THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

“It won’t take his criminal mind long to figure out some way to take advantage of the situation. Keep a close eye out for him. Eli’s bad enough, but Jimmy’s nothing but bad news. I’ll put the feelers out around Sanford and have Randy do the same up his way. I guarantee he’s up to no good, especially if he’s running the felony arm of Eli’s Maine Liberty Militia,” said Campbell.

  “I thought they were all felons,” said Beaudoin, eliciting some nervous laughter.

  “Eli ain’t a bad guy overall,” Campbell admitted. “We just never saw eye to eye on the main purpose of a civilian militia. Jimmy’s a different type altogether. He made a lot of friends up in Warren, during his extended stay as a guest of the state. Too many of these friends landed in Eli’s militia.”

  “I guess I should emphasize that fact when I visit the checkpoints. Keep the police informed,” said Littner.

  “Might not be a bad idea. Dave, you’ve got your marching orders and a long day ahead of you, so why don’t you get going. We’ll finish up the status reports, and I’ll pass anything along to you that might come in handy. Head over to the equipment barn to load up on extra tents and blankets, then drive out to Milton Mills. Start there and work your way south through all of the checkpoints. Glen, I need you to assign one of the Sanford chapter members to accompany Dave. Probably not a good idea to have you on those roads alone, especially with Jimmy’s people on the loose.”

  “Got it,” said Cuskelly, grabbing the handheld radio on his belt.

  “Sounds like a plan, Harry. We’ll do a loop and head back here to come up with a more detailed plan for these crossing checkpoints,” said Littner.

  “Make sure you grab a slicker from the barn. Rain’s gonna open up on us any minute now.”

  Littner saluted Campbell, who returned it. After shaking hands with the rest of the brigade’s leadership, he departed with Campbell’s deputy commander. Campbell had every confidence that David Littner was the right person for the job. Littner had been with the brigade from the very beginning, and had been one of the most vocal advocates of transforming the brigade from a gun-toting band of weekend warriors back to an organization more in line with the original concepts of civil defense.

  Guns and the defense of the citizenry’s 2nd Amendment rights would always be a core mission of their brigade, but it wouldn’t be the focus. The York County Readiness Brigade, like many militia groups throughout the country, strived to function as a nonmilitarized, grassroots version of the National Guard, focused on preparedness and local disaster relief. Littner had helped him convince the most cynical skeptics that they needed to follow a new path or run the risk of fading away into obscurity. If Littner felt it might be in the best interest of the brigade to help out at the checkpoints, then they would explore the possibility of a shift in official policy. He turned his attention back to the two men at the table.

  “So how are we looking in the Kennebunk area, Anthony?”

  Chapter 20

  EVENT +30:35 Hours

  Acton, Maine

  Thick raindrops smacked the windshield, buoying his hopes that the black and purple clouds would unleash a torrent of rain. A thrashing downpour would discourage a detailed examination of their vehicle. They might sail right through. Or not. Either way, they were crossing in Milton Mills. That much had been agreed upon.

  A white, single-steeple church sat burrowed in a plot of trees along the road. The back ends of several vehicles appeared in front of the visible portion of the building, tucked behind the church. Two people walked to a white gazebo, one of them carrying a rifle.

  “Did you see that?” asked Alex.

  “What?” said Charlie.

  “A guy back there had a rifle—at the church.”

  Ed said, “Maybe it’s one of those end-of-the-world churches.”

  “A lot of cars in—”Alex started.

  “Heads up,” Ed cut in. “White minivan just took the turn ahead.”

  Alex squinted to get a better view. “Got it.” He noticed the Massachusetts plates. “Slow down a bit,” he said, as the minivan drew even.

  Two men in the front seats, one wearing a military-style boonie cap, woman and children in the back. None of them turned their heads when the two cars passed.

  Charlie followed them with his eyes. “Weird.”

  “Weird is putting it mildly,” said Ed.

  “What are they doing?” Alex asked.

