The Perseid Collapse (The Perseid Collapse Series 1)

by Konkoly, Steven

  “Distance won’t be the problem. There’s something else. We watched the police commandeer civilian vehicles in South Portland, and one of the petty officers at the Coast Guard station said they had been instructed to disarm civilians on sight. They tossed my pistol in the water without hesitation. What if the police are doing this everywhere?”

  “I would have flattened any son of a bitch who tried to take my pistol,” said Charlie.

  “I had a 240 ‘bravo’ pointed at my head, Charlie. Not a lot of choice there. I think we need to give the police a day to simmer and replace their motor pool, then set out first thing tomorrow with a solid plan,” said Alex.

  “That’s almost twenty-four hours away. Samantha’s gonna flip out when she hears this,” said Ed.

  “We’ll get everyone together and explain the situation. Based on what I’ve seen so far, putting a functional vehicle on the road today is a risky move, especially considering the type of equipment we’ll need to bring with us to ensure our safety in Boston. If they’re tossing civilian pistols into the water without a second thought, imagine what’ll happen when we try to explain a trunk full of combat rifles.”

  “What’s to stop them from confiscating our car tomorrow? We’d be in the same situation, except we’d have lost a day,” said Ed.

  “There is no guarantee. Just a gut feeling based on experience. By tomorrow, people will start venturing out onto the roads. Anyone with a car will try to leave the more populated areas. They know it’s only a matter of time before the situation explodes. With more cars on the road, the police will have their hands full. The most I expect to encounter is a checkpoint or two along the way. They’ll be focused on traffic heading north. We’ll be headed south. I’ve seen this before. Every time we rolled up on a city in Iraq, the same thing happened. The streets went quiet while everyone tried to figure out if we planned to launch a major offensive or bypass the city. The next day? Mayhem. Cars backed up into the city along the main roads, families fleeing on foot, carrying suitcases and valuables. If we wait until tomorrow, we’ll be able to blend in and lower our risk of attracting attention.”

  “I’m going to need you to explain this to my wife. She’s ready to drive down to Boston herself.”

  “Here’s what I’m thinking overall. Early tomorrow, we put the families on bicycles and send them out to my parents’ place in Limerick. It’ll take them four hours tops to get there.”

  “Longer if the roads are like this across town,” said Ed.

  “True. They’ll have to walk the bikes down Harrison Road at least a mile before it eases up. Maybe longer. Anyway, at the same time, we head south for Boston. If all goes well on our end, we’ll be back with the kids in time for dinner. Everyone is welcome to stay at the farm as long as they’d like. It’s up to you guys. I don’t plan on returning here once we retrieve the kids,” said Alex.

  “Thanks, Alex. I’ll have to talk it over with Sam. A lot will depend on what we see out there.”

  “I know Linda will want to wait it out, but maybe I can convince her to do the waiting in a less populated area,” said Charlie.

  “We’ll have running water and electricity, if that helps sway your decision,” said Alex.

  Charlie asked, “Won’t the solar panels be fried?”

  “We have two banks of solar panels, each fully independent, with its own controller, inverter and battery storage bank. One of the two systems is disconnected at all times. No link to the grid and all cables detached. The solar panels themselves should be fine, according to the manufacturer,” said Alex, shrugging his shoulders.

  “The prospect of hot showers and cold drinks might sway the vote, my friend. It’s going to get really rustic around here—really quick,” said Charlie.

  “That’s a fact. How about we give you some time to dig through the house?” Ed asked. “I’ll bring cold beers over in an hour or so, and we’ll work out the rest of the details. I should have Sam onboard with the plan by then.”

  “Sounds good. Hey—does anyone else know about the Jeep?” asked Alex.

  “Jamie was in her garage across the street when I started it. I let it run for a few minutes to make sure the fuel system was fine. Both of her garage doors were open.”

  “I suggest you shut both bay doors and reengage the manual release. Make sure it’s locked. How about the door on the side? Looks like mine was busted open by the water.”

