“Small world. I was army. In for five years active, left as a sergeant in 2009. I’m still in the reserves. 94th MP detachment down in Saco,” Downes told him.
“Oh boy, here we go,” Hale said, smirking.
“What unit were you with on active duty?” Alex asked.
“2nd Brigade Combat Team, 4th ID…”
“Out of Fort Carson?”
“Yeah, you been there?” Downes asked.
“My folks still live in C Springs. My sister-in-law’s parents live right outside Ft. Carson. Her dad’s a retired Colonel. His last post was at Ft. Carson, I think. Anyway, she died a few days ago,” Alex said.
“Flu?” Hale asked.
“Yeah. She went quick.”
Both officers put on somber faces, probably more out of courtesy than anything else.
“Sorry to hear that,” Hale said.
“Yeah, that’s tough,” Downes added, “there’s too much of that going around.”
“I imagine you guys are running into it all day,” Alex said, not sure if that was the right thing to say.
“We’re too busy to respond to those calls. Hell, you’d be lucky to get an ambulance out at this point. EMT crews got crushed by the flu. At this point, the department is at less than half strength. We’re lucky to have two cars out at any given time, and those are usually twenty-four hour shifts. It’s a real mess. We’re pulling strictly volunteer duty to try and clear up any notable reports of violence or civil disorder, which brings me back to the point of our visit,” Hale said.
“We’ve seen too many neighborhood disputes escalate over the past week or so. People are getting desperate. My best advice is to keep to yourselves, and if anything happens, avoid confrontation, try to make an ID, and give us a call. We might not respond right away, but we’ll do our best to get to the bottom of it. Sometimes just our showing up and asking a few questions goes a long way.”
Alex grinned, knowing that Hale’s last statement was directed at him. “Nobody likes having the police pay a visit,” he said, as they all started to walk out of the garage.
“Unless they call 911,” Downes added.
“So, how bad is it out there? I mean beyond Scarborough? Those vests aren’t standard issue. Pairing you guys up when they could double the number of cars out on patrol?” Alex questioned.
Both officers stopped and turned around just short of leaving the garage. Hale wore an exhausted expression that betrayed a concerned caution. “It’s not too bad up here yet, even in Portland or South Portland. Just the usual stuff. Lots of break-ins, vandalism, minor fights…some major ones, but nothing crazy yet.”
He touched his vest. “Tri-City Special Response divvied up all the gear last week. Not enough trained guys left on the roster to field a response team. Everyone that goes out on patrol has the option to take one of these. We got some assault rifles too, though nobody’s really been trained by the department to use one, other than the Special Response guys. Officer Downes is the only member of the team from Scarborough still fit for duty,” Hale said, glancing at Downes.
“We only contributed two guys to the team. Most of them were from South Portland, so we didn’t get a lot of the gear. Four sets of body armor, some night vision, other goodies. I hope we never really have to use any of it,” Downes said.
“Amen to that,” Alex said.
“All right, we have to get moving here. Lots of ground to cover before one of us passes out. Do you have a radio that can scan police channels?” Hale asked him.
The question caught Alex off guard, and he paused, not really sure how to answer the question. He owned a Uniden multi-channel radio with this capability that he kept in the basement, but he hadn’t yet considered using it to eavesdrop on local law enforcement. His silence crossed over into discomfort, as he continued to ponder what he should say.
“We don’t care if you have a police scanner. They’re perfectly legal in Maine. It’s amazing how everyone clams up around us.” Hale laughed.
“Well, it’s not like you guys are here for beers. It’s like when you’re driving, and suddenly you see a cruiser in your rearview mirror. You could be driving your grandma back to the nursing home, and you would still be paranoid,” Alex said, causing both officers to chuckle.
“That’s a scary thought. Anyway, if you have one, you should start scanning local and county channels. We haven’t seen too many refugees from Mass up this far, but they’re coming. They’ve been slipping into the state slowly, mainly up the turnpike, but we think that’s all about to change,” Hale said.
Downes leaned in a little close, like he was about to share a secret. “We’ve heard from a few sources that the situation down in Boston is about to go critical. They’ve already seen limited riots and fires, but from what we’ve been hearing, they’re on the brink of a complete breakdown. Once that happens, we can expect a lot of people streaming north, most of them with nothing, and all of them looking for something.
“This has already caused some problems down in York County. These folks drive up with just the fuel in their tanks and whatever they thought to jam in their cars. No plan, no contacts up here, just the misguided idea that Maine wasn’t hit as bad. They get here and quickly figure out that nobody’s really keen on having them up here, and that’s when it starts to get ugly. On both sides.”
“Where do they end up staying?” Alex asked.
“Some check into hotels, if they have the cash. Credit cards are almost useless now—no one accepts them. Most just live in their cars until they can figure something out, which won’t be an option for very long,” Downes added, glancing up at the sky.
“Either way, none of them have enough food to last more than a week. Many have way less than that, so they start scoping out the neighborhoods during the day, maybe stopping to ask questions about food or the possibility of vacant houses on the block. Then they return to cruise the neighborhood after dark, looking for houses with no lights. They’ll just break into those houses outright, and you’ll wake up with new neighbors.”