  “Shit!” Charlie blasted. “They just turned at the church.”

  “What? How does that make sense?” said Alex.

  “Maybe it’s one of those militia supply points.”

  “With out-of-town guests? Something is off around here.”

  “You just noticed?” Ed snorted. “It’s like driving through the fucking Twilight Zone.”

  “At least they’re letting cars into Maine,” said Alex. “As weird as it is, I think we made the right call.”

  “I don’t know,” Charlie said doubtfully. “Something wasn’t right with that car.”

  Alex stayed silent as the Jeep crossed Edgecomb County Road and pressed forward through the intensifying rainsquall. They were less than a mile from the border crossing.

  “Is this it?” asked Ed, slowing the car.

  “Not according to the GPS,” said Alex.

  The road opened into an industrial area, flanked by several warehouses and dozens of neatly arranged semi-trailers on either side of the road. One of the warehouses near the road had open sides, exposing stacks of recently milled wood. Trees swallowed the road again, and the rain intensified.

  “Maybe we should wait for this to ease off a bit,” Ed suggested, slowing the Jeep even further.

  “This might be our only shot. They won’t get out of their cars in this rain.”

  “How far?” asked Ed.

  “Not far,” said Alex. “Start to slow once we hit the bend. You ready back there, Charlie?”

  “Ready as ever.”

  “All right. Let’s go through it one more time. Ed stops the car roughly fifty feet from the roadblock, and I get out. I’ll talk to whoever is blocking the bridge and figure out what we’re up against. Ed watches me with the binoculars. If I give the thumbs-up, he drives forward, and all is good. If I rub the top of my head, it’s a no-go. I’ll return to the car, and we’ll figure out how to bust through. If I reach for the gun behind my back, get ready for a hot extract. Charlie?”

  “Suppressing fire. Over their heads,” said Charlie.

  “Way over their heads, and only if they fire first. There’s no reason for them to fire at me. Over their heads and keep the volume of fire high. Ed, you turn the car around and wait for me to come to you. Good?”

  “Got it,” responded Ed.

  “Your job is the most important, Ed. Charlie won’t be watching the roadblock. There’s a three-way intersection right before the bridge. I need him to observe the road parallel to the river. It leads north to the other crossing, where there will be more police. Shit. Here’s the bend—slow us down a little more.”

  The bend straightened, and the foliage cleared on the right to reveal a stretch of white picket fence along the road. A yellow bungalow-style house with a wide farmer’s porch sat back from the fence. A tall white church spire appeared above the trees beyond the house. Alex didn’t have time to assemble the bigger picture. The intersection was less than a hundred feet ahead.

  He raised the binoculars, immediately spotting the roadblock. They would have to rethink the plan. This wasn’t a police roadblock. The tight, two-lane asphalt road spanning the Salmon Falls River was blocked at both ends by single SUVs. He could see little more than a three- to five-foot gap between the front bumper of the nearest SUV and the metal guard railings. The gap on the far side appeared even smaller. He didn’t see any personnel in the open on either side. Alex handed the binoculars back to Charlie.

  “Stop us here,” said Alex.

  As soon as the Jeep stopped, the dark green Toyota Land Cruiser’s doors opened. Two men
dressed in MultiCam fatigues and boonie hats stepped onto the rain-swept pavement. They wore a variety of mismatched tactical gear, which immediately pegged them as militia. The men carried AR-style rifles attached to one-point slings. Alex was beginning to piece things together. Part of him screamed “get out of here.” The other part put his hand on the door handle.

  “Make sure your rifle is ready for immediate action. I can almost guarantee this will be a no-go. If this goes bad, shoot for center mass. I’ll get out of your way. Three quick rounds at one target, then shift to the next. Keep shifting back and forth between targets until they are down,” said Alex, opening his door.

  “Militia?” asked Charlie.

  “Or locals. Nothing official, I can guarantee that.”

  He glanced back at Ed, who looked calm. “You good?”