  “Busted, along with the windows,” said Ed.

  “At some point sooner than later, we need to shore up your garage so nobody can get in and try to steal your car. I’d be willing to bet that Jamie wasn’t the only person in the neighborhood to hear the engine start. The only thing I’ve heard so far is the water spilling out of the sewers.”

  “I heard him start the car from inside my house,” said Charlie.

  “Then it looks like we may be spending the night at Ed’s house and posting a watch. You’re holding the winning lottery ticket, Ed, except your ticket is a thousand times more valuable than any of this weekend’s winning mega-bucks tickets. I’ll swing by when I’m done taking an inventory here. Stay safe, guys. We all know what can happen around here when things get desperate.”

  Chapter 16

  EVENT +09:13 Hours

  Scarborough, Maine

  Alex started his mental inventory before Ed and Charlie had disappeared down the driveway. He’d have to adjust for their updated transportation situation, which would simplify the process but force them to make some painful decisions. They would have to leave most of their gear and supplies behind, opting for lighter, more practical immediate survival load-outs suitable for bicycle or foot mobile operations. The Fletchers’ bug-out plan had always been relatively simple, since they had never anticipated travelling any farther than Alex’s parents’ farm roughly thirty-five miles away. The comprehensive escape plan accounted for the use of two vehicles, but could be scaled down to accommodate any level of timeframe and transit mode. In this case, they would have to reconfigure for a bicycle trip and a forty-eight-hour, low-intensity urban combat mission. Two vastly different operations, with distinctly different objectives.

  The bicycle group’s individual load-out would be designed for thirty-six hours, with a focus on additional hydration. He would recommend that each person carry ten liters of water, in a combination of three-liter CamelBaks and additional stainless-steel bottles. Four MREs, a dozen energy bars, a flashlight or headlamp, one change of clothing and footwear stuffed in a waterproof bag, one emergency blanket, and a serrated folding knife would round out the mandatory individual load. Within the group, they would have to carry a first aid kit, road maps, enough camping tents to accommodate everyone, binoculars to scout the road ahead, toilet paper, a satellite phone, and of course—firearms.

  His vision for the Boston mission involved a twenty-four-hour tactical kit, for operations in and around the city, and a forty-eight-hour sustainability pack in case they were forced to abandon the vehicle at any point during their journey. They could carry extra gear and “luxuries” in the Jeep, but Alex would configure their essential equipment for immediate evacuation. If something went severely wrong on the road, he didn’t need Charlie and Ed fumbling around the SUV, trying to collect their shit. Vehicles had a tendency to attract projectiles in that kind of situation.

  He’d instituted a “five second” rule for his Amphibious Assault Vehicle Company in Iraq. If one of his vehicle commanders gave the order to abandon their AAV, each marine had their essential gear stashed where they could “grab and go” within five seconds. The rule had saved numerous lives on the road to Baghdad. The road to Boston wouldn’t be lined with rocket-propelled grenades, machine-gun teams and improvised explosive devices, but it had the potential to be just as deadly. Their Jeep would undoubtedly attract the wrong kind of attention, topping the list of high-value targets wherever they drove.

  His group would be heavily armed, but a gunfight before reaching their destination would most likely repre
sent the loss of their vehicle. A numerically superior force would push them away from the SUV. They might escape with their lives, but they’d lose the Jeep. A smaller group could irreparably damage the car, leaving them in the same situation. They would seek the path of least resistance to the outskirts of Boston, even if it meant adding significant mileage and time to their trip. Detect and avoid. The complete opposite of his mission in Iraq.

  He stepped into the mudroom and moved the stools into the bathroom shower stall, glancing at the sink, which was filled with dark brown silt. The sink burped, splattering a small bubble of silt onto the walls. The sewer system was useless at this point. He wondered what would happen if they tried to flush the toilets.

  “Kate?” he yelled.

  “Yeah?” she replied from the kitchen.

  “Is the sink backed up in there?”

