Second Activation (The Activation Series Book 2)

by Darren Wearmouth

  “What’s with dogs? Someone called Rick one,” Jack said.

  “During the activation, if you were on a plane, you’re a bird. Ground: dog,” I said.

  Jack frowned. “Eh?”

  “Didn’t take them long to start discriminating,” Rick said.

  “It’s not like that,” Harris said. “I’m sure you’re smart enough to understand the risks. This way; I’ll get you armed.”

  Weapons neatly lay across the carpet of a small meeting room. Three rows of rifles and two of handguns. Our two cattle prods were propped in the corner. Harris picked up an AR-15 and two loaded mags and passed them to me.

  “Why not give us ours back?” Jack said.

  “We’re trying to standardize the weapons across the security team. Interchangeable—”

  “We had AR-15s, Harris,” I said.

  “You won’t be complaining then?”

  He passed a rifle to Jack and Rick.

  “You okay with that, Rick?” Jack asked.

  “Sure, I’ll use it to shoot birds,” he said without a hint of a smile.

  “I’d leave out the wisecracks if I were you,” Harris said. “They’ll only land you in serious trouble. People have lost their loved ones. You catch them at the wrong time . . .”

  We followed Harris up another flight of stairs to a wider internal corridor. Windows on the outer wall gave an elevated view of our surroundings. The mower continued to buzz around the golf course. A wasted resource, I thought. Clearing the parking lot was a good idea. It provided fewer obstacles for intruders to hide behind.

  “There’re ninety luxury suites,” Harris said. “At first we had one each. A couple of days ago, we moved to a sharing system.”

  “Morgan didn’t waste time getting this place organized,” I said.

  Harris nodded. “There are a couple of camp beds and a couch. No electricity—we boil water on camping stoves; don’t know what might be floating in the supply.”

  He led us through a door, revealing a tidy furnished area that wouldn’t have looked out of place as an IKEA showroom. A bulky brown suede couch and two matching armchairs were positioned adjacent to each other on large circular red rug. Thick white duvets covered both bunk beds, partially obscuring dark wood cupboards of a kitchenette.

  “Nice place,” Jack said.

  “Nice? It’s awesome compared to the last few days,” Rick said.

  Jack didn’t waste any time checking out the kitchenette cupboards and drawers. I slid open a glass door and stood in a seated balcony area outside.

  The suites ran around the midsection of the stadium; a couple of people sat on the balconies around us. The rest of the place looked neat and tidy, as if I had tickets for the U.S. Open and was one of the first to arrive. A woman swept the green surface surrounding the blue tennis court. She stopped and waved. I returned the friendly gesture.

  Harris sat next to me on one of the padded folding seats. “Impressive, huh?”

  “Amazing place. Who decided to come here?”

  “Morgan. He likes to think big. Yesterday at the parade, he told us that we were the new founding fathers.”

  “He holds a parade?”

  “Motivational speeches, corporate bullshit.”

  “Got to admit, I thought we’d be better off in the country,” I said.

  “Same here. Between you and me, I’m not Morgan’s biggest fan. But you’ve got to give him some credit.”

  “Are people happy here?”

  “Still early days, but yeah, we’ve got a chance. That’s more than I expected last week. Your news, though . . .”

  “Put a monkey wrench in the works?” I finished.

  He sighed and checked his watch. “I’ll leave you boys to it. Don’t forget to visit the locker room. You’ll need candles for tonight.”

  “Cheers, mate,” I said.

  We returned inside. Rick relaxed on the couch with his feet up, flicking through a glossy magazine. Jack stabbed a knife into a can of olives.

  Harris paused at the entrance and turned. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

  He closed the door behind him. I felt satisfied that we now had the required manpower to take out Genesis Alliance.

  Jack tossed an olive into his mouth, squirmed, and spat it back into his hand.

  “What was the story with Morgan?” he asked.

  “I met his management team. He’s the only one that didn’t totally believe our story.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I’m seeing our new boss, Chip, later. He runs security and will help us strike GA.”

  Rick lowered the magazine. “How many can they commit to the fight?”

  “If they have any sense, they’ll all join us,” Jack said.

  “Let’s grab some supplies,” I said. “We need to start thinking about ways to attack.”

  Hundreds of cardboard boxes, five piles of clothing, and at least twenty baskets full of kitchenware gave the locker room a scruffy claustrophobic feel. Two women were in the process of taking an inventory, checking the contents of boxes and then writing on pads.

  “Get what you need,” the closest said without looking up, giving me the impression that we were getting in the way of the task at hand.

  I rummaged through the clutter and selected candles, a lighter, cargo pants, a T-shirt, and a clean set of undies and socks. In the food area, I threw cans of stew, vegetables, a camping stove, water, and instant coffee into an Aldi “bag for life.” In our current climate, the boast on the side of the bag seemed ironic. With arms full of supplies, we headed back.

  “How easy was that?” Jack asked as we reached the luxury suite level. “Makes me realize we’ve got something else to save.”

  I liked his thinking. Pockets of survivors around the world would be banding together like this. Hopefully, a few of them were already destroying their local GA teams. We already had something to fight for, but Flushing Meadows cemented it.

