THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  “That seems to run in the family too,” commented Kate.

  “Charlie, we can talk history anytime. Did Alex tell you about this rifle?” said Tim Fletcher, lifting his rifle off the floor and setting it in front of the lounger.

  “Now he’s mister talkative,” said Alex.

  “That’s not from Vietnam, is it?” asked Charlie.

  “Damn right it is. I used this as a military advisor. Tracked it down by serial number when they switched over to those plastic guns.”

  “He got a congressman involved,” said Alex.

  “He was a TBS classmate,” said Tim.

  Charlie twisted on the couch, trying to get a better look at the rifle. He grimaced in pain when his foot shifted on the pillow and slid to the surface of the table.

  “I got it,” said Alex, lifting the bandaged leg high enough to replace the pillow. “How are you feeling?”

  “A deep, throbbing pain has replaced the holy shit agony I was feeling most of yesterday. The pain pills help.”

  Alex examined Linda’s foot. The hospital had provided a large, easily removable splint, which enclosed the bandages covering her ankle.

  “What about you, Mrs. Rambo?” asked Alex.

  “I’m still at the holy fuck level most of the time,” she said.

  “Me too,” said Ed.

  “You guys taking your pain meds?”

  “No,” said Linda. “They give me a headache.”

  “I’ll take them off your hands,” said Ed.

  “Probably not a great idea right now,” said Alex. “Let’s talk it over with Corporal Allen when he makes his rounds. He has some stronger stuff, if necessary. If you can’t sleep, let me know, and we’ll get you something.”

  “I won’t have any trouble sleeping,” said Ed, “as long as I’m not in the same room as Foghorn Leghorn.”

  “Can I get a separate room?” said Linda.

  “Everybody’s ganging up on me again,” Charlie whined.

  The basement door slid open, revealing Samantha Walker and Amy Fletcher. Alex’s mom carried the shotgun in the crook of her elbow.

  “We good for a few minutes?” asked Alex.

  “I think so. I told them we’d be at the top of the stairs,” said Samantha, sitting on the single step leading into the great room.

  Alex’s mother joined her, leaning the shotgun against the half wall separating the kitchen from the sunken great room. “First things first. We made it,” said Alex, pausing to let the words sink in. “We’re all here, more or less in one piece. The kids are fine. Given the curveball we were thrown, I’d say we’ve done pretty damn well as a team.”

  “I’ll second that,” said Charlie, followed by hushed agreement from everyone.

  “With that said, we still have a long way to go.”

  “I can’t imagine it getting any worse,” said Ed.

  “Jesus. What the hell else could they throw at us? They left twenty-nine bodies behind,” said Samantha.

  “I’m more concerned with the bigger picture. I have a few things I want to share with you. Information I’ve gathered over the past forty-eight hours. When you add it to the HAM radio broadcasts, we—”

  “The bigger picture doesn’t have everyone hiding in the basement,” Kate cut in. “What’s going on with the group that attacked us?”

  “The leader has disappeared for now. I spoke with members of the York County Readiness Brigade and—”

  “Another militia group? Screw that. I don’t want to see any of those people around here,” said Samantha.

  “I’m not bringing them here. I thought they might be able to shed some light on this Russell character. Apparently, they forgot to mention him during both of my interviews a few years ago.”

  “How convenient,” Samantha said. “I wouldn’t trust them.”

  “I’m not trusting anybody outside of our group.”

  “What about Colonel Grady?” whispered Tim Fletcher.

  “I trust his Marines. I’ll let them take care of Mr. Russell and whatever’s left of his crew when we find them. Right now, I feel pretty good about our security situation.”

  “Until Grady pulls them away,” said Ed.

  “He’s bought off on using our property as a rapid-response, forward operating base. We’ll have double the number of Marines here within a week. They’ll either set up a tent for their headquarters or use the barn. Either way, they’ll have to leave Marines behind to guard the headquarters—and us.”

  “That’s good news,” said his dad.

  “It is…” Alex said, hesitating.

  He wasn’t sure how much of the big-picture doom-and-gloom scenario he should share with the group. Several situations ran through his head, many of which resulted in abandoning the compound before the weather turned. All would require serious planning and consideration.

  “What’s the bad news?” Charlie prompted.

  “The bad news is that we have to plan for the possibility of leaving this house,” said Alex.

  “Because of the militia?” asked his mom.

  “That’s one scenario, but not the most likely. I’m more concerned with the refugee situation. I just can’t see how it will work, even with several thousand soldiers in place to guard the borders and patrol the camps. If the broadcasts we’ve been hearing over the HAM radio are true, word will spread, and the rest of the Boston area will empty. Nobody will want to be near a big city with a possible nuclear escalation on the table. There’s no way in hell FEMA can take care of a million-plus people. Winter will make it worse.”

  “We’re off the beaten path out here. I would think most of the people would make their way to the 95 corridor. There’s nothing out here.”

  “I would tend to agree with that, but if the situation deteriorates, the Recovery Zone border will shift north, taking everything with it.”

  “Including you,” stated Kate bitterly.

  “It’s a Catch-22. We definitely need the Marines here until the Maine Liberty Militia has been neutralized.”