“Can we do anything to keep them off the block?”
“That’s where it’s gotten ugly downstate. Even if you blockade the entrance to your loop, they’ll pour in on foot from the other streets, night and day. It’s almost better to have them inside their cars. At least that way you can see them, and you don’t have people sneaking through your yards at night. We’ve heard reports from some York County sheriff’s deputies about nighttime battles erupting in neighborhoods down in Kittery and York, some reports from Sanford, too. Way too many guns in Maine, and way too many people eager to use them,” Hale said.
“Yeah, but if someone’s breaking into your house, and the police can’t respond…I mean, it’s not your fault, but…” Alex started.
“Most of these aren’t break-ins. Some for sure, but there’s been a lot of indiscriminate shooting. Blasting away at shadows. Even a few cases of pre-planned ambush. Anyway, nice talking with you, Alex. Pull out that scanner and keep any guns you own inside the house. You’ll be better off that way. Good luck,” Hale said and started to walk toward the cruiser.
“Keep it safe, guys,” Alex said.
“You too,” Downes replied.
Alex watched the two officers walk back to their patrol car, neither looking very enthusiastic about returning to duty. He was pretty sure he could end their voluntary shift pretty quickly if he offered them a beer, even at this early hour. He felt the cold penetrating his Crocs again.
“Hey, Officer Downes! Were you with Ironhorse?” he yelled, as he backed into the garage.
“Yeah! How did you know?” Downes yelled back as he reached for the passenger door handle.
“I was in Iraq as a company commander when the war started. Rolled all the way up through Baghdad. I’ve read everything written about the war. 4th ID rolled in late 2007, Task Force Ironhorse. You guys did some incredible work out there.”
“Thanks, I just hope we can all survive this!” Downes ca
lled, glancing around the neighborhood.
“We’ve seen worse.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ve seen anything yet!” Downes said, ducking into the car.
Alex watched the patrol car drive in the direction of the Thorntons’ before he walked over to shut the garage door.
A few minutes later he stood in front of their espresso machine at the far end of the kitchen counter, waiting for the green indicator to illuminate. He heard one of the top stairs creak and guessed that Kate was coming down to check on him. Several more steps confirmed his guess as Kate’s unmistakable stride brought her to the bottom of the stairs. She was dressed in pink and gray flannel pajama bottoms, and a thick, oversized maroon Boston College sweatshirt.
“So, are you under arrest?” she asked, walking toward him.
“No, I traded some information for my freedom. They’ll be back to haul you away after you’ve had some coffee. I told them you’d go quietly that way, or at least quieter,” he replied.
“Good call on your part. So, what did they want?”
“To talk about my possible involvement in the discharge of a firearm.”
“Please tell me you didn’t admit to it,” she said, and walked over to the pantry.
“I told them I didn’t hear a thing that night.”
“Did they buy it?” she asked, laughing a little as she walked up to the counter next to the stove with a container of quick oats.
“They really didn’t seem to care.”
***
Alex turned the last light off downstairs and headed up to the office. He passed Emily’s room and heard Kate and Emily talking, but couldn’t figure out any of their conversation. As he moved down the hall, he started to hear sounds of computerized violence and mayhem emanate from the attic doorway near the office. He entered the office and closed the door to drown out the sounds of simulated automatic weapons fire, screaming and explosions. Even through the door, he could hear Ryan’s muted battle raging across the flat-screen in the attic.
Alex hadn’t received any messages on his smartphone in several days. Barely any calls to the house either. Even email traffic had slowed to a near halt over the past week. At first he wondered why, reasoning that people should have nothing but time on their hands. Plenty of time to stay in touch.
It didn’t take him long to realize that his own situation certainly didn’t resemble anything close to the most typical scenario out there. Most people were probably just barely getting by. Sick or not, supplies of everything were low. Even households untouched by the flu must be quickly coming to the realization that they were about to enter dire straits.
He sat down at the computer and saw that Kate had been checking out the weather forecast. He noted that the national weather service had predicted a major storm for the weekend, estimated to arrive on Sunday. “Mixed ice and snow. Possible ice storm followed by periods of heavy snow.”
He clicked over to one of the local news channel’s websites and checked their storm center predictions. Theirs was more detailed and outlined the conditions meteorologists believed would likely cause a severe ice storm. He read quietly aloud, paraphrasing the prediction.
“Remnants of a late season tropical storm from the Gulf of Mexico encounters polar high pressure zone over New England early Sunday morning. Persistent polar air mass could result in a stalled warm front and enduring precipitation in the form of frozen rain. Great. Freezing temperatures on the ground will make the situation worse. Eventually moist air will push through stationary cold front. Possible transition to intense snowfall if warm layer thins before leaving the region.”
He navigated back to the news station’s homepage. One article caught his eye above all of the standard pandemic news. “Maine Militia plans to barricade I-95 bridge.”