  “Sort of. It’s filled with mud, but I’ve managed to clean some of it out. It’s draining really slowly.”

  “How about upstairs?”

  “Everything looked normal up there, like nothing happened,” she said.

  Alex leaned out of the bathroom door. “I think we should restrict our use of the bathrooms to the upstairs, and stop using the toilets at the first sign of a backup. I’m afraid to flush the one down here. The last thing we need is raw sewage in the house.”

  “I’ll let the kids know; then I’m going to start on lunch. I think we can skip the water hoarding. Between the garage and closet, we’ll be leaving most of it behind when we head out,” she said.

  “Yeah, I agree. Sounds like they finished filling the tubs, anyway. That should be enough, just in case something keeps us from leaving.”

  “So Ed’s Jeep works?” she added.

  “Apparently. It’ll get us to Boston a hell of a lot quicker than biking down,” said Alex.

  “Why don’t we ferry the rest of the group back and forth to Limerick? I don’t know about leading a group of nine women and kids on bikes through this crap,” said Kate.

  “Once you get a mile or two inland, you’ll be on dry pavement,” said Alex.

  “Easy for you to say, cruising by in a four-wheel-drive vehicle. You could at least get us to Route 11.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Kate. It’ll take at least two round trips if we do it that way. That Jeep will have a big bull’s-eye on it wherever it goes. We can’t have it repeatedly cruising back and forth through Scarborough, or any towns, for that matter. We especially can’t bring it back here. The neighbors will be all over us. Once that Jeep drives out of the garage, it can’t come back. Which reminds me, before we leave, we have to sanitize the house of any information that could lead people out to Limerick, or we’ll have a refugee camp on our hands.”

  “Could you turn any of these people away if they showed up out there?” Kate asked.

  “No, but I don’t plan on making it easy for them to find us.”

  Kate flashed him an annoyed look, which he could live with for now. He crossed the sludge-covered floor to the small study that Kate and Alex used as a temporary refuge from the noise level created by teenagers and the ever-blaring television in the family room. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelf had been emptied of its contents, with the exception of the top shelf, which had stubbornly held onto several overturned picture frames. Hundreds of books lay in various states of damage at the base of the bookshelf, forming a two-foot high, unstable pile of soggy pulp and wilted hardcovers. The brown leather chairs were covered in half-dried filth, one of them home to a mangled, brushed silver lamp and one half of the window’s plantation shutters. He remembered seeing the other white shutter under the bench in the mudroom. He opened the study closet to take his first real inventory. In all likelihood, they wouldn’t need much more than what he could salvage from the closet—aside from the guns, ammunition and a few select gadgets. Actually, this closet was just the “tip of the iceberg.”

  The right side of the closet housed built-in shelves that held a dozen 2.5-gallon jugs of spring water, two 120-serving “grab and go” buckets of freeze-dried vegetables and a black nylon duffel bag filled with twenty military-grade MREs. This stockpile represented more than enough food and water to satisfy the needs of his family during tomorrow’s exodus. He knew that Charlie and Ed kept similar stockpiles on their first floors, so there would be no need to waste time retrieving additional food or water from the basement. Two dark green, metal .50 caliber ammunition cans sat on the top shelf, below the wall’s high-water mark. He pulled both of them down and set them on the antique cherry wood desk against the interior wall of the house.

  He opened the canister marked “EG” to confirm that it had not leaked. From what he could tell by visual examination, the waterproof seal had held as advertised, sparing the electronics gear from any water damage. The converted storage can held two Iridium satellite phones, a handheld GPS plotter, a pair of two-way VHF handheld radios, a handheld radio scanner and three thirty-round .223 AR magazines. He reached deep into the canister to feel for water or moisture. Thankfully, it was bone dry. He pocketed the full AR magazines before closing the canister.

  The second canister, marked “RG,” held each item’s charging kit and adapter, in addition to a folding solar panel, battery power pack and AC inverter. Ziploc bags filled with loose AA and AAA batteries sat at the bottom of the can. He quickly checked for water damage, finding the same result. No leakage.

  Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the individual BOLT (Basic Operations for Limited Time) kits assigned to each member of the family. Stuffed together on the floor to the left of the shelving unit, each rucksack was identified by a strip of duct tape with a name. The mud and water that had reached the ceiling earlier had peeled the tape and faded the lettering, but he still recognized the names. He plucked his pack out of the mud and grunted at the waterlogged weight. They’d have to unpack each kit and scavenge for items they could add to the dry rucksacks hauled out of the sailboat.

  He hoped that the national state of emergency had shut down the court system. There was little doubt in his mind that Kate would present him with divorce papers after riding for thirty-five miles with the “three day” pack on her back. Kate was going to kick his ass when she heard the news, but there was little way around it. The larger, infinitely more comfortable internal frame packs he’d chosen for their BOLT kits wouldn’t dry by tomorrow morning, and their commercial hiking packs were buried under ten feet of water in the basement.

  He carried the MOLLE II rucksack to the kitchen island, and dropped it onto the granite. Kate, who was in the middle of preparing cheese sandwiches on an area of the counter she had cleaned, stared at the pack with a look of disgust. She shook her head.

  “I can’t ride to Limerick with that piece of shit on my back.”

  “It’s smaller than this pack. Might be easier to balance while riding,” offered Alex.

  “No. We can dry these in the sun on the patio. I’m not putting that thing on my back again. Mayonnaise on your sandwich?” she said, displaying her patented “I’m happy” smile.

  “I love you,” he said, unzipping one of the outer sustainment pouches on the pack.

  “Really? Even though I fully blame you for ripping my shoulders up with your crappy backpacks?”

  “Especially after that,” he said, pulling a compressed, lightweight sleeping bag out of the sustainment pouch.

  She eyed the dripping, down-filled ball that once qualified as a sleeping bag.

  “I have a feeling those won’t dry by tomorrow,” she said.

  He shook his head and removed the other item stuffed in the pouch, expanding the grayish, universal camouflage-patterned Gore-Tex sleeping bag shell and shaking the water from it.

  “This is probably all you’ll need if you get stuck overnight. Maybe one of the emergency blankets. I’ll strip the packs down and hang them on what’s left of the deck in the sun,” he said.

  “I’ll have some lunch ready in a few minutes. Sandwic
hes and canned vegetable soup, plus a bag of barbeque chips that I found in the family room,” she said.

  “Sounds like heaven,” he replied, turning his attention to the basement door.

  He pulled an LED flashlight out of the MOLLE pack and tested it, pleased to find that neither the water nor the EMP had knocked it out of commission. As far as he could tell, most handheld electronics or battery-powered devices continued to function, consistent with the CNI Revised Report’s assessment of the effects of an EMP burst on portable electronics. Then again, the Revised Report seemed to be all over the place in terms of accuracy. The predicted 60% failure rate for automobiles seemed generous at this point. His own observations supported a rate in the high nineties.

  Alex opened the door to the basement and flashed the light down the stairwell. The light reflected a Stygian pool that reached the fourth stair from the top and rose above the bottom of the basement ceiling. He extinguished the flashlight and stepped into the stairwell, closing the door behind him. He was immediately cast into absolute darkness and silence. Peaceful, yet suffocating. He let his eyes adjust for a few moments, peering into the water, searching for any sign of light from the basement windows. Nothing. This wasn’t good. He needed a few specialty items locked away in his bunker. Actually, he didn’t really need them, he wanted them. And he wanted them badly enough to consider taking a swim in the blackness beneath him. He opened the door, grateful for the sunlight.

  “The basement is a total loss. Water up to the ceiling. Look at this,” he announced, looking back down into the impenetrable darkness.

  Kate joined him at the door. “I don’t think you should go down there.”

  Alex shut the door. “Who said anything about me taking a swim?”

  “I can tell by the way you’re staring down at the water, like your mind was plotting something that it really shouldn’t.”