Siege Fall (Siege of New Hampshire Book 2)

by Mic Roland

  Susan sat very still, hands clasped together in her lap, looking him in the eye.

  “See? Just like I told you.” Martin pointed at her with both hands. “You’re doing it right now. You’ve got that look. I’m raving like a mad man about things that are absolutely none of my business and instead of telling me to butt out, you’re smiling with that look. WHY IN BLAZES ARE YOU SMILING?” he demanded.

  “Because of why you’re so angry,” she said.

  Martin froze. His rage imploded. The truth he had been running from, caught him and mugged him. He cared for Susan more deeply than a man who is determined to be faithfully married should.

  Denial, however, has an inertia of its own. He turned away, waving off a whole swarm of invisible bees. “No, no, no, no, no. It’s not that. I’m angry because guys shouldn’t be such selfish jerks. I’m angry because Eric is one of those jerks and I don’t want to see him turn out to be another Mark. I’m angry that Mark ever existed at all, and because I…”

  Susan’s smile widened. A small tear began to roll down her cheek.

  “I shouldn’t be…I have no business thinking…” He stopped pacing: suddenly feeling weak. He collapsed onto the bench like a pile of dumped laundry. His head felt like it weighed fifty pounds. He buried his face in his hands. “Oh God,” he moaned.

  Susan sniffed and wiped her cheek. “I don’t mind. Really, I don’t.”

  Martin continued to moan into his hands. “Ohhh…this is bad.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. “I’ve never been so happy.”

  “But, I can’t make you happy. Don’t you see? I can’t do anything…for you.”

  “You already have,” Susan whispered close.

  Chapter 17: A Call to Arms

  It was Martin’s turn to grind the wheat. There was not much to do on the new gasifier until Dustin, Carlos and Lucas got more fuel chipped up. While Martin cranked the handle of the mill clamped to the end of the counter, Susan and Judy were rinsing the latest batch of hominy. Their backs were to Martin.

  Margaret and Anna were doing laundry in the dining room. It was more disruptive to have all the clothes piled around the center of the house, but it was warmer and involved less hauling of water up and down the stairs. Margaret and Anna managed to communicate their cooperative tasks with simple words and pointing. Through the rhythmic splash and squish sounds of the plunger in the bucket, Judy and Susan carried on their soft conversation.

  “I would have been sooo scared,” Judy said. She poured a thin stream of warm water into the bowl of hominy.

  “Oh I was,” said Susan. She swished and massaged the hominy between her fingers. “But once Mr. Landers was in the truck, I was too busy tending to his wounds. Before all the shooting, though, it was kind of boring.”

  “Boring? You said that Eric guy was telling you all kinds of adventure stories.”

  “He was, but he’s thirty-two and living in his parents’ basement. You know how sometimes you can tell when there’s something a little off when someone is telling you a story?”

  Judy nodded knowingly. She paused to let Susan pour off the cloudy water.

  “His stories had that ‘something’. They sounded highly enhanced, like he was rewriting his rather-ordinary life into an action film. If he saw a squirrel, he’d turn it into a lion.”

  Judy laughed as she began gently pouring more warm water. “My Dustin is just the opposite. If he was chased home by a bear, he’d say ‘Oh, I saw an animal in the woods today.’ or something like that.”

  Susan laughed too. “Funny you should mention being chased by a bear. That was one of Eric’s stories. While I was listening, I was trying to do a sort of reverse filtering to what you say Dustin does. I wondered if he had been chased by a squirrel, but enhanced the tale for public consumption. The image of Eric being chased by a squirrel was almost too funny to keep a straight face to.” Both women laughed.

  “I was listening attentively to his stories,” Susan said. “I kind of had to. His parents were in the front seat of the truck, after all.” Susan leaned closer to Judy. In a stage whisper she said. “But, I think Eric thought that meant that I liked him.”

  “No.” Judy stopped pouring, but resumed.

  “Yes, but I really don’t.” Susan turned her head so she could catch Martin’s eye. “No way. Eric is a self-centered player. I could see that all along. He’s not my type at all.”

  Martin could see her out of the corner of his eye, but did not look up. He pretended not to be listening as he poured more wheat into the mill.

  Judy commiserated. “Most of the guys in high school were losers and players. College was worse. They don’t get better when they’re drunk. Dustin was just so down-to-earth. He was a keeper. It’s hard to find a decent guy out there.”

  “Yeah.” Susan turned back to massage the hominy pile again. “And when you do, they’re already taken.”

  Judy chuckled.

  “Okay, dad,” said Dustin as he got to the top of the stairs. “We’ve got the hopper loaded with enough for the next test. Carlos and Lucas chipped up more before they took their turn at patrol.”

  Tyler and Charles took a break from fitting the long transfer tube to the truck. Everyone gathered around the gasifier.

  “Time to find out if the new filter works,” said Martin. “Are you ready?”