  “Which hopefully won’t be very long,” said Linda.

  “Currently, they’re the biggest internal threat to stability within the Recovery Zone. I don’t see an issue convincing Grady to allocate considerable resources to solving the problem.”

  “Then we won’t need the Marines forever, though they’re welcome to stay, even if you’re not part of the battalion,” said Kate.

  “Yes…and no. If the Recovery Zone border is moved north, everyone south of the border suddenly joins the refugee population,” said Alex.

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Ed asked cautiously.

  “It means that without this golden ticket,” he said, holding up his ID card, “we might not be allowed to cross the Saco River. That’s the fallback boundary.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Ed sputtered.

  “That’s the reality of the situation and why we need to put a lot of thought into this. If I give up my status and we stay, we might not be able to flee north if the situation gets out of control here.”

  “Then we need to get out of here as soon as possible,” Ed said. “Charlie?”

  “We can always head up to Belgrade. It’ll be tight, but everyone’s welcome. That includes all of us,” said Charlie.

  “We’d make it work,” affirmed Linda.

  “You can’t go anywhere right now, Ed. How are you going to sit in a car for four hours?” said Samantha.

  “We have time,” said Alex, “but we need to figure out how to do this logistically and start making preparations. We have two cars and seventeen people, four of whom can’t walk. I don’t anticipate any of you getting around on your own without crutches for at least a month. Linda will probably be longer.”

  “If I can even use the foot again,” she said, sounding dismal for the first time Alex could remember.

  “I’ll see what I can do about getting you to an orthopedic surgeon. Maybe one at Bridgton Hospital. They won’t be jammed with casualties li
ke Sanford or the coastal hospitals. I remember them having an orthopedic group.”

  “You should get on that as soon as possible,” said Kate.

  “I will,” he said.

  “I guess there isn’t a huge downside to working with the Marines, at least through the winter. If the situation stabilizes, you could part ways in the spring,” said Kate.

  “If they’ll let me. Just saying. We need to plan for any contingency, including the sudden revocation of my ID card. I’m not one hundred percent sure what I’m dealing with.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Charlie.

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time,” Alex whispered.

  “I thought you trusted them,” said Samantha.

  “I do, but they follow orders, and I’ve seen a few things that make me wonder about Homeland’s plans for the battalion. I opened a large shipping container at the airport, which held enough uniforms to outfit the entire unit.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad. I’m sure the Marines could use a change of clothes,” said Samantha.

  “It doesn’t sound bad until you find out that the container had been secretly stored for years in a fenced-off warehouse complex near the airport and that the uniforms are a strange pattern, labeled ‘Federal Security.’ I saw that on the manifest.”

  “Jesus,” said Tim. “That’s not a good sign.”

  “Right. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The second container held racks of weapons not found at the infantry battalion level. Rifles with integral suppressors. MP-7 submachine guns. Advanced night-vision optics.”

  Ed asked, “What does that mean, in layman’s terms?”

  “I don’t know, but these are the types of weapons you’d expect to find in a very slick, low-profile special operations unit. It means the battalion may be tasked to do more than Colonel Grady advertised, or knows about. If it turns into a secret police operation, we’re out of here.”

  The room fell silent for several moments as the gravity of Alex’s statement settled.

  “Either way, we have to prepare this place for winter,” said Tim.

  “Right. We’ll have to work on both plans at the same time. If possible, I’d like to take a trip to your place up north, Charlie. Make sure it’s still a viable option. A lake house with solar panels might not remain unoccupied for long after an EMP attack.”

  “Anyone thinking they’re getting a bargain with the solar panels will be in for a rude awakening. The whole system is probably fried.”

  “That’s something we’ll have to consider. We can disassemble the system in the basement and bring any of the parts we’ll need, but I’m not sure about the solar panels. Were yours disconnected?”

  Charlie shook his head.

  “Then the panels are probably dead,” said Alex.

  “What about borrowing one of the tactical vehicles for a run?” Ed suggested.

  “It’s possible, but we’d probably have to do it now, before the battalion arrives. I can’t see commandeering one of their vehicles for a full-day side trip once they’re fully operational.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Kate. “Offloading gear from a military vehicle will draw way too much attention. Guaranteed to be pillaged at that point.”

  “This is all stuff we need to start game-planning,” said Alex.

  “Timeline?” asked Tim.

  “I think we should be ready to roll, if necessary, by the end of September. Plan on multiple trips. I’ll do what I can to get some support, either civilian or military. For now, it’s all hands on deck getting the outside of the house patched up. I picked up plenty of caulk and materials to plug the holes.”

  “What about the toilets?” Charlie asked. “The pain pills cause constipation, but that ain’t gonna last forever.”

  “Good God,” muttered Linda, shaking her head.

  “Hey! Just giving everyone fair warning. That camping toilet ain’t gonna cut it when the time comes.”

  “Thank you, Charlie,” said Alex. “Top priority tomorrow morning. I brought full replacements from Home Depot.”

  “Toilets, shutters, caulking,” said Kate.

  “And sleep. In that order,” said Alex.

