“Samantha,” scolded Linda.
“It’s not like that. He’s just worried that Ed might slow him down in the city. Alex is good at this kind of thing. He’s done it before,” said Kate. “I’ll have another beer.”
“I think the bar is closed,” said Tim.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Alex is good at this kind of thing? How long ago was he in the Marine Corps? He better not put Ed and Chloe in danger,” said Samantha.
“Is everything all right, Mom?” asked Samantha’s son, Daniel, from the steps leading up to the screened porch.
“Totally fine. We’re just talking about what the dads are doing,” she said, smiling.
“Trust me. That’s the last thing he would want,” said Kate quietly.
“I hope you’re right. Alex isn’t the one-man army he thinks he is,” whispered Samantha, as the kids entered the porch.
“He knows that,” said Kate, not altogether convinced.
Chapter 32
EVENT +38:42 Hours
Medford, Massachusetts
Amber rays lingered on the soot-stained, red-brick chimney and vanished. Only the blackened, naked branches of a maple tree beyond the mangled roof reflected the last vestiges of the sun’s arc through the crisp summer sky. Alex shifted his binoculars to the loose stream of civilians wandering up Governors Avenue. Perfect.
He popped five ibuprofen pills into his dry mouth and took a swig of water from his CamelBak hose, choking the pills down. Beyond the throbbing arm, his whole body ached. He leaned his head against the tree trunk and took in the last few moments of rest he could expect for the next twenty-four hours.
“Ready?” he said to Ed.
“Shouldn’t we wait until that group passes?” Ed asked, peering through the bushes.
“It doesn’t matter at this point. We no longer have the option of avoiding people.” Alex stood up. “It’ll get worse the further we go.”
“But we still try to avoid the military or police?”
“At some point it will be unavoidable. I’d like to postpone that as long as possible. Follow my lead and stick close. Remember, I’m escorting you through the city.”
“It’s a thin story,” said Ed.
“All in the delivery, my friend. You’ll see,” said Alex, helping him to his feet.
He squeezed the remote radio transmit button attached to his tactical chest rig. He had taken some of their time at the edge of the reservation to tape the radio hardware in place to make it easier to use. A black wire led from his earpiece to the button, which was attached to the radio in one of the chest pouches.
“Durham one-seven. Three-two and three-one stepping off,” said Alex.
“Copy. All quiet here at the home base. Have fun in the city.”
“Three-two looks thrilled,” Alex responded. “Stay on this channel for updates. We’ll keep them coming as long as we’re in range.”
“I’ll be here. One-seven out.”
“That’s it?” said Ed.
“That’s it. The kids aren’t coming to us,” said Alex, adjusting his rifle to sit across his chest.
“You’re not scared?”
“I’m scared shitless,” said Alex.
He stepped out of the forest onto South Border Road, freezing a group of college-aged backpackers in the middle of the street. A few of them raised their hands. He ignored them and crossed the street, his attention drawn to the white colonial they had watched from the forest. The paint was blistered and peeled on the eastern-facing side, something they couldn’t see from their hide site in the reservation. Dozens of the wooden siding strips were cracked.
“What does that look like to you?” said Alex, pointing at the house.
“The whole house is sagging,” said Ed.
“No, I mean the…shit, you’re right,” said Alex.
The broken cedar planks formed a rough, diagonal line that ran from the top right corner of the house and disappeared near the middle of a wall, behind a ragged, charred row of evergreen bushes along the concrete foundation. The thick tangle of small branches blocked a clear view of the concrete.
“We didn’t see anything like this in Stoneham,” he remarked.
“No, we didn’t,” muttered Ed. “See how the paint’s peeled away? What would happen to someone standing outside?”
“Second- or third-degree burns. Let’s keep moving,” said Alex, pulling at his pack.
“Good thing this happened at early in the morning.”
“That’s about the only break anyone got with this.”
He led Ed down a side street that would take them past the Lawrence Memorial Hospital and any obvious law-enforcement roadblocks. They ran into a few clusters of refugees, all working their way northeast to Interstate 93 or Route 28. Most of the groups had young children.
“Hold up here. Lawrence spans most of northern Medford. High traffic potential,” said Alex.
“I think rush hour’s over,” Ed said ruefully. “Permanently.”
“You hear that?” asked Alex. A low hum echoed off the darkened houses. “Outdoor generator units at the hospital. Big, portable stuff. My guess is military. We need to watch our asses.”
Alex turned and slammed into a man that had suddenly emerged from the corner, knocking both of them to the ground.
“Back the fuck off!” a female voice warned from the shadows.
Alex struggled to his feet, aiming his rifle at the corner.
“Hey, we’re not looking for any trouble. Headed north, that’s all,” said the man, brushing himself off.
Alex backed up and shifted left, bringing the entire group into view. A black and yellow, overstuffed hiking backpack pulled heavily at the husband’s shoulders, stretching his sweat-stained, gray T-shirt. His wife equally burdened by an overstuffed integrated frame hiking pack. He couldn’t see the kids through the parental shield, but they didn’t come up past the husband’s waist. They wouldn’t last very long on the road. He doubted they would make it out of Massachusetts.
