The trick was to avoid these situations if possible. “Force application” was a dual-edged sword, attracting unwanted attention while inviting a similar, violent response. The parking lot was a perfect example.
Staging their final rally point in the Best Western’s parking lot had been a bad idea. One that had nearly cost them everything at the very start of their journey. He’d underestimated the number of refugees scattered around the hotel, and should have kept driving when it became apparent. Most importantly, he failed to anticipate the rapid rate at which their reception to Alex’s group would deteriorate. This should have been obvious from the start.
His group was well organized, which more than likely gave the mob the distinct impression that they had a plan. It probably didn’t take them long to figure out that the plan included a destination close enough to reach by bicycle. Some had been interested in learning more about their final destination. Questions hurled at them verified this. Others were solely interested in acquiring a mode of transportation to achieve their own objectives. Some of the more aggressive and vocal members of the crowd had suggested that they “double up” on the bikes and leave the rest behind.
All of them were hungry for information, and desperation lurked dangerously close to the surface. He couldn’t afford to misjudge the immediate and lasting effects of desperation again. He had to assume that everyone outside of his own circle had the worst intentions, and plan accordingly—regardless of the situation. Looks could be deceiving. Sympathies could be played. He hated to think like this, but their short- and long-term survival would depend on it.
Alex’s group represented something to everyone, and everything to some. He had to make sure that Kate, Linda and Samantha understood what this meant and adopted the same mindset for their trek to Limerick. A group of nine well-equipped cyclists represented an opportunity, regardless of weapons. Alex wasn’t optimistic about their chances of arriving without incident.
***
Kate looked her husband over one last time, making sure he showed no signs of the bloody encounter in the parking lot. She’d taken several minutes and used an entire packet of moist-wipes to thoroughly remove the thickened blood from his hands and forearms before she let him change clothes. He kept trying to rush the process, but she insisted on doing a thorough job. If he changed clothes before she was finished, he might get blood on a shirtsleeve or his collar, which could attract attention. One scarlet smear spotted by a police officer standing at a tight intersection might be all it took to stop and search the Jeep.
Hands shaking, he let her proceed. Whatever had happened at the Best Western had been sudden and violent, and Alex didn’t want to talk about it. When she crossed the intersection on her bicycle, Ed’s Jeep was gunning toward Charlie, who hadn’t reached the intersection. She assumed everything was under control at that point and focused all of her attention on the bicycles, pedaling harder and verbally encouraging the rest of her group to pick up speed.
Generating rapid momentum for their sudden departure had taken significantly more effort and time than she expected. With thirty- to forty-pound backpacks to balance while riding, her crew wasn’t exactly the most nimble on two wheels, and they needed to gain more distance to be truly out of danger. Their escape from the parking lot established a painful reality. They were slow, awkward and unable to accelerate fast enough to escape pedestrians. The bicycles would serve one purpose on their trek: ease of transportation. She couldn’t forget that.
“You’ll pass inspection,” she said.
“The Jeep won’t. We have enough shit in there to start a war. I’m worried about what’ll happen if we get stopped,” Alex said, glancing around.
She took his cue and leaned in, pretending to inspect the side of his face. They were shielded from the rest of the group by the Jeep, but with the Jeep’s windows open, there was no way to guarantee a private conversation.
“Ed nearly drove off, leaving Charlie behind. I almost had to hijack the Jeep,” he whispered.
Kate considered the implications of his comment. “I don’t know what to tell you. We’re all in this together now. You’ll just have to keep a close eye on him, and manage the situation.”
“And Charlie? I nearly beat him back to the Jeep after taking down four people,” he said.
“His heart’s in the right place, Alex,” Kate reminded him. “He could have chosen to stay behind.”
“I know. I couldn’t ask for a better friend in this. I just don’t want his heart to explode. He only ran like a hundred yards and—”
“With a full pack on his back. You know what you’re working with, so work with it. That’s all you can do.”