  “Never been better,” said Ed. “Be careful with these guys.”

  “Careful would be backing up and trying to talk our way past the state police,” said Alex, eliciting a nervous laugh from Ed.

  He stepped onto the wet pavement and tucked the HK P30 into his waistband, pulling his shirt over the protruding handle. He had chosen not to wear his drop holster or any tactical gear for the drive, since he had anticipated having to possibly approach law enforcement officers at some point during their journey south. Even the presence of an empty tactical holster could end their trip prematurely.

  This decision was quickly validated. Both men shifted into alert carry stances when Alex started walking toward them, pointing their weapons in his direction. They were anxious. The question was whether they were anxious out of uncertainty, or anxious to score a kill. In the deafening rain on this abandoned stretch of road, virtually in the middle of nowhere, he began to seriously question his own decision to step out of the car. He kept moving toward them through the warm rain, with his hands raised over his head.

  One of them spoke into a handheld radio and waited for a reply, pressing the radio to his ear. A few seconds passed before he lowered the radio and hooked it onto his vest. Radioman assumed the ready carry position, with the butt stock jammed into his shoulder and the muzzle aimed at Alex. He thought of the pistol behind his back long enough to accept the fact that he’d be dead before he hit the ground if he tried to reach for it.

  “That’s far enough!” yelled Radioman. “State your business.”

  “I need to cross over into New Hampshire. My son is trapped in Boston. He’s a college student, and he has no way to get back home!” Alex yelled over the downpour.

  “Nothing gets across in either direction! Those are my orders.”

  “Look, all I want is to get my son. I’ll find a different way back,” said Alex.

  “Orders,” said Radioman, shrugging his shoulders.

  “State police are allowing Maine residents to cross the border in both directions,” said Alex.

  “Then I suggest you take your car to one of their checkpoints. Nobody’s crossing here.”

  “I just saw a car headed south on the road behind me. Looked like one of your guys in it. Massachusetts plates,” said Alex.

  “They volunteered to give up their car. That’s the only way anyone gets across. We’re not having a repeat of 2013, with people driving around looting and pillaging our homes,” said Radioman.

  “You’re making them walk?”

  “We take them to Sanford or Springvale. Their choice. They have plenty of options there.”

  “So there’s no way we get across here?”

  “We’ll make an exception if you’re willing to give up your vehicle and everything inside. That’s the only way anyone gets across.”

  With that statement, it all snapped into place for Alex. The men with rifles at the church. The car with Massachusetts plates turning into the church. Nobody was getting a lift to Sanford or Springvale.

  He forced a smile. “I guess we’ll have to find another way across,” said Alex, lowering his right hand enough to scratch his head.

  “You don’t sound so eager to cross at one of the state police checkpoints. How come?”

  “I don’t trust cops. Are you guys part of the York County Readiness Brigade?”

  “Maine Liberty Militia. The real militia. Not that horseshit bean-supper brigade,” said Radioman, causing his sidekick to snicker.

  “Never heard of it,” said Alex.

  “Now you have,” said Radioman.

  “You guys have a good day,” said Alex, half-expecting to take a bullet in the back.

  Alex hopped into the Jeep and closed the door, surprised to find the barrel of Charlie’s rifle protruding a few inches past the headrest. Careful not to disturb his aim, Alex examined his firing position. Charlie had raised the front passenger seat headrest to its highest point and had braced his rifle in the gap between the seat and headrest. He had propped the three assault backpacks next to him to support the right side of his body, providing a stable platform to aim his rifle through the gap and beyond the windshield. He was relieved to see that Charlie had taken the initiative to cover him, and that he’d chosen a method not easily detectable. He was little disturbed that nobody was watching the road leading to the other bridge.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t like the way they looked. Ed was watching you and the road, and I had my eye on those two. I think they’re running some kind of racket here. That was one of their guys in the car back there,” said Charlie, engaging the rifle’s safety before setting it across his lap.

