Event Horizon (The Perseid Collapse Post Apocalyptic Series)

by Steven Konkoly

  Chapter 40

  EVENT +75:31

  Limerick, Maine

  Kate fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position lying on the wet tile floor. Razor-sharp pieces of porcelain and glass dug into her knees and thighs, rendering the effort pointless. At least the fragments hadn’t spilled the entire length of the mudroom. Her elbows rested in a thick puddle spreading from the entryway into the mudroom. She braced her rifle against the doorframe, using the wooden trim to shield her left shoulder and part of her face from the mudroom door. This was the best she could do to protect herself, and judging by the holes in the trim above her head, it wasn’t much. Oh yes—sandbags protected her feet.

  Wonderful.

  All compounded by the fact that she had no idea what had happened in the kitchen. She heard a ton of shooting, then nothing. Her radio was somewhere in the sitting room, detached from the earpiece that still dangled from her ear.

  It didn’t matter at this point. She had a job to do. A shadow slightly darkened the mudroom. Bullets penetrated the door, concentrated on the door handle and deadbolt, and slammed into the wooden shoe storage rack attached to the wall. A few bullets ricocheted in random directions, but most of them plowed into the same one-foot-by-one-foot section of the shoe rack, giving her a solid idea where the shooter was standing. She aimed at the wall to the left of the mudroom door and fired several projectiles through the drywall and siding, hearing a muffled scream from the porch outside.

  A fusillade of bullets tore through the mudroom, forcing her to press into the doorframe as glass, drywall and wood showered the tile floor. A figure rushed in front of the obliterated door, rapidly firing his rifle at shoulder height into the mudroom. She placed the holographic sight’s reticle center mass and fired as he kicked the door loose of the locking mechanisms. A second man wasted no time following the door in, proficiently advancing and firing through the mudroom door and kitchen entryway. Kate’s rifle killed him before he realized his mistake.

  A cylindrical gray object glanced off the door and bounced on the tile, rolling in her direction. She had no idea what it was and had no intention of finding out. All she knew was that when people threw things during a gunfight, they usually exploded. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted through the kitchen doorway, colliding with Alex.

  ***

  Four bullet holes dimpled the right side of the refrigerator in a tight pattern facing the mudroom. Alex depressed the bolt release button, chambering a round from a fresh magazine, and switched hands in anticipation of firing onto the porch from a position on the right side of the kitchen doorway. Kate burst through the opening as he arrived, knocking him into the broken pantry door, which crashed to the floor.

  “Grenade!” she yelled, yanking him toward the sandbags.

  Alex stumbled for a few steps, gaining his balance in time to push Kate over the side of the safe box onto the Walkers. As soon as she disappeared, he dove behind the sandbags and waited for the explosion. A few seconds later, when the house didn’t shake, Alex clambered to the corner of the safe box and aimed at the mudroom. Thick, red smoke poured into the house, followed by several .223 bullets fired from men positioned around the doorframe. He fired back, but his hastily delivered bullets failed to find targets. Focused semiautomatic fire forced Alex to stick his rifle around the sandbag corner and fire Jihadi style for the first time in his life. He emptied the magazine and scurried around the other side of the box, reloading as he approached the far end of the kitchen island.

  The mudroom fusillade continued as Alex checked the kitchen island corner and confirmed that he was screened from the mudroom doorway by the refrigerator. He edged along the stainless-steel appliance, plotting his next move. He could stick his rifle past the refrigerator and blast away, hoping that the shock of the unexpected, close-up blasts sparked a panicked retreat, but then what? Charge into the mudroom? He had no idea how many men waited for him. As the scarlet smoke intensified, he decided to wait for the marines—if the enormous detonation he’d heard a few minutes ago hadn’t taken them out of the picture. He just hoped Kate and the Walkers stayed in the safe box. A dark cylindrical object arced past the refrigerator, on a trajectory that flushed his decision down the proverbial toilet.

  If the grenade landed in the safe box, Kate and Ed’s family would panic, jumping right into the sights of several militia guns. Alex lurched past the refrigerator, pressing the trigger twice before slamming into the pantry shelves. Dropping to the floor, he aimed up at the right side of the doorway and fired at a dark red mass behind a protruding barrel. A foot stepped into the kitchen, and Alex shifted his rifle left, firing again into the opaque cloud. Confused voices and jumbled commands quickly turned into return fire. Alex felt a bullet connect with his upper right chest, knocking him flat on his back. Another grazed his left thigh. He brought the mangled HK416 over his chest and fired the rest of his magazine into the smoke.

  Chapter 41

  EVENT +75:33

  Limerick, Maine

  Jeffrey Brown crouched at the tree line, ready to sprint to the house, when his radio crackled.

  “Brown, we can’t break through the mudroom. Request permission to withdraw,” said a coughing voice over heavy gunfire.

  Thick plumes of red smoke billowed out of the mudroom door, hitting the porch ceiling and dispersing over the roof into the stark blue sky. The idiots weren’t supposed to pull the pin on the smoke grenade.

  “I’m on my way. How many men do you have left that can fight?”

  “Two, including myself.”

  “Copy. Pull back. Head north for the secondary extraction point,” he said and pressed the alternate frequency button. “Liberty Actual, this is Liberty Three, the breach failed. Heading to secondary extract.”

  “Liberty Actual copies. Get as many out as you can. Pick up the thirty-cal on your way out. It’s in the trees directly across from the leftmost, ground-floor window.”

  “Copy. I’m moving.”