  Charles nodded. Tyler nodded too. Nick gave a thumbs up. Martin pushed the burning roll of paper into the fire chamber of the new gasifier. He waved his arm to Dustin, who turned on the small electric fan. Once satisfied that the tinder and chips were burning on their own, he closed the door.

  White smoke streamed out of the jet. As the burner cooked off enough gasses, the smoke began to turn blue. Dustin lit the jet, which sputtered with a nearly invisible flame. No one cheered this time. It was the fifth time they had test-fired the burner. Getting a flame was not the problem.

  “Okay,” Martin said. “Blow it out.”

  Dustin blew out the flame and quickly covered the jet with a white cloth bag. The thin fabric ballooned out from the pressure.

  “That’s enough.” Martin closed the air intake. Dustin shut off the fan and closed a damper. It would take many long minutes before the fire would suffocate itself.

  Dustin took off the cloth bag. He looked in with eager anticipation, but his expression fell. “Same thing,” he said. He turned the bag inside out to show the men who gathered around to see. In addition to fine soot, larger flecks of carbon speckled the bag.

  Charles kicked the ground. “Man! I was certain the extra filter material would have caught all that.”

  “We can’t add more,” said Martin. “We were close to creating a back pressure obstruction already.”

  “We’ve got to find a way to get those heavy solids out,” said Tyler. “We can’t be putting that into the engine or we’ll ruin it in just a few hours.”

  The men stood in silent frustration, staring at the gasifier. Martin stared, hoping a shaft of sunbeam would shine on the part that needed changing, followed by a faint heavenly chorus. No divine sunbeams shone.

  Margaret broke their contemplation. She hurried over with the walkie-talkie in her hand. “Martin. It’s Mr. Merdot.”

  “Simmons here, go ahead,” Martin said into the radio.

  “Sounds like trouble might be coming. Chief Burgh said he got a call from Longmeadow. Three cars full of young men went right through town. Didn’t do anything, but they’re headed our way.”

  “Did he say what kind of cars? Or what they were wearing?” Martin asked.

  “Negative.”

  “Well, ask him. It might be important.”

  “Roger. Stand by,” crackled the radio.

  Martin turned to Tyler and Charles. “I’m wondering if it’s that gang that chased Carlos out here. Maybe the same gang that tried to ambush us.”

  “How would they know where we went?” asked Tyler.

  “Maybe it’s some other gang out on a random rai
d,” guessed Nick.

  The radio hissed. “Longmeadow said three hotrods. Guys in blue or gray hoodies.”

  “Thanks Gene,” said Martin. “This might be the same gang that tried to jump us. Better let Burgh know.”

  “Roger that. Your wife said you’ve got some of our guys at your house. I’m calling the others. Meet Chief in town.”

  “Roger. Out,” said Martin.

  “Why would the same gang be driving way out here?” Tyler asked. “There’s plenty of other targets between us and Manchester.”

  “I know,” said Martin. “But if they skipped Longmeadow and drove through. I think they’re coming here. Maybe after us to get even for their guys we shot.”

  “Well, too bad for them for trying to ambush us,” said Charles. “But, I still don’t get how would they know where we are.”

  “Maybe they don’t know it’s us out here and are just looking to raid fresher victims,” said Martin. “Either way, we’re going to have to go meet them up the road and not wait for them to come to us. Three cars…could be twelve to fifteen of them. Dustin, fetch me the extra magazines and two boxes of rounds from the safe.”

  “You want me to load up my shotgun with slugs?” Dustin asked.

  “I do, but you’re not coming.”

  “What?” Dustin sounded disappointed.

  “You need to stay here and head up home defense if necessary. We don’t know if these guys will stay together or break up.” Martin turned to Margaret’. “Call in Carlos and Lucas from their patrol. Everyone needs to be home and in a defensive watch position.”

  As Dustin trotted off, Martin turned to the others. “Help me get the battery back in my truck. It’s still got a couple gallons in it. Nick, how about if you run home and get your rifle and extra ammo. We can drive by your house to pick you up as we loop around to Tyler’s house so they can get more too.”

  Margaret stood nearby with wide worried eyes. “Aren’t there enough men on that side of town to deal with them?”

  “Maybe,” said Martin. “We might just be backup or something, but we need to be ready. Hopefully, we can stop them early before they get out here. Dustin is staying here with you. Have everyone take their corners. Don’t go shooting anything that moves, but keep a sharp eye out. I’ll take this walkie with us. When Carlos and Lucas get in, keep that walkie with you, monitor channel 7.”

  Dustin trotted up carrying a small range nylon bag. Martin thanked him and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Okay guys, lets go,” Martin said.

  “No more running after bad guys,” said Margaret. Her stern facade did not disguise her worry. “You be careful.”

  Martin smiled and squeezed her hand. Tyler and Charles climbed in the back of Martin’s truck. Nick met them at the end of his driveway. Martin stopped the truck in the middle of the road in front of Tyler’s house. There was precious little traffic those days. They ran inside, emerging only minutes later with backpacks slung over their shoulders. Charles was tucking a 1911 into his waistband.