  “Maine Liberty Militia. Ever heard of them?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Probably one of those offshoot groups. A dozen sprung up after 2013.”

  “Whoever they are, I think they’re running more than just a racket. Let’s go back down Foxes Ridge Road.”

  Ed put the Jeep into reverse and executed a two-point turn. When they passed the industrial site, Ed broke the silence.

  “Now where are we supposed to cross? If we keep following the border hoping for the best, we’ll end up driving to the goddamned Canadian border!”

  “We’re crossing in Milton Mills,” said Alex.

  “How? This isn’t SEAL Team Six, Alex. You saw the guys down there. We don’t even know how many we’re dealing with.”

  “Probably twelve,” said Charlie. “I saw three guys on the other side through my scope, talking to a bunch of bikers. Weapons aimed right at them. Looked like a heated debate going on. We have to assume the same setup on the other bridge. Two cars of three.”

  “Twelve at the border and more at the church,” said Alex.

  “That’s too many,” said Ed.

  “We only have to get past six of them,” said Alex.

  “With the rest of the Maine whatever-the-fuck Liberty gang coming to the rescue? What about the church? How many reinforcements do they have waiting over there?”

  Alex glanced at Charlie. “We’re headed there next.”

  “Recon?” asked Charlie.

  “If my suspicions are correct? Direct action. No survivors.”

  “Wait. Hold on. You’re going into the church? You’re out of your mind. These guys are fucking crazy!”

  “Which is why it’ll work. I saw two of them up close. They’ll never expect this. When the bullets start connecting, they’ll break.”

  “You can’t guarantee that. If something goes wrong, our kids are screwed. I’d rather walk to Boston to—”

  “Ed! Walking to Boston is not an option! We need to be in Boston tonight. I can get us over this bridge.”

  Ed shook his head and muttered obscenities for a few seconds before turning to Alex. “If this is too much for you and Charlie to handle, we find another way. I’m trusting you to make that call. Why is the church so important, again?” he asked.

  “The guy at the roadblock said the only way to get across was to voluntarily give up your vehicle. They take your car and supposedly drop you in Sanford,” said Alex.

  “The last car turned into the church,” said Ed.

  �
��Exactly,” Alex stated. “I want to know what they’re doing with the families. They’re sure as shit not driving them to Sanford. I saw kids in that SUV.”

  “They definitely didn’t take the family to Sanford,” said Ed.

  “I’m shutting this operation down effective immediately,” said Alex.

  Ed sighed. “This is going to get us all killed.”

  Chapter 21

  EVENT +30:59 Hours

  Acton, Maine

  Alex approached the next tree trunk, careful not to snap any of the larger dogwood branches. Charlie trailed one tree behind, following his path through the dense forest growth. They had established an effective pattern in which one of them rushed forward while the other watched for threats.

  Charlie crashed down next to him, pointing his rifle across the parking lot. Alex covered the door and the pavement area visible beyond the corner of the building. The two men he’d seen when they passed the church on the way to Milton Mills had been headed toward the gazebo. Alex had taken precautions during their approach, stopping and observing for long periods of time. He detected no signs of an organized, defensive surveillance effort.

  “I think we’re clear to approach the back door. Careful with that corner. I’m pretty sure the gazebo is on the other side,” he whispered.

  Charlie nodded, watching his sector. Alex had been impressed with his neighbor’s ability to move quietly through the forest and follow simple hand signals. Charlie’s years of experience stalking animals had paid dividends, and he walked quieter than Alex, when he didn’t stumble. He hadn’t completely mastered the “ready carry” technique, which required him to aim over his rifle’s sights and maneuver without looking at the ground. The last hundred yards had shown a marked improvement since they left the Jeep, with Charlie effectively shifting lines of sight without tripping.

  Alex drew his pistol and retrieved a dark cylindrical object, screwing it onto the pistol barrel.

  “Jesus Harold Christmas! Is that legal?” Charlie exclaimed.

  “What do you think? Swap rifles with me.”