  Two men stumbled down the porch stairs, coughing as they stopped to pick up their wounded squad mate. Brown stepped into the tall grass beyond the trees, but the sound of diesel engines stopped him. He dropped into the brush and crawled back to the trees as a dark blur crashed through the metallic gate fifty feet to his right. Two angular gray tactical vehicles burst into the clearing and raced toward the house. Brown crawled faster as the turret-mounted machine guns chattered in tandem, trading off deadly bursts that killed the last of his men.

  Punching through the foliage, he risked a glance back at the house. Marines dismounted from both vehicles, firing single shots into the corpses lying on the gravel. One of the vehicles backed up and drove across the front of the house, heading toward the barn. He swung his scoped AR-10 toward the clearing, wanting desperately to take a shot, but there was no point. Killing one of them was a death sentence, even if he targeted the turret gunners.

  The former ranger slowly eased his way deeper into the forest. He should be dead with his men, but his choice of rifles bizarrely kept him alive. With Daniel Boone and that crazy-looking bitch raining accurate fire down on his men, the .308 caliber AR-10 quickly became their golden ticket to cross open ground. He’d survived for a reason—which started to crystalize as he reached a safe distance from the clearing.

  Chapter 42

  EVENT +75:34

  Limerick, Maine

  A low-pitched roar competed with the high, ringing tone in his ears, breaking the relative silence that had descended on the mudroom for several seconds. Alex flinched when long, tightly spaced bursts of automatic fire erupted in front of the house. He pulled a fresh magazine from one of the pouches on his vest and released the empty, which clattered on the hardwood floor. Hands trembling, he inserted the curved polymer magazine and released the bolt, ready for any militia that survived the Matvees M240s—however doubtful that might be. He lay on his back, pointing his rifle into the smoke, until he started to hear single rifle shots. It was over.

  “Sta
y where you are! Let the marines clear the house. Ryan. Linda, acknowledge,” he rasped, crawling toward them.

  Just one asshole with a trigger pull left in him could steal a life. The marines were making sure they didn’t, one bullet at a time.

  “Copy. Marines clearing the house,” said Ryan.

  “I need to check on Ryan!” Kate called, and he saw her head emerge from the sandbags.

  “He’s fine! Stay where you are!”

  Samantha Walker’s face appeared next, quickly finding Ed.

  “Ed!” she screamed, climbing over the side and scrambling into the foyer.

  “Everyone needs to stay—”

  Kate jumped out next, running toward the stairs.

  “Damn it, Kate!”

  “I’m checking on Ryan!”

  “I’m fine, Mom!” Ryan yelled from upstairs.

  Two heads emerged from the safe box at the sound of Ryan’s voice.

  “Heads down!” he barked at Chloe and Daniel Walker. “Where’s the grenade?”

  “I threw it on the porch when it landed in the box,” said Samantha.

  Alex leaned his head over the side of the sandbags. The Walker kids were shaking.

  “Sorry about that, guys. I need you to stay in here until the house is cleared. Your dad’s hurt, but he’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “I need the first aid kit!” yelled Kate.

  “Throw us the first aid kit, Chloe!” screamed Samantha.

  “Keep it down,” Alex hissed from the sandbag wall.

  “Dad?” he whispered.

  “Still ticking,” said Tim Fletcher from a hidden position in the great room.

  He slid over to the basement door and put his head near one of the large holes.

  “Nice shooting, Mom. Everyone all right down there?”

  “We’re fine. How is my grandson?” Amy responded.

  “He sounds fine. Stay put for now.”

  A brown tactical-style backpack hit the floor next to him, billowing drywall powder in his face.

  “Thanks.” He coughed, grabbing the pack and crawling next to Ed and Samantha.

  “What are we looking at here?” he said, unzipping the bag and removing two flat, sealed packets.

  “It doesn’t look good,” Samantha said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I’m fine, honey,” insisted Ed, squeezing her hand. “It just hurts like a motherf—”

  “He sounds fine and looks fine.” Alex noticed a small pool of blood on the floor under Ed’s buttocks.

  “And he’s not bleeding badly. That’s a good thing. How does your ass feel, buddy?”

  “Like I sat on a nail.”

  “We can definitely fix this,” Alex said.

  He heaved the pack behind Samantha’s back toward Kate, who had turned Charlie onto his stomach and propped his left leg against the front door. She sat under the leg, pressing on his calf. The amount of blood on the floor in the foyer was unsettling, but not indicative of life-threatening arterial damage. Through sidelights next to the door, he saw one of the Matvees cruise past the house, headed west. The gray vehicle reappeared in the great room windows and stopped in the backyard between the barn and the house.

  “Kate, use one of the QuikClot dressings and tape it up tight. The marines will take care of the rest. Ryan’s good?”

  “I haven’t seen him, but he sounds good,” said Kate, digging through the medical bag. “Emily is fine with your mother?”

  Alex smiled at Kate and nodded. “Mom has them locked down tight.”

  “Let me see the wound here,” he said, gently moving Ed’s hand. “Definitely the entry, which means…”

  He pushed Ed’s right thigh up a few inches and stuck his head against the floor.

  “Through and through. Lucky guy,” said Alex, tearing open one of the packets and handing it to Samantha.

  “I don’t feel very lucky,” grimaced Ed.

  “Lucky it wasn’t your head. Sam, could you slide that trauma pad under his head, I mean ass? I get the two confused,” he said, winking at Ed.

  “Was he like this in Boston?” asked Samantha.

  “Worse,” replied Ed, wincing as Alex lowered his buttock against the hemostatic pad.

  Samantha held out the second pad for Alex.

  “Press this firmly into his thigh,” he said, moving out of the way. “It’ll stop the bleeding. I need to check on Linda.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “No idea. She stopped answering her radio,” he said, walking toward the stairs.

  “Stop! Hands on your head!” bellowed a voice