Morgan’s withholding of our information on how to avoid activation had probably cost a lot of lives. Yet here he was, talking about a bloody holiday in Switzerland.
“Why weren’t you affected by the second activation?” I said.
“The what? Not sure what you mean?” he asked, avoiding eye contact.
“You used the cattle prod, didn’t you?” Jack said.
Morgan ignored us and navigated around a stray blue passenger ferry. Several decomposing bodies hung from the railing on the top deck. Three windows on the lower deck were smashed and stained with dry blood.
“He used one,” I said to Jack, but I made sure Morgan could hear. “I saw a cattle prod in his private weapons store. He believed us all along. He just didn’t want it to affect his new community, controlling the information like some kind of tinpot dictator.”
Morgan’s left eye twitched. He steered hard right. Our boat scraped against the hull of a yellow water taxi. A flock of seagulls burst into the air from its deck. I ducked and they flapped inches over my head.
Once clear of the main clutter around the Bay’s entrance, Jack and I took up positions at either side of the cockpit and aimed at everything we passed. Any vessel could hold a GA ambush or an attack point for freshly created killers.
Jack shouted across Morgan to me. “He helped himself first before warning anyone else about the danger. Selfish prick.”
“Stop talking about me as if I’m not here,” Morgan said.
“Tell us how you managed to avoid being activated then?”
“Okay, okay. I used a cattle prod. I didn’t know if you were telling the truth or not. It sounded so far-fetched that I thought it might have had an element of truth.”
“Element of truth?” I said, struggling to control my anger. “Rick’s dead because of you. Choose your words carefully.”
“I was going to make an announcement about the prodding and had already drafted a memo to all personnel. Information like this could have caused widespread panic and requires a process map for successful implementation. Did you consider that?”
“Fucking process map?” Jack said incredulously.
“You sound like a politician,” I said. “They deserved to know about it. The only goal is survival. You should have realized that and not tried to maintain your own position.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. I decided not to press him further. His decision must be weighing heavily on his conscience. Not that he’d admit that to us.
We passed Rikers Island on our left and entered the main part of East River. The smashed remains of the Bronx-Whitestone suspension bridge lay directly ahead. The middle section was collapsed in the water, and stray cables rocked in the wind.
Jack pointed to his right. “Over there. Four hundred yards away.”
Morgan increased the power, and we sped for what appeared to be our old boat. A recognizable thick blue stripe ran along its side.
I shielded my eyes from the sun and peered across the water. “Can’t see anyone on board.”
As we plowed nearer, I noticed the boat slightly listing to one side; the windows were shattered and a number of black holes peppered the hull and cabin wall. Morgan brought us alongside the stricken craft and our starboard brushed against its port.
Harris and two other men lay on the sun deck. He had two visible bullet wounds on his left cheek and forehead.
I rushed down from the cockpit, grabbed a boat hook, and pulled the vessels tightly together.
“Harry, can you see Lisa and the kids?” Jack asked.
He gulped and bowed his head.
I jumped across to Candy Cane’s deck and entered the open cabin doors. The scene of slaughter didn’t need sharing, and I immediately returned to the sun deck.
Jack crouched to jump onboard.
I shook my head. “Don’t. It’s too late.”
“Everyone?”
My silence told Jack everything he needed. He let out a loud roar that echoed across the water. I pushed our boat free and watched Candy Cane slowly bob away.
“Who was onboard?” Morgan asked.
“Men, women, and children,” Jack said. “People from Flushing Meadows. We thought they’d be safe on the water…”
He trailed off and gazed into the distance. I hoped the murders wouldn’t tip him over the edge again. We were under no illusions about the evil that we faced, but if we wanted to hit them hard, we had to be calculated about it. Lisa and the kids were another addition to the long list of those who needed to be avenged. I would remember these people after our job was done. At the moment, they supplied irresistible motivation.
“Why did they do it?” Morgan said.
“Look around for Christ’s sake.” Jack swept his arm in the direction of the city, where plumes of smoke rose from the tall buildings, and sporadic gunfire crackled. “That’s probably other survivor groups, killing each other.”
Morgan hands trembled on the wheel. He turned to me. “What do we do now?”
“Survive and fight,” I said. “GA has cars, boats, planes, plenty of manpower, communications, weapons, and the activation devices. But if we’re going to have a shootout, I’d rather it be on dry land, where we can have the element of surprise.”
“Don’t forget HQ,” Jack said. “This lot is only the tip of the iceberg. We’ve got something bigger and uglier coming, and they might show up tomorrow.”
“Let’s find a safe place to work out how to tackle this,” I said and turned to Morgan. “Take us back in.”
He gave me a single firm nod and increased the throttle. We sped back in silence to Flushing Bay. Morgan cut the engine close to our starting point, leaving the cruiser to drift toward the mooring.
I found it difficult not to feel intimidated by our current situation. We had threats coming from everywhere. Morgan couldn’t yet be trusted. I needed a way of defusing the potential confrontation between him and Jack, which would be sooner rather than later.
If we were going to hit GA, we needed every available resource. At the moment, though, we needed some kind of safety and familiarity, and I knew the answer.
“We’re going to an apartment in Elmhurst to figure out our next moves,” I said. “We know the area and left a few supplies there.”
“We’re going to Bernie’s?” Jack asked.
“Yep. You okay with that, Morgan?”
“That’s fine—lead the way,” Morgan said.
The insincerity in his voice grated on me, but he had little option unless he wanted to go it alone. Morgan knew Jack and I had survived in a small group, and a person like him usually went with the strongest chance of success.
We still held an advantage over GA. Their activations couldn’t affect us, and we knew the location of the local team. Their time had come.
“It’s four miles from here,” I said. “The sooner we get there, the quicker we can plan our attack.”
“Stay alert, Morgan,” Jack said.
Morgan sneered and headed for the nearest vehicle.
We searched Citi Field’s parking lot. Car batteries and engines were still functional, but we faced the usual problem: A lot of them had disease-ridden bodies inside.
A rotting face pressed against the glass of a dark blue Volvo’s passenger window. Saliva gathered in my mouth. As the decomposition took hold, the face had slid downward, leaving a horrible trail of human grease above it. The receding skin and lips had exposed yellow teeth and red gums that made the face appear to be either screaming or laughing.
Finally, I found a usable but filthy Lincoln. I started the car and headed south toward Elmhurst. I knew the way from here and picked up the Long Island Expressway, retracing our original route out of the city.
Jack turned to Morgan in the back seat when we passed Aldi. “Why were you so rude when we met you here?”