  PART II

  “REARM”

  Chapter 10

  EVENT +7 Days

  Maine State Correctional Facility

  Windham, Maine

  Eli Russell leaned forward in the front seat of the SUV and examined the Maine State Correctional Facility’s main parking lot as they approached the intersection at Mallison Falls Road. The lot looked deserted, sprinkled with cars abandoned after the event. He barely recognized the place. He’d visited his brother here on a few occasions in late 2009, long before the one-hundred-million-dollar upgrade. From what he could tell, few of the old buildings had survived the overhaul. He waved Grizzly on, pushing his convoy of six vehicles across the empty rural road.

  “Liberty Two, this is Actual. Start your approach,” he said, releasing a second, smaller convoy along a jeep trail due east of the prison.

  “Copy. Patriot Two inbound to target.”

  “Liberty Three, proceed to secondary target and execute your mission. You should be able to disable the tower without engaging the personnel inside. The front parking lot is empty and completely obscured from the building by a tall row of bushes,” said Eli.

  McCulver’s voice answered. “Copy. We’re making the turn off Elm Street. ETA thirty seconds.”

  Everything was falling into place. The special-purpose group, aka Jimmy’s Vikings, had scouted the area surrounding the prison before settling in for a long day of surveillance. One of the first things they noticed driving River Road was a communications tower rising several stories above the trees. Thinking it was an odd location for a cell phone tower, they followed a few back roads to the tower, discovering the Cumberland County Regional Communications Center. A quick drive through the parking lot confirmed the presence of a running generator, which meant the center was fully operational. Since the communications center provided long-range emergency dispatch services to dozens of towns in the county, Eli thought it wise to disable the center prior to the attack on the prison.

  McCulver suggested knocking the tower out with small explosive charges rather than trying to storm the building. The last thing they needed was a plea for help broadcast to every law enforcement officer in the county. With the tower destroyed, the dispatchers inside posed little threat to the operation. The only problem with McCulver’s plan was that it required him to blow up the tower and race to the prison in order to handle the explosives. Eli couldn’t rely on any of the men in the convoy to properly set and safely detonate the charges required to breach the back gate and the utility bays leading to the generator.

  The whole plan hinged on McCulver’s unique skill-set, which left Eli feeling a little uneasy. Moving forward, McCulver would train an apprentice. The Maine Liberty Militia was one stray bullet away from losing its biggest force multiplier—an unacceptable risk given their overall plan.

  Eli’s convoy cruised through the parking lot, passing the facility’s single authorized pedestrian entrance, which had been sealed from the lot by a rolling razor-wire-topped gate. Recent correctional “guests” within Jimmy’s group speculated that the few correctional officers on duty would congregate in the futuristic steel and glass administrative building. The correctional custody units beyond the building no longer contained their own control rooms, cutting down on the number of officers required to staff the prison.

  All inmate movement was monitored and directed from a single control center located in that building, giving the officers little reason to be elsewhere, especially with the inmate population locked in their cells. Night shifts were reduced even further due to automation, explaining the paucity of vehicles in the parking lot. Jimmy’s men estimated they’d be up against a few dozen officers, most of whom had little to no practical firearms training.

  Once inside, they should ha
ve little difficulty mopping up the staff if they decided to stay and defend the prison. Eli planned to leave the front entrance unopposed, to encourage the guards’ swift departure. If he could take the prison without losing any men—all the better.

  Grizzly turned the SUV left toward the end of the parking lot, where the asphalt transitioned to a hard-packed gravel road that followed the prison’s eastern fence line to the loading bays and a utility garage. Yesterday, one of the bay doors had been left open for several hours, presumably to release excess diesel fumes from the generator they had pinpointed to one of the buildings next to the garage. If they could catch one of the doors open this morning, they wouldn’t have to wait for McCulver. As they raced down the fence, the second convoy appeared, trailing a column of dust as it barreled toward the garage.

  “This is Liberty Two. I just saw one of the loading bay doors slam shut. Looks like they know we’re here. Over.”

  Damn closed-circuit cameras!

  “This is Actual. Proceed with caution, and wait for Liberty Three. Do not try to open any of the doors without explosives. Never know what’s waiting on the other side.”

  They’d have to do this the hard way.

  The westbound convoy crossed ahead of Eli’s SUV, screeching to a stop on the pavement outside of the corrugated metal garage building. His convoy sped past the loading area, following a tight dirt road around the security fence until it connected with a paved road that cut right down the middle of the facility. They accelerated toward the gate at the end of the road, stopping several feet in front of the gate. A closed-circuit television camera mounted to the underside of the adjacent building panned in their direction, no doubt filling every screen in the control room. Eli stuck his compact AR-15 out of the passenger window and fired three bullets into the boxy, plastic contraption, shattering it.

  He opened his car door and walked up to the gate, shaking it. Sturdy, but far from indestructible. He was tempted to have one of the vehicles ram the gate, but the thought of disabling a car right in front of the primary breach point chased the idea away. Unobstructed vehicle access along this road was critical to his plan. He had no reason to hurry inside the gate, since they couldn’t access any of the secure prison areas until thirty minutes after the generator was destroyed.