“We thought it might be a limited nuclear attack. Something the government is to keep under wraps while they figure out how to retaliate. Maybe North Korea?”
“Funny you say that. My father picked up several HAM broadcasts claiming that our entire ballistic missile sub fleet has been deployed. Bangor Naval Base, up in your neck of the woods, supposedly emptied out yesterday.”
“I wish they’d tell us something. Anything.”
“They won’t. Not if there’s a nuclear option on the table. How were things back west? My dad heard reports that the EMP effects weren’t as bad in the Pacific Northwest.”
“We still had power at the house when the Humvees arrived. I have no idea if any of our cars worked. I barely got a chance to kiss my girls. The ride over looked about the same, but that’s not saying much for three in the morning. I can’t even remember if the stoplights were flashing. What about Boston?”
“Devastated by whatever hit offshore. No power. Near total anarchy,” said Alex.
“Jesus,” Gedmin said. “None of this really makes sense. A nuclear blast at ground level doesn’t cause widespread EMP effects. Very localized, as in you won’t be around to try to start your car anyway. This is something else,” he said, looking at the sky.
“I’d keep that to yourself,” said Alex, walking over to the first container and opening the doors. “Care to take a guess what pattern?”
“Digital urban? Looks like you got one of the containers earmarked for Manhattan.”
“Federal Security pattern.”
“Interesting,” said Gedmin.
“That’s an understatement,” Alex said, thinking about something Adler had said when he first arrived. “Do you have Adler on ROTAC?”
“Yeah,” said Gedmin, unsnapping the radio from his combat rig. “Preset four. Just hold down the numeric key and it’ll lock onto Adler’s radio.”
Alex pressed “4” and listened.
“Captain Adler.”
“Rick, this is Captain Fletcher, using Tech Sergeant Gedmin’s radio.”
“Sorry about the intrusion. I sent him out to meet you. Figured you’d need to coordinate tarmac activity.”
“Quick question about the arrival of my conex boxes.”
“Send it,” said Adler.
“It was awfully fortunate that I arrived when I did. This isn’t the kind of gear you’d want lying around unattended. Can you shed any light on this coincidence?”
“The incidence of coincidence around here defies explanation.”
“Sounds like a tongue twister. Would it help if I paid a visit to the guard unit hauling these boxes?”
“I’ve already looked under that rock. They receive orders from the North Pole and deliver the requested containers.”
“Santa Claus, huh?”
“May as well be,” said Adler. “This has been a ‘monkey see, monkey do’ operation from minute one. Not much thought required.”
“Likely by design. I’ll stop by on the way out.”
“I’ll keep the water room temperature for you,” said Adler.
Alex handed the radio back.
“Did your gear arrive as soon as you touched down?”
“The truck was idling next to the field,” said Gedmin.
“Did you have your ROTAC with you on the flight, or was it part of the waiting load out?”
“It was issued at McChord.”
Alex pulled his tactical radio out of its pouch. “Do you think they could track these phones?”
“I don’t see why not. It’s all satellite based.”
“I’d be careful what you said on these regarding any theories you might have.”
“Roger that, sir. Good advice.”
“And you didn’t see anything unusual in these containers,” said Alex.
“Of course not, sir. Advanced combat rifles with integral suppressor systems is precisely what I would expect for a reservist infantry battalion.”
Technical Sergeant Gedmin pedaled across the taxiway as the Matvee returned. Lianez parked the vehicle in front of the hangar bay holding the containers.
“All clear. We shut the hangars and locked the doors,” he said, holding out the keys.
His eyes went straight for the second container. “Are those for us?”
“I really hope not.”
Chapter 7
EVENT +5 Days
Limerick, Maine
Ryan Fletcher balanced his bandaged left hand against the shredded drywall and moved his folding chair with his good hand to the window facing the pond. Careful not to topple over, he slid the chair under the windowsill and lowered his weight cautiously, balancing on his right leg until he was fairly certain he wouldn’t end up on the floor. His leg throbbed from the trip up two flights of stairs, but he didn’t have a choice. One of the tactical vehicles had sped away a few minutes ago, taking three of the Marines out of the perimeter, and nobody else volunteered to leave the basement.
He felt guilty as soon as the thought passed through his mind. He couldn’t fault any of them for seeking refuge below ground. The house had become a shooting gallery. What his dad called a “bullet-rich environment.” He’d thought the phrase was funny—until yesterday. Ryan didn’t blame them at all.
The stairs creaked, and he lifted a pair of binoculars to scan the tree line. He stared vacantly at the trees, catching the occasional glimmering streak of reflected sunlight from the pond. The hardwood floor announced a presence in the bedroom doorway.
“I brought you an extra sandwich,” said his mom.
“I thought you came up here to chase me into the basement,” he said, lowering the binoculars and twisting in the chair.
His mom looked worn out and dazed, in a grizzled, survivor kind of way. Dressed in filthy khaki pants and one of his dad’s old woodland MARPAT blouses, she sat on the edge of the bare mattress behind him, forcing a smile across her lightly bruised and cut face.