“You’re right,” he muttered, looking up at her.
“I’m always right,” she said, patting him lightly on his right shoulder.
Alex visibly winced, and they locked eyes for a moment. She fought the urge to comment on the injury, knowing that anything she said would be unproductive. He was going to Boston to rescue Ryan and Chloe, regardless of the circumstances. End of discussion. He needed to respect the fact that Ed and Charlie shared this same, singular focus. She took both of his hands and pulled him close, kissing him passionately while they still had a modicum of privacy. He responded, pressing her against the Jeep and kissing her neck. They both knew this could be their last moment together, and for a few seconds, they forgot about everything except each other. When Alex kissed her softly on the lips, she opened her eyes, knowing that the moment had ended.
“You can’t pull this off alone. It’s too big for one person,” she whispered in his ear.
“I’d still try.”
“I know you would,” she said and kissed him again. “You better say goodbye to Emily and Ethan. We need to get this show on the road.”
“Emily doesn’t look so good,” said Alex.
“She’s sixteen—and this is the second time in her life that the world as she knows it has come to an abrupt halt. I’m surprised she’s functional at all.”
“Built tough, like her mom,” said Alex.
“Are you comparing me to a Chevy truck?”
“Uh—I hadn’t intended to.”
“I didn’t think so.” She winked. “Get going.”
Kate watched Alex walk over and sit next to Emily, who looked up at her dad and forced a smile. They talked for a few minutes, and when Alex tried to get up, she grabbed his arm and cried into his shoulder. He kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly for a long moment. When he let go, she dropped herself to the ground near her mountain bike and pulled her backpack next to her. Alex shook his head at Kate as he passed her to meet Ethan on the shoulder of the road.
“Keep an eye on her,” he advised. “She’s frazzled.”
Ethan lowered his bike to the gravel as Alex approached. A quick hug and a handshake. Kate had no doubt that their brief interaction had met both of their emotional needs. Men were so different. She nodded at Alex, who blew her a kiss and made his way to Charlie and Ed near the back of the jeep. Emily would need more than that. Kate wandered over to her daughter and sat next to her in the mowed grass beyond the gravel shoulder.
“Your dad will be fine, sweetie. He’ll bring your brother home,” said Kate, putting her arm around Emily’s shoulders.
Emily leaned in, sobbing. “What if he doesn’t come back with Ryan? What if none of them make it back?” Emily asked tearfully.
Kate squeezed tighter. “They’re coming back—with your brother. I’m certain of it. Your dad can handle this.”
“But they can’t,” she said. “He should go by himself.”
Kate looked at her daughter, surprised by the realization that Emily had been paying far more attention to the situation than she had assumed. Acting aloof and oblivious to anything beyond her immediate sphere of influence had become her default mode of behavior over the past year, presumably attributable to her early teen years. Kate wondered if this wasn’t more of an act than her personality. Emily turned to
face her, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. She wiped her face with her arm, smearing freshly moistened mud across her ear.
Emily had Kate’s deep blue eyes and Alex’s darker skin. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that protruded from the back of her pink and gray Red Sox cap. She hadn’t been pleased with Alex’s insistence that she wear long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Emily had compromised with a pair of hiking pants made out of a quick-dry material and a light blue running shirt. Neither of them was about to argue with her. Comfort would trump tactical for the bicycle crew. They had a long, hot day ahead of them, and nobody had opted for long sleeves.
“He can’t do this alone,” said Kate, glancing over her shoulder at the men.
“They’ll get him killed. I know it.”
“Emily, I don’t want to hear you say that again. You’re going to see your dad again—and your brother.”
“If he’s still alive,” said Emily, standing up and grabbing her backpack.
“Emily,” she hissed, “what’s going on?”
“I’m just being realistic, Mom.”
Her daughter lifted the green pack over her shoulders and tightened the straps.
“I think it’s time to go,” said Emily.