But as he read the rest of the article, he started to think that maybe these guys had the right idea.
“The York County Militia consists of several chapters in southern Maine. Group organizer and leader, Harrison Campbell, of Sanford, says that the group is growing in response to the threat from outsiders. ‘We’ve been subjected to an out of state invasion for decades. Property taxes are driving Mainers out of their homes, and there’s new construction everywhere. Hardworking Mainers can’t make a living in their own state anymore. Now they’re gonna stream up here and ransack the place?”
“York County sheriff’s officials stated that they would likely station their own deputies at the bridge, in anticipation of the group’s action to barricade the I-95. An anonymous source within the sheriff’s department casts serious doubt on the department’s ability to remove the group from the bridge, pointing out that the deputies are already stretched to the breaking point around the county. Kittery police officials declined to comment on their planned reaction to a standoff on the bridge.”
“Sounds like the makings of a mess down there,” Alex said out loud.
“Do you always talk to yourself in here?” Kate asked from the doorway to the office, startling him by her sudden appearance.
“Whoa! What is it with all of you people sneaking up on me?” he asked.
“Who’s ‘you people’?” she asked, walking over to the desk.
“You and that son of yours.” He swung the chair around to face her.
“Did you see the storm warning?” she asked.
“Yeah, I hope it’s just a snowstorm. An ice storm will take down the power.”
Kate was staring past him at the article on the screen. “What’s that all about?” She was squinting to try and read it from where she was standing.
“Some nutbags are planning to barricade the bridge.”
“What about the Route One bridge?”
“I don’t know. What, do you want to be on their planning committee?” Alex joked.
“Someone has to keep the refugee situation under control,” she said.
“Yeah, somehow I think that’s a job better suited for the Army Reserves or National Guard, not a bunch of gun-toting crazies who believe they are the reincarnated spirits of the Lexington and Concord Minutemen.”
“Who do you think makes up the Guard and Reserves?” Kate asked.
“I have several friends in the Guard, and they run a quality operation.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just saying that regular civilians from all walks of life make up the Guard. Same people who are part of that group.”
“True, but either way, an untrained and undisciplined gaggle of armed civilians barricading a bridge is a recipe for major disaster,” he said, turning back to the screen.
“Yeah, but I can’t help thinking I’m glad they’re doing something to keep these people from creeping into our neighborhoods.”
“I know. I feel the same way,” he agreed.
“Speaking of the Guard, they fully mobilized all Maine units. Same for New Hampshire, Massachusetts and the rest of New England. I think there was a national mobilization ordered by the president. I caught a bit of it on the TV in our room a little earlier,” Kate said, lingering in the doorway.
“I didn’t see that. Hold on.” He started a search. “Wow, you’re right, it was a presidential order. They’re talking about the deployment of units to areas outside of assigned states.”
“Can they do that?” she asked, stepping back in to the office.
“Do what? Fully mobilize or send units out of state?”
“Both.”
“I’ve never heard of them mobilizing every single unit, but I know units travel out of state to augment disaster efforts, like major floods, or something like the disaster in New Orleans. Still, I’m pretty sure that’s usually authorized by the state governor as a courtesy. I can’t imagine any of the state governors volunteering to send any units out of state. This is unprecedented as far as I know.
“The president or the secretary of defense must have taken control of the National Guard. Not sure how, but I can guarantee this’ll just add to the mess out there,” said Al
ex.
“I wouldn’t show up. Not with my family’s safety on the line. I’m going to take a shower,” Kate said and left the room.
Alex mumbled agreement, though fundamentally, he didn’t agree with her sentiment. He had no qualms ditching his job at Biosphere, but military service was a different story. He could never refuse an authorized and legitimate call to duty.
He navigated to one of the major Boston newspapers and spotted a disturbing article featuring the sudden decline of civil order within the Boston metropolitan area. The article’s submission time indicated that the article had been filed online only several minutes ago.
According to the article, similar problems in all major cities along the northeastern coast were erupting. The National Guard has been recalled nationwide to handle growing civil unrest.
The article’s author went further to blame the civil disorder on a “now nearly complete breakdown of the food and essentials supply chain in the northeast, compounded by an overwhelmed healthcare system that has far exceeded its capacity to handle the flu pandemic.”
Survival
Chapter 30
Distracted by the bright gray and white sky, he almost missed the minivan turn onto Durham Road. Alex grimaced and raised the pair of binoculars hanging from his neck. He jotted “White Sienna”onto a legal pad balanced on the windowsill. The minivan lumbered slowly down the street in his direction. He focused the binoculars on the front license plate, and then scanned for occupants. “Massachusetts,” he mumbled.
He saw a man driving and a woman in the front passenger seat. They were both scanning the houses to each side of the minivan. The car edged past Todd’s house, almost stopping in front of the Walkers’.
Just before the minivan reached his house, Alex put the binoculars down to examine the vehicle with unaided eyes. He confirmed two adults in front and possibly one more adult in the second row. He also caught the silhouette of a smaller person in the back seat, as the car passed directly in front of his window.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 22