“Are you travelling alone?” Alex asked them.
“Just us. We left an hour ago,” said the man. “Put the knife away, honey. He has a gun bigger than you.”
“Sorry about that,” Alex said, lowering the rifle. “Captain Alex Fletcher, 3rd Special Forces Group. We’re part of a surveillance team sent to assess the ground situation. Have you seen any other military units in the vicinity?”
“All over the place. There’s a big unit at the hospital. That’s probably your best bet,” said the husband. “Where did you guys come from?”
“North,” said Alex.
“We need to get going. We figured the 93 would be less active at night.”
“How far do you plan to go?” said Alex.
“We have family up in Concord. It’s a straight shot.”
“Honey,” his wife whispered, pulling at him, “we should go.”
“Do you have maps?” asked Alex.
The man didn’t answer.
“Stay off the main roads, and avoid any downtown areas,” Alex advised. “They’re jammed with plenty of people who wouldn’t hesitate to cut your throat in front of the kids to take a peek in one of those backpacks. You should plan to stop by nine in the morning. Start looking for a private, shaded spot well before that. The kids won’t last an hour in the midday heat. Replenish your water whenever possible. Can you purify water?”
“We have iodine pills,” said the husband.
“Try to strain the water through a T-shirt before filling your CamelBaks. Kids don’t like to find sinkers and bobbers in their water. Keep a low profile, and don’t take any deals that seem too good to be true. We’ve had reports of militia units doing some nasty shi—stuff further north.”
“Jesus,” muttered the wife.
“Trust nobody but family. It’s getting bad out there,” said Alex.
“That’s why we’re leaving,” said the husband. “We’ve heard the city is out of control past the Charles
, and it’s about to spill over.”
Alex tilted his head, catching the sound of a diesel engine. Headlights flashed along the bushes across Lawrence Road, headed in their direction.
“Grab the kids!”
Alex grabbed both of the parents by their backpack chest straps and yanked them around the corner into a scorched evergreen bush. The kids screamed, causing the wife to break loose and pull at Ed. Alex jerked her backward by her hair, and she screamed.
“Shut up!” he hissed, clamping his hand over her mouth.
Ed managed to corral the kids into the shadows as a large, wheeled military vehicle rumbled past Ashcroft Road, heading east on Lawrence. The woman bit his hand, and he let go, giving her enough leverage to twist around and punch him in the mouth. He grabbed her wrist before she could pull it back to hit him again.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people? Why didn’t you want them to see you?” she demanded.
“Avoid contact with any government units if feasible. Make no assumptions. Can you navigate the Middlesex reservation?”
She stared at him, poised to strike again. “What’s going on out there?” she asked.
“Nobody knows.”
The woman took both children by the hand and pulled them out of the bushes. Her husband stood there, frozen.
“Are you coming? We need to get as far away from here as possible. We should have left yesterday like I said. I knew it. If these guys can’t even trust each other,” she said, pointing at Alex and the distant vehicle, “we’re utterly fucked.”
The woman grabbed the hand of one of her kids, angrily motioned for her husband to do the same, and they stalked off.
“That went really well,” said Ed when they turned a corner. “How’s your face?”
“Still have all of my teeth. She bit me. You see that?” said Alex, picking up the pace.
“Can you blame her? ‘Grab the kids’?” said Ed. “We’re lucky she didn’t stab one of us. Hey, on the bright side, you sounded convincing back there.”
“That’s about the only thing that went right.”
“And we didn’t get machine-gunned by the truck. Maybe walking the streets with an assault rifle isn’t the best idea with armored personnel carriers cruising the streets,” said Ed. “Especially at night. Can you break that thing down?”
“I can’t hide your Ruger. It’s one piece. Carrying a civilian rifle will look even more conspicuous,” said Alex.
“More than your SEAL Team Six gun?”
“I’ll try to keep it out of sight for now,” said Alex. “Once we get over the Mystic, we won’t stick out.”
“Except we’ll be going in the opposite direction,” said Ed.
“People will be going everywhere. We’ll be fine.”
Alex peeked around the corner, scanning the street. A blood-orange band of sky stretched across the western horizon, hanging above the quiet street. A few stragglers moved up the sidewalk in the distance. They’d have to be extremely cautious crossing open spaces, especially streets.
Chapter 33
EVENT +41:58 Hours
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Alex leaned against a tree and lifted his night vision goggles to check his watch. Four miles in three hours. The pace was agonizingly slow, but it had kept them out of trouble. After Medford, they strictly avoided commercial or business districts, opting for the quiet, pitch-black neighborhoods that most of the refugees avoided. They couldn’t avoid crossing major roads, but the continuous migration east toward Interstate 93 kept the main thoroughfares busy, providing enough urban camouflage to slip across and disappear. They’d seen two police cars and one military vehicle during their journey.
“Let’s stop here and take a break,” said Ed.
The smell of barbequed chicken wafted into the street, chased by raucous laughter.
“Probably not the best place for a pit stop.”
Alex took out the GPS plotter and examined the map. “Point eight miles to the Boston University Bridge. We’re almost there.”