Kate stood speechless for a few moments as Emily picked up her bike and guided it toward the group forming behind the Jeep. She knew their world would never return to normal, and that the scars of leaving their life behind would run deep, but she didn’t want to lose her daughter to a fatalistic outlook that would permanently stain her future. Like Alex, she would have to keep a very close eye on Emily.
“Hold on. Let me grab my stuff,” she said, relieved to see her daughter stop and force another smile.
At least she was trying.
Chapter 17
EVENT +27:20 Hours
York, Maine
Alex felt the rumble strips pass under the Jeep’s tires, barely noticeable under a thin layer of sandy mud. Mud and debris had appeared on the turnpike a few miles past the abandoned Kennebunk rest stop, causing them to slow considerably and engage the Jeep’s four-wheel-drive system. Their planned forty-minute trip from the Maine Mall rally point had turned into an hour and a half. At one point Alex started to seriously doubt their ability to reach the York exit. The muck slowed them to ten miles per hour along the ten-mile stretch between Wells and York, where the turnpike passed a point two miles from the ocean.
Beyond the nearly impassible sludge, most of their trip had proven uneventful, yielding little insight into what had transpired the day before. Traffic had been light at five in the morning when the suspected EMP hit, leaving a sparse number of stranded motorists on either side of the six-lane highway. Most of the cars had managed to safely find the emergency lane; however, the occasional mid-highway obstacle kept them vigilant. They passed two single-car wrecks, stopping at both to check for bodies. They found none, which gave them the impression that state police still patrolled the roads.
The Jeep hit another set of rumble strips and slowed. Through binoculars, Alex saw a steeply curved wall of concrete barrier blocks diverting southbound traffic across the center divide, into the northbound lanes. A police cruiser sat at the end of the barrier. Two state troopers armed with shotguns stood on the driver side of the cruiser. Looking past the officers, Alex determined that concrete blocks were set between all of the northbound tollbooths, except for a single gap blocked by a state police cruiser. The purpose of the one gap became clear as the scene beyond the tollbooth unfolded.
“Shit. We aren’t getting through this. The entire southern side of the tollbooth is a parking lot. I see a few large tents—like a military command post or something,” said Alex.
“Both sides of the highway?” asked Charlie, from the back seat.
“Both sides, but that’s not the real problem. State troopers have the entire southbound lane blocked. Shit, I see a JLTV on the other side of the tollbooth.”
Charlie shot up in his seat, nearly knocking the binoculars out of Alex’s hands. Charlie was like an annoying child when anyone mentioned military hardware. His enthusiasm to share his vast knowledge often eclipsed any desire to hear what he had to say. Still, Alex would gladly take Charlie’s near encyclopedic recitation of information over Ed’s bare-bones knowledge of anything beyond the caliber and ammunition capacity of his Ruger 10/22 rifle.
“What kind?” uttered Charlie.
“Take a look,” he said, pushing Charlie’s face back with the binoculars.
“I’m pulling a U-turn,” said Ed.
“Hold on. Maybe there’s a way,” said Alex.
“Why take the chance? What if they have a description of our Jeep from the Best Western? We should double back to the Wells exit and take the back roads.”
“I’m with Ed on that,” said Charlie. “The less time they spend looking in our car, the better. I’m good with the back roads. By the way, that’s an AM General Bravo Blast Resistant Vehicle-Off road. Most likely Maine National Guard. Fifty cal mounted on top.”
Alex hadn’t considered the possibility that the police might have driven by the hotel within the past hour and stopped in the parking lot to investigate the commotion. He was certain that the angry crowd wouldn’t fairly represent his side of the story. Would the police be able to assess the scene and determine what really happened? Would they care enough to issue an APB? Did any of their radios work? They hadn’t picked up any local chatter on Alex’s police scanner, but most of the police departments had converted to encrypted P25 digital radio communications systems. Too many questions unanswered to take the chance.