  “Are you thinking of staying here after and not sailing away?” Rick said.

  “It’s possible I—”

  A small boy burst around the corner and crashed into Jack’s legs. He dropped his supplies and only just managed to maintain his balance by thrusting his hand against the wall.

  Jack picked up his supplies. The boy cowered away from him. A woman with spiky blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, wearing a gray tracksuit, jogged around the corner.

  She rushed over. “I’m so sorry. I’ve told him a hundred times not to run in the corridors.”

  “No need to apologize,” I said. “Jack’s been hit harder than that before, by far bigger people.”

  She knelt by the whimpering boy. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “It’s okay,” Jack said. “Accidents happen.”

  “He doesn’t listen like the others,” she said to us, but her words were meant for the boy’s ears.

  “You look after the kids?” I asked.

  “We’ve got five here, all different ages. I used to be a teacher, so they put me in charge.”

  “You guys really do have things worked out,” Rick said. “If you need help, just ask.”

  “Hey, I’ve just been talking to Pam. Are you the people who showed up today?”

  “Who’s Pam?” I asked.

  “She runs HR. Told me about another event in three days and that you know how to avoid it.”

  “Cattle prod to the head—it’s not pretty,” Jack said. “Our plan is to stop it before that.”

  The woman nervously laughed while studying Jack’s serious face. She seemed to see something in him and rested her hand on his shoulder. “We’ve all been through a lot. If you know a way, I’d like to help the little guys first.”

  “I’ll head over later. Where are you staying?” Jack asked.

>   “We’ll be in Room 72. I’m Lisa, by the way.”

  She grabbed the boy’s hand and continued down the corridor. We returned to our suite.

  Rick nudged his shoulder against Jack’s. “I think she likes you.”

  Jack scowled and quickened his pace. “Probably the last thing on her mind. You reckon people are thinking about that?”

  “No, but . . .”

  I changed into the blue cargo pants and plain black T-shirt, and relaxed on the balcony seat. An occasional armed patrol prowled across the court, looking around, taking different routes back through the stands. I managed to doze for a couple of hours until just before eight in the evening, when the sun set below the stadium and the temperature dropped.

  I returned inside. Rick snored on the bottom bunk, Jack had stripped his rifle and scrubbed the working parts.

  “This one’s filthy,” he said. “Better check yours.”

  “I’m off to the boardroom, see if I can find Chip,” I said. “If they’re heading to Hart Island tonight. I want to be part of the patrol.”

  “Want me to come?” Jack said.

  “Don’t want to confuse him. I’ll go on my own, see if they’ve decided on anything.”

  I went via the orientation room to see if Harris could help me locate Chip; the door was locked. I carried on toward the boardroom, but stopped when I heard raised voices from behind a door.

  A male and woman argued; I could only just make out the words.

  “Just tell him,” the woman said.

  “No, we’ll go. I’d rather split,” the man said.

  “They took us in.”

  “You saw how the prick threatened me.”

  Note quite the paradise we’d been shown. I edged closer to the door in order to listen. A floorboard creaked under my foot. The conversation stopped.

  I carefully stepped away and continued to the boardroom. When I arrived outside I opened the door without knocking, not expecting to find anyone. Morgan and Chip’s eyes shot to the entrance.

  “We knock on closed doors,” Chip said.

  “Sorry mate, didn’t realize,” I said.

  “Come in, sit down,” Morgan said in a friendlier tone than he’d had when previously addressing me. “We were just about to send for you.”

  I sat in my previous position and waited two minutes for them to finish their discussion. Morgan leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles.

  “I’ll make sure the security’s sorted. Ten in the morning, okay?” Chip said to him.

  “Good man. Best of luck tonight,” Morgan said and turned to me. “We’ve had the chance to discuss your tale. May I be blunt?”

  “Please do,” I said.

  “Chip’s volunteered to work with you on this proposed protection method tomorrow afternoon. As impossible as I . . . we think the activation is, there’s a question of responsibility. We owe it to our staff to treat your accusations with a degree of respect and don’t want to be behind the eight ball.”

  “Can you repeat that in English?” I said.

  “I don’t want you disrupting the company,” Morgan said. “You’ve seen how far we’ve come? You are going out with Chip and Harris tonight on a scouting mission. Tomorrow night, if we confirm your story, Chip has agreed to lead an assault. That’s my final word.”

  Morgan’s final word was the same as my initial suggestion. I wasn’t going to argue, though. We had gotten what we came for. I imagined Jack repeatedly stamping on Jerry’s face and suppressed a smile.

  “Harry. You okay with that?” Chip asked.

  “I’m more than just okay,” I said. “It’s the smart move. Count us in.”

  “Excellent, we’ll leave it at that,” Morgan said. “You look like you could do with forty winks. Get yourself back to the suite.”

  “I’ll drop by in the early hours,” Chip said. “Be ready.”

  “Count on it,” I rose from the chair. “Until the early hours, Chip.”