“Nothing would make me happier than knowing you’re tucked away in the convalescent ward with the Walkers and Thorntons,” she said, handing him the tinfoil-wrapped grilled cheese.
He ripped open the package and started to stuff one of Nana’s grilled cheese marvels into his mouth.
“She does make a mean grilled cheese,” said Kate.
“Yours are good too, Mom,” Ryan said, purposely slowing his consumption rate.
“Uh-huh. How’s your hand?” she said, unslinging her AR-15 and laying it on the bed.
“It should be fine,” he said, holding it out to show her. “A scratch.”
She took the bandaged hand and examined it suspiciously. “Staff Sergeant Evans said he could see your knuckle. Like, the actual bone.”
“Barely. The bullet tore some skin away. Hurts like hell, but not a big deal. Nothing a little ibuprofen can’t take care of.”
“And your leg?”
“I can manage,” Ryan said, looking away.
“You look like you’re in a lot of pain. One of the Marines can give you some stronger painkillers.”
“I can’t take any of those. I felt sluggish during the attack yesterday, still drugged up from Boston. I can manage the pain.”
“When your dad gets back, I want you in the basement resting up.”
“I’m not going down into the morgue, Mom.”
“Ryan, you’ve been through enough. You need to take it easy.”
“This is the perfect job for me. I’m resting and helping. Seriously.”
“You’re probably cutting off the blood flow to your injured leg on that chair, and it’s hot up here,” she said.
“I have a full CamelBak, and there’s a little breeze flowing through the windows. I win.”
“You can’t win against a worried mom. I’ll have the cleaning crew bring you one of the dining room chairs.”
“Is everyone going to be up here?”
“Even Chloe,” she whispered, “so be nice.”
“What do you mean? She’s the one that’s
been ignoring me since we got back,” he whispered back.
“She’s embarrassed about what happened in Boston. Just be nice. I know a thing or two about how women think, and I can tell she still wants to be your friend,” she said, miming air quotes.
“What does that mean?”
“Call it a mother’s intuition…and a few loose lips among the adults.”
He felt like breaking into a sweat. He didn’t think any of them suspected he had been dating Chloe for most of the summer. They’d spent a lot of time together in high school, mostly as friends, but had drifted apart during her last year in high school. Most of the senior girls dated other seniors or guys in college, so he didn’t dwell on it. She left for Boston College with a hug and a warm smile, excited to start a new life. Ryan spent his senior year badly missing her. They’d always had a few minutes here and there in school. Their occasional jog on the weekends. Walking over to her driveway to catch her getting out of her car. He didn’t realize how much she meant to him until she was gone.
When it came time to apply to colleges, he tried to play it cool. No way he could fill out an application to Boston College. That would look desperate. He had the grades to get into at least two or three competitive schools in Boston that wouldn’t raise any suspicion about his intentions. Northeastern and Boston University put him on Chloe’s side of the Charles River and an easy “T” ride away.
Ryan put applications in the mail for Dartmouth, NYU and Fordham University, with the secret hope that he didn’t get accepted. NYU panned out, but it didn’t take much effort on his part to convince his parents that he should stay closer to home, “especially after the pandemic.” Acceptance to Boston University sealed the deal, and he eagerly awaited the start of his freshman year in Boston. Then this happened. It was time to change the subject.
“How’s Dad? Any word on why the Marines left?”
“He’s fine. They have to keep a twenty-four-hour guard at one of the hangars. Three Marines and one of the vehicles.”
“Now we’re down to nine?”
“We’re lucky to have them here at all.”
“If they keep pulling Marines away, we won’t be able to defend ourselves from another attack.”
“Your dad has Marines arriving from the reserve company in Brunswick. He expects them to arrive by tomorrow. We’ll be fine here,” she said, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Or wherever we end up.”
“Do you think it’ll ever go back to normal?”
“I think we’ll be looking at a different normal,” Kate said.
“I’m not going back to college.”
“Why not?”
“If this is the new normal, what’s the point?” he said, touching the rifle leaned against the wall next to the window.
“It won’t be like this for long. Things got back to normal after the pandemic,” she reminded him.
“Dad doesn’t seem to think it’ll get better.”
“He told you that?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and yawning.
“No, but he’s too quiet,” Ryan replied. “He only gets like that when he’s worried.”
“We all have plenty to worry about, especially your mother,” she said, staring at the damaged sandbags under the other window.
He squeezed her hand, remembering every detail of yesterday’s battle.
“The bullets started coming through the barrier at the end. Not fast enough to break through my BDU’s, but I could feel it. Like being snapped by a thick rubber band.”
“Are you trying to give me a panic attack?”
“I’m trying to get you out of here, unless you have another grilled cheese sandwich,” Ryan said, winking.
“I’ll send Nana up with one. She looks like she could use a nap,” Kate said, pressing the mattress.
“Mom, no,” Ryan whined.
“Then I’ll send it up with Chloe instead.”
He shook his head and resumed his survey of the western approach.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a yes. You guys are relentless.”