  Martin’s radio crackled. “They left the Dexter house,” said Burgh. “Repeat. All suspects have left Dexter’s house. Crossed road. Behind Fenton’s.”

  “That’s next door to Aunt June!” exclaimed Charles. “Come on, man. Hurry up!”

  As they rolled past the center of town, gunfire could be heard. The police cruiser and a pickup were parked across the road. Men crouched behind the vehicles. Burgh motioned for the four of them to keep down. Martin and Charles crouch-ran to Burgh. Tyler and Nick stayed with the truck.

  “How many do you have?” asked Burgh.

  “Four. We’ve got long guns and side-arms,” said Charles.

  Shots popped from the windows of the Fenton house. Everyone crouched a little lower.

  “These guys hit just about every house along this road. We count thirteen of them,” said Burgh. “They overpower one house at a time. Near as we can tell, they’ve been stealing food, loading it into their cars. No word from the homes they’ve already hit. Not sure if anyone’s hurt or…we just don’t know yet.”

  More shots came from the Fenton house. Men behind a stone planter across the street returned fire.

  “They got done ransacking the Dexters’ place when we came up,” said Burgh. “Don’t think they were expecting concentrated resistance. Now they’re holed up in the Fentons’ house.’”

  “My Aunt June is right next door,” said Charles. He looked coiled to jump and run. “We’ve got to get her and Uncle Aaron out of there.”

  “Too dangerous right now. We’re working on that,” said Burgh. “I know Aaron. He won’t take any silly chances. He’s probably got June down in their cellar. I’ve got the Bell Hill group on that side of the road and the Wilson Hill group coming up the backside over here. Center’s got the road closed off, and South Farms said they’re sending five guys. Those boys aren’t getting any further into town.”

  “Where do you want us?” Martin asked. “Should we, maybe, go around and block off the road on the other side? What if they make a run for it?”

  “Excellent idea,” said Burgh. “If North Forks comes through, we’ll have plenty of people here. Might send more out to you. Get going.”

  Martin and Tyler ran back to the truck. “Get back in the back,” Martin said. “We’re going around to cut them off.”

  Charles got in the front seat with Martin. “Come on, man. Hurry up. I don’t want those guys getting away.”

  The Brink

  Martin backed up quickly, turned into a driveway then sped back to the center of town. High Pond Road ran parallel to Cheshire’s one main road. At Cantor Road, he hung a left, traveling a bit fast for having two men riding in the pickup bed.

  Coming back up the main road, Charles motioned for him to slow down. “Take it easy. We need to find a good spot. Not here. They can drive through that meadow to get around us. Go a little further up.”

  Martin could hear faint gunshots. The cluster of old homes that was Cheshire’s “downtown” was only a mile away and over a slight rise in the land.

  “There!” exclaimed Charles. “That’s a good spot. Pull your truck across both lanes right up there by that big tree.”

  “The rock walls will keep them from being able to cut across yards or get into fields,” Martin said, “But my truck doesn’t completely block off the road. There’s room between my bumpers and the walls.”

  “How about those fence rails?” Tyler pointed to a split rail fence around one of the homes’ fallow gardens.

  “Great,” said Charles. “You and Nick go get some rails as fast as you can.”

  “Let’s roll some of the big rock wall rocks out into the space too,” said Martin. “They could blast on through some fence rails, but big rocks will stop a low-slung tuner cold.”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Charles.

  Martin worked on the right, behind his truck. Charles worked on the left, in front. They each rolled three big rocks off the walls, creating a dotted line between Martin’s pickup and the parallel stone walls. Nick and Tyler carried over several spilt rails. They laid them across the rocks, more to look obvious than thinking the balancing poles would stop a car on their own.

  “Okay. Tyler and I will take the left side. You and Nick get behind that angled wall there. When they stop at our barricade, we’ll have them in a crossfire.”

  Martin took up a position behind the low rock wall, near the big tree at the end of the dirt driveway. The driveway’s rock wall was roughly perpendicular to the walls lining the road. Nick took up a position a few yards further right. Everyone checked their rifles and patted pockets for last minute reassurance of spare magazines.

  While the four men stared up an empty road, dozens of shots cracked and popped in the distance.

  “Wilson, fall back,” Burgh radioed. “They’ve jumped houses. Bell, hold tight. Wait for my signal.”

  “Which house?” demanded Charles from across the road.

  “Some of the
m are in the Kendall house now,” said Burgh. “Wilson counted only eight. The rest must still be in Fenton. Careful.”

  “They’re in Aunt June’s house!” Charles stood up. The sound of more gunfire echoed down the road.

  “Bell. Center will give you cover fire. Move up. Wilson, you move up to the sheds. Don’t go further. Just be ready to keep their heads down if needed.”

  “They’re planning to storm the house!” shouted Charles. He ran across the road and grabbed the radio out of Martin’s hand. “Don’t storm the house, Chief! My aunt and uncle are in there!”