  I found our suite door unlocked. Candles on a central table provided ambient light against the gloom outside. Jack and Rick were nowhere to be seen. I pulled on a sweater, made a cup of coffee, and sat gazing at the star studded sky. Morgan had organized everything extremely well, and he’d come to the right conclusion. But, even if we beat GA tomorrow, he needed to think about strengthening his defenses.

  I decided to discuss security arrangements with Chip tomorrow morning. As it stood, the Arthur Ashe stadium presented an easy target for Genesis Alliance. I felt sure that tomorrow would only be the start of our fight.

  Rick broke my concentration by flopping down on a seat next to me. “All okay, Harry?”

  “Fine. I’m set for a scouting mission in a few hours. They’re starting to cattle prod tomorrow. Where’s Jack?”

  “He went over to Lisa’s room. Probably helping you with the harder part of the task. What time are we going?”

  “You’re not going. It’s me and two of the company.” Rick frowned. I cut him off before he had chance to protest. “Did he get the prod from the weapons room?”

  “I think so, said he wanted to sort them out first.”

  I returned my gaze to the sky. Typical Jack, wanting to help the most vulnerable first. I knew he would be annoyed at not being invited along for the mission, and I think I could have insisted he come along, but he deserved a break.

  Rick hit the hay and I read a motorcycle magazine on the couch for an hour. At ten in the evening, I blew out the candles. Jack quietly entered the room an hour or two later and headed straight for bed. I considered telling him about Chip’s plan, but drifted off.

  Somebody thumped on the door. I immediately sprang from the couch, grabbed my rifle, and swung the door open. A flashlight beamed in my face.

  “Wakey, wakey, Harry,” Chip said.

  The light winked off. I checked my watch. One in the morning. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. Chip’s stocky silhouette stood in front of me.

  Jack groaned and pulled his duvet to one side. “What’s going on?”

  He propped himself up by his elbows and squinted toward the door.

  “I’m just nipping out for an hour or two,” I said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Need me to come?”

  “No. Just a routine thing around here I agreed to help with. Get some sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

  Why should both of us suffer when we’d finally found a place to get a safe night’s rest? I planned to catch up on sleep in the early afternoon before our main assault. I slung my rifle and fastened my bootlaces.

  “Harry, come on,” Chip said.

  Harris waited outside, dressed in black, his face smeared in cam cream. Chip was also dressed in black and took out a cam stick. He painted diagonal green stripes across his face and passed it to me. I rubbed the greasy end across my cheeks, nose, and forehead.

  “What’s the plan, Chip?” I asked.

  “We’re heading to the eastern edge of Little Bay. If there’s lights on Hart Island, we might be able to pick them out.”

  He shined his flashlight on a laminated map. It looked like a sixteen-mile round trip, and even then, the island looked too far away.

  “That’s gonna take us all night,” I said.

  Chip smiled and placed the map inside his jacket pocket. “We’ve got a fully charged golf cart outside. Nice silent mode of transport with a range of thirty miles.”

  “I’ve patrolled that way,” Harris said. “We’ve got a relatively clear route. Should be back in three hours.”

  “And if we don’t see anything?” I said.

  “We attack anyway,” Chip said. “I’ll tell Morgan that I identified the enemy force.”

  “Okay, let’s do it,” I said, pleased that at least one man in the leadership team recognized the threat and was prepared to act
without solid evidence. Morgan was a corporate thinker; Chip had a better head for our current situation.

  Harris led us through dark corridors, eventually down a staircase and back to the main entrance.

  A guard opened the glass door. “Good luck, guys.”

  I mumbled thanks as I passed him. A white four-seater golf cart, with the number twenty-one plastered on the front and side, waited outside.

  “Harris, you take the back seat and cover our rear. You ride with me, Harry, and cover our right flank.”

  He didn’t waste any time starting the cart, and soon we hummed our way along the moonlit Whitestone Expressway, cutting a path between the shadows of carnage.

  I aimed at gaps in the debris and listened for any suspicious sounds. After an hour of trundling along without facing any threats, Chip veered onto the Cross Island Parkway, taking us directly to Little Bay. I had to hand it to him: He’d picked a perfect form of transport. The cart sneaked through gaps impossible for a car to get through and quietly moved at a nice speed.

  “It’s not all that bad you know,” Chip said.

  “What isn’t?”

  “The company. Sure, Morgan’s an asshole, but we’ve got hope. There are some good people back at the stadium. A community of survivors that come together to provide mutual protection and a possible future.”

  I remained focused on the parkway. “If we don’t squash GA, there is no future.”

  “That’s why I took your story so seriously. We’re a green shoot of recovery. Anyone who tries to stamp on us has to be eliminated.”

  “I wish it were a story, Chip. We need a good plan and plenty of numbers if we want to take these fuckers out.”

  The cart jumped in the air and landed with a crash. I looked back. A chrome exhaust pipe settled on the road surface.

  “Careful where you go, Chip,” Harris said.

  “I can’t avoid everything. Just keep your eyes peeled.”

  After twenty more uneventful minutes, Chip stopped the cart. “It’s five minutes on foot from here to Willet’s Point. We’ll travel in extended line. I’ll take the front, Harris—you cover our rear. If we get split, we meet back here. Shoot first, ask questions later. Let’s move.”