“Part of my job description, young man. I’ll see what I can arrange,” she said, and he heard her get up.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
He paused, momentarily unsure why he had said her name. A few seconds passed before he figured it out.
“I love you, Mom. And thanks for the sandwich.”
Kate leaned over and kissed him on the top of his head. “I love you too, Ryan. We’re all really proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, holding back tears.
He’d overheard his dad talking with Staff Sergeant Evans about the worsening situation inside and outside the United States. The “new normal” was a nightmare landscape dominated by violence and power. He’d seen nothing to refute this belief, which was why he couldn’t sit in the basement. Someone fully vested in their safety had to watch over them. His dad trusted the Marines, but they had families too, and every one of them wanted to get back home to see them. Ryan couldn’t risk their safety on a possible conflict of interest. He pulled the HK416 closer to the windowsill and adjusted his leg. He’d stay up here all day and night if necessary.
Chapter 8
EVENT +5 Days
Route 160
Porter, Maine
Eli tightened his grip on the SUV’s grab handle as Grizzly veered onto the unmarked dirt road, skidding the tires.
“Take it easy.”
“Sorry, Eli. I figured if anyone was following us, that’d throw them off our trail,” said Grizzly.
“You about threw us off the trail,” Eli said, laughing at his own joke.
Nobody else made a sound.
“No fucking sense of humor in any of you. Like a funeral parlor all day,” he muttered.
The vehicle slowed to twenty miles per hour, which was barely safe on what amounted to a well-worn jeep trail through the woods. They could have continued along Route 160 to their usual turnoff, but he wanted to see if this path connected with Porterfield Road. He’d noticed this turnoff on their way out to Brownfield, but couldn’t match it to anything on their maps or GPS displays. With vehicles regularly entering and exiting Porterfield Road at the Route 160 junction, they were bound to attract the wrong kind of attention, especially when they kicked off the juicy part of his plan. He needed a less conspicuous route for everyday use, one they could easily block if necessary.
“We’ve got about a mile to go if it breaks through,” he said.
“Got it, Eli.”
“Why don’t we stick with sir? That goes for all of you,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled.
Better—barely. He watched their track on the handheld GPS screen, encouraged that they continued west toward Porterfield Road. If this was a private driveway, it was one long-ass private driveway—and whoever lived at the end of it would die horribly. He’d been itching to hurt someone or something since they started out in the morning, but he’d promised himself that he’d wait. The situation at the roadblock outside of Bridgton might not have gone so smoothly if his clothes had been covered in blood—and boy, did they go smoothly.
He could barely believe his luck. The chief of police had been less receptive to the idea, but Eli had won them over with tales of how his men were handpicked, only vetted and screened ex-military or law enforcement at first. The rest were recommended and vouched for by fully vested members of the militia group. All total bullshit, but he’d make sure his people looked the part when they reported for duty at the checkpoints.
The chief had positively swooned over his offer to keep the men unarmed. He’d been on the fence until Eli had suggested it. No firearms unless they were issued by the Bridgton police or by authorized checkpoint personnel. Good ol’ Ron Bevins, the town’s chief selectman, had insisted on that point. He wanted permission to arm Eli’s volunteers if necessary. Too good to be true. Bevins was in for one hell of a surprise in a few days.
On to
p of it all, the town council gave him an hour to speak at the high school. The turnout hadn’t exactly broken any records, but he left with nine names, their souls to be collected tomorrow and never returned to Bridgton. He had it all worked out.
Grizzly eased the SUV into a shallow turn as the trees thinned and a field of corn appeared on their right. The GPS unit indicated they were driving at a forty-five-degree angle to Porterfield Road, which lay directly ahead. The SUV slowed at the junction and stopped as soon as it hit the pavement.
“What are you doing?” said Eli.
“I thought you might want to mark the location on your GPS or fashion some kind of sign.”
“Can I just for once be the one to give the orders to my own fucking militia?”
“Sorry, sir. I just wasn’t sure we’d find this spot again, since the other groups didn’t report finding a road that broke through.”
“I know you’re new, Griz, but you’re thinking too much, and you’re making assumptions. We all know what happens when you make assumptions, right?”
“You make an ass out of you and me. Really sorry about that.”
“No, you have it wrong. I don’t make an ass out of anyone, especially me. I’m never the ass.”
“That’s right, Eli. I mean, sir. That’s just the saying. ‘You’ means me—the one saying the quote. I didn’t mean you were the one making an ass out of you and—”
“You all right, Griz? You’re starting to sound like a mental patient. I already marked the coordinates. Let’s go.”
The engine revved, but the SUV stayed in place.
“You need to put the car in drive. Jesus Christ, did you have a stroke or something?”
“Just nervous, sir.”
Eli shook his head. “Nervous about what?”
He could tell Grizzly wanted to say something but held his tongue. Griz was learning pretty quickly, which was more than Eli could say for the majority of his undisciplined crew. He took one of the handheld radios out of the cup holder and raised it to his ear.
“Liberty North, this is Liberty Actual, approaching your position. Stand by to authenticate.”
THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5 Page 104