after we’ve swept Flushing. Let’s get out of here and organize a plan of attack.”

We filed out into the parking lot. I led us below the expressway and stood next to one of its large concrete supports.

Something moved to our left. Tapping against the concrete.

Jack crouched and aimed. A cat scampered across the road. He lowered his rifle and puffed out his cheeks.

Since I can remember, Jack has loved animals. It would devastate him if he shot one by accident.

I spread the map against the concrete support and studied it. “Through the park, past the golf center, across to Citi Field. Looks like some big buildings around there.”

I stuffed the map back in my pocket and headed for the park. An engine rattled in the distance. Not like a car or truck—more like a tractor. The grass below my feet had been recently cut, post-activation, a strange sight in our current environment. Rick ducked behind a tree. Jack and I both followed suit. Surely, it couldn’t be?

“Hold steady lads,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I ducked through a wooded area, maple to ash, until I caught sight of a man navigating a dark-green riding mower on the other side. He trundled along a golf fairway, cigarette in mouth, throwing up shreds of grass behind him. I had to do a double take before sprinting back to Jack and Rick.

“What the hell is it?” Jack said.

I leaned against a tree and took a few breaths. “You’re not going to believe this. A bloke’s mowing a golf course.”

Jack frowned and peered through the trees.

“Maybe he’s just crazy?” Rick said. “Sticking to what he knew before the world crumbled around him?”

“No way,” Jack said. “We haven’t seen anyone else do shit like that.”

“I’ll hold him at gunpoint and ask,” I said. “We haven’t got time to hang around anymore.”

“What? Are you crazy?” Rick said.

I ignored Rick and put a round in the chamber. “Jack, cover me in the woods. Rick, move to the end of the tree line and cover the right flank.”

“If you sense trouble, get down. You drop, I fire,” Jack said.

“Into positions; I’ll give you two minutes,” I said.

Jack and Rick weaved between the trees in opposite directions. I waited for the second hand on my watch to complete two revolutions.

I moved back to the golf course. The mower swept around the far end of the fairway. I knew Jack would choose a good position and hoped Rick had the sense to do the same.

I broke cover after the mower turned away. The man continued on his line for fifty yards, before swinging back toward me. I immediately caught his attention. The mower abruptly stopped. He stood over the wheel and took off his earmuffs.