“Alex, I need to stop. We’re about to run out of quaint, cobblestone-sidewalk streets to hide on. We need to find a quiet spot to rest up and eat. Try to learn something from the radio traffic Charlie’s been able to pick up. He’s been hearing about the marines guarding the bridges. We might be wasting our time headed to the BU bridge. Shit, that chicken smells good.”
“Judging by the laughter, I suspect the beer isn’t bad either,” Alex remarked.
Another round of laughter emptied into the street.
“Pretty careless to advertise like this,” said Ed.
“Maybe they don’t care,” said Alex. “There’s a park ahead. We’ll cut through and find a place to hide.”
Alex dropped his night vision goggles back in place and took a moment to scan the street ahead. Most of the three-story homes were pitch black. A few windows flickered bright green, indicating a candle. Nothing out of place beyond careless laughter and the smell of mesquite. He started forward, but the sudden appearance of green glow on the southern horizon stopped him. A deep, distant thumping reached his ears several seconds later, reminding him of a sound he hadn’t heard in over fifteen years. The eerie glow flickered and disappeared, replaced moments later by a similar, over-the-horizon shimmer.
“Hear that?” asked Alex.
“Can I say no?” said Ed.
“It’s usually not a good idea to ignore heavy-machine-gun fire. Probably the marines, or whoever is down there. I think they’re using aerial flares.”
“What could possibly require the use of a fifty-caliber machine gun?”
“Zombies,” said Alex.
“That’s not even funny.”
Alex approached the three-way intersection cautiously, weaving them between parked cars. The military vehicles they had spotted in Somerville didn’t use headlights, the drivers relying on night vision equipment to navigate the shadowy streets.
“Stay here,” Alex instructed. “Sennott Park should be across the street. Sounds too quiet to be another triage center or refugee camp.”
He slid along the remaining cars, crouching low and searching for signs of activity beyond the stripped bushes and trees on the other side of Broadway. He could identify a children’s playground directly ahead, and something to the left of it that looked familiar. Two bright green lines reached out from the edge of the park, terminating somewhere directly in front of him. He let his rifle hang loose in its sling and raised his hands high above his head.
“Ed?”
“Yeah?”
“Put your hands as high as possible in the air, and step into the street,” said Alex.
“Why?”
“So the marines don’t kill you. I think we ran right into their headquarters.”
“Please tell me you’re joking,” whispered Ed.
“I’m not joking. They’re almost on us. Don’t make any sudden moves, and do exactly what they say,” said Alex.
A diesel engine roared to life, swallowing his voice. A brilliant light whitewashed the green image of figures moving in his direction. He squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to move his hands to flip up the NVGs. A sizable vehicle screeched to a halt in front of him, a large-caliber weapon most assuredly centered on his body.
“Don’t move! United States Marines!” they screamed repeatedly.
He had no intention of moving, not even a twitch. He hoped Ed had the sense to do the same. Rough hands yanked his arms back while others groped for his rifle and pistol. He was disarmed in a matter of seconds. His night vision goggles were ripped from his head; then he was thrown face first onto the cobblestone.
The impact jammed the triple-stacked rifle magazines attached to his tactical rig into his chest and abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. He groaned as his face was pushed into the curb. His wrists were squeezed together, pulled unbearably tight by military-grade zip ties. Sharp surges of pain exploded at multiple points along his legs and sides as his gear was stripped wit
h knives. He struggled, but was hit in the lower back with a rifle stock. The flat end of a bloodied knife was jammed against his right eye, the point digging into his temple.
“Stay down, or I’ll cut your fucking eyes out,” a voice hissed, the smell of wintergreen chewing tobacco inches from his face.
“Can you believe this fucker was trying to ghost us?” someone called out.
“He’s a stone-cold killer,” said Wintergreen.
“I wasn’t trying—”
The serrated blade pressed into his lips. Alex grimaced.
“Nobody asked for your opinion.”
He felt the marine’s hot, tobacco-heavy breath against the side of his face before everything faded.
Chapter 34
EVENT +43:10 Hours
Harvard Yard
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Alex fixated on the steady rumble of an industrial generator. He pulled at his restraints, confirming once again that he wasn’t going anywhere. The marines had stretched him prone and mercilessly secured his limbs to the four corners of the bare metal bed frame with zip ties. Moonlight from the room’s single window exposed a dark trickle rolling down his blood-encrusted left arm. His captors had tightened the plastic restraint too high on the wrist, digging into the thicker metacarpal bones.
The slightest movement reopened the wound, yet he still gave the zip ties an angry tug every few minutes—or what he thought was a few minutes. He had no idea. He faded in and out with no true concept of time. He knew it was nighttime, but that was about it. He couldn’t tell if it was the same night or three days later. He hadn’t soiled himself, so he guessed it hadn’t been very long.
He stared at the half-illuminated striped mattress lying across the desk next to his bed, one end sagging out of sight toward the floor. Another desk and bed sat pushed against the wall in the opposite corner. The marines had stripped Alex down to his underwear and left him to rot in a sweltering, stagnant college dorm room.
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 67