“I hear you,” a voice called from the kitchen area.
“We can’t afford screw-ups on Hart Island. Just make sure you’ve got your shit together.”
He clunked back upstairs. The trapdoor slammed shut.
A conversation continued upstairs. I peered around the corner. The man turned to face me. “I didn’t do that for your benefit. That psycho would’ve killed us all.”
“Thanks, we appreciate it,” I said and gave him a single firm nod.
“Whatever. He might come back,” he said and shuffled back into the gloom. Mattress springs groaned. He clearly didn’t take Jerry’s orders too seriously.
Footsteps left the room above. The front door closed, and a bolt scratched across.
“I can’t believe he was here,” Jack said.
I let out a deep breath and shook my head. “Let’s just hope he’s gone.”
We waited in silence in case any of the recent arrivals had stayed. A minute later, the trapdoor opened again. Brett came running down the stairs with a grim look on his face.
He rested his hands on the table and closed his eyes. “They killed Kate and they’re coming back to sweep the area. Anthony wants us to help form an extended line across the countryside.”
“Why did they kill her?” I asked.
“Anthony started tracking you. He found your vehicle and traced your footprints to where they put the cars during the cleanup operation. His hands were covered in blood. He claimed it was from trying to stem the flow from her throat. Said that meant you must still be in the local area.”
Jack pulled out a chair and sat opposite Brett. “That sly bastard. We should’ve killed him in Hermitage.”
“I suppose he thought it would get us to cooperate with hunting you down. It might have worked if we hadn’t already met you.”
“Can we take your car?” I asked.
Brett paced around the table and rubbed his chin. He stopped in front of me. “I’m coming with you.”
“You’re not serious—” the man on the mattress said.
“You’re welcome to stay here and wait it out, Stan. But after what just happened, there’s no way I’m risking my life by being anywhere near those crazy bastards.”
Stan sat forward. “What do I tell Anthony? What about your family?”
“Just say I went missing. That’s what they’ll probably say about Kate. For all we know, our families might be in a big pit somewhere in the UK. It’s time to stop being GA’s bitch.”
I stood and faced him. “Why the change of heart?”
“I could handle it pre-activation. It was just a weird blackmail. I never thought they’d go through with it. After leaving the bunker three days ago, seeing all this and talking it through with people who are prepared to fight…”
“Grab a rifle and let’s get moving,” Jack said.
Brett picked one up from the workbench, stuffed three full magazines in his cargo pants pockets, and tossed us the remaining four mags. “We need to beat them to Hart Island. Forget the devices—they’re too spread out. If we destroy the control unit, they can’t use them.”
“Should be easy enough,” Jack said. “We burnt the last one.”
“Not this unit,” Brett said. “It’s in protective casing, like the transmission devices. I need to configure it from the console.”
“Why didn’t they have one like that here?” I asked.
“They were supposed to bring one here and leave the uncovered unit at Hart Island as a backup.”
It hardly came as a surprise that the local team had fucked up. They were like the Keystone Cops, but with a lethal edge.
“What about HQ?” I asked.
“We avoid them at all costs. Forget about Boston—we’ll end up bringing a shitstorm on ourselves. The local team has roughly three days to try and get things working before the others arrive. We don’t want to be around when they meet up.”
“You sure about this?” I said.
Brett folded a map into the inside pocket of his blue Gor-Tex jacket. “I’m not sure about anything anymore. But I feel a whole lot better after making this decision.”
I respected Brett’s courage in the face of his situation. He reminded me of a close friend back in England, not only in looks but also attitude. My English friend faced different kinds of problems from Brett’s: an alcoholic brother and a cheating wife. Eventually, he made a brave decision and faced down both problems by helping his brother get dry and getting a divorce.
“One question: Where’s Hart Island?” Jack asked.
“New York, opposite Pelham Bay.”
“I think I know it,” I said. “And we drove up here from the city.”
“No time to lose. Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.” He ushered us up the basement steps and knocked three times on the trapdoor. It swung open almost immediately.
“All clear, come up,” a voice said. “They drove away after leaving the house.”
We made our way back along the thin hall.
“Jim, I’m out of here,” Brett said. He extended a hand to an overweight silhouette by the door. “I’ve got a feeling you’ll be all right without me.”
Jim grasped Brett’s hand. “You sure about this?”
“Positive. Good luck. I hope you see your wife and kids again.”
Jim gave a resigned nod and opened the front door. “I’ll tell them you went back to Ron’s to try and salvage some equipment.”
“Thanks, man. If I run into HQ, I’ll clear you from this shower of shit.”
“I doubt it.” He sighed. “Got a feeling that we’re all going to pay.”
Brett clapped Jim’s shoulder and nodded before heading out. Jack and I followed without saying a word.
After squelching across the field, we reached his car. He walked around it.
“Aren’t we taking it?” I asked.
“No. They’ll have the roads guarded. We need to head cross-country for a couple of miles at least. We’ll pick something up on the highway.”
Automatic fire rattled in the distance. We sprinted south.
3
Our immediate plan consisted of running through open countryside, vaulting fences, and crawling through hedges, getting away from Monroe as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the route stayed clear of any search parties, but if Anthony could successfully track us, only the cover of darkness would conceal our escape.
“I reckon we’re close to the highway,” Jack said after we stopped for a quick rest.
We pushed through a hedge and emerged onto a road leading away from Monroe. The route seemed to be parallel with the highway, and the solid footing offered us a chance to increase our speed.
Shadows of isolated houses began to loom on our left, and I considered searching them for supplies or a vehicle. We had to create distance from Monroe. Our pace faltered and we now were maintaining a fast walk rather than a run. I kept twisting around every few yards, checking for signs of pursuit.
Brett wheezed alongside me. “You boys know how to run.”
“We’ve had a lot of practice in the last week.”
Jack stopped, put his hands on his knees, and vomited. Brett pulled out a water bottle from his jacket, had a quick drink, and passed it to him as he straightened.
“You look like a zombie,” Brett said.
Jack took three large gulps, swished the water around his mouth, and spat it on the ground. “I snuggled up with rotting bodies all afternoon. Are you surprised I’m sick?”
Brett turned and peered into the distance. I thought we urgently needed a change of clothing. Who knew what kind of nasty disease had invaded our clothes while we hid among GA’s innocent victims. Jack’s illness didn’t come as a surprise.
“We’re getting nowhere fast on foot,” I said. “We need to freshen up and get to the highway.”