If the troopers ordered them out of the Jeep, they’d have no choice but to disobey and speed north toward the Wells exit, praying that they weren’t worth the time and effort of a high-speed pursuit. Alex’s crew needed to do everything in their power to avoid a law enforcement confrontation. The Jeep couldn’t outrun the police, and they had hesitantly but unanimously agreed that harming police officers was out of the question. Alex wasn’t convinced that he could abide by that pact, especially if it jeopardized rescuing his son. Turning around before the tollbooth assured that he wouldn’t have to test these doubts.
“All right, let’s get out of here,” he said.
The rear passenger-side/center seat combination directly behind Alex had been folded forward to give Charlie quick access to their rifles and tactical vests, which were hidden underneath a thick plaid comforter. Three black school-sized backpacks lay over the comforter next to Charlie, camouflaging its purpose. The lighter, off-the-shelf daypacks had been stuffed with food, water, medical supplies and emergency basics to last twenty-four hours. Sufficient for their excursion into Boston, but not enough to weigh them down like the heavier packs.
They would hide the sixty-pound, long-term endurance rucksacks in the forest, wherever they decided to leave the Jeep. If the Jeep disappeared while they were in the city, the success of their return voyage to Maine would depend on the rucksacks, especially if the kids were in bad shape. The larger packs were stuffed behind Charlie’s seat, on top of a few duffel bags filled with each family’s memorabilia. Gas containers, several two-gallon jugs of water and a box of MREs filled the remaining gaps in the rear compartment.
They could have fit twice as much gear into the Jeep, but for tactical reasons, they packed lightly. Alex wanted clear fields of vision in every direction and quick access to their equipment, which prevented them from filling every conceivable nook throughout the Jeep with repetitive gear. He also wanted to configure the Jeep’s load-out for the possibility of an immediate and irreversible abandonment of the vehicle while under fire.
Ed slowly turned the Jeep left and guided the vehicle through the orange traffic drums separating the two sides of the highway on the approach to the tollbooth. Alex watched the police vehicles with anticipation as they entered the northbound lanes and accelerated away from the massive roadblock. The only vehicle that followed them was a maroon pickup truck
released through the checkpoint, which passed them at high speed less than a minute into their detour and disappeared ahead of them. Alex wondered if the pickup could navigate through the mud ahead.
“I don’t see anything following us,” said Charlie.
“Good. Let’s try to sort out a route to the border before we hit the Wells exit,” said Alex, reaching between the front seats to open a spiraled map book.
“We’ll have plenty of time with the fucking mud,” muttered Ed.
“Route 9 to Route 4 takes us through North and South Berwick to the border—then to Dover, New Hampshire,” said Charlie.
“I’m worried that we’ll be driving into the same situation we saw at the York tollbooth,” Alex said. “There’s only one other crossing between that one and the turnpike. My guess is that either the state police or locals will have them sealed up—possibly both ways.”
“There are plenty of places to cross further west. We can keep driving until we find one,” said Charlie.
“How far do you want to drive? They could have the entire border sealed up.”
Alex shrugged. “We have all day to figure this out. It’s not even nine yet.”
“And this little setback will end up costing us another hour, if we don’t get stranded in the mud. The clock is ticking. Did you see the rain clouds in the distance? The ground can’t take any more water. We’re fucked if this is a big storm,” said Ed.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not a major system. Looked like a chance of showers on the forecast” said Alex.
“When did you check last?” asked Ed.
“Saturday.”
“A lot can change in a few days.”
“We’ll start with the Berwicks and see what happens,” Alex said. “We might be able to talk our way across.”
Ed was right about the potential storm on the horizon. Alex had seen a chance of rain on the extended forecast when he checked on the weather for their sailing trip. He vaguely remembered seeing a chance of thunderstorms for today and clear weather for the rest of the week. Kate had eyeballed the distant clouds when they parted ways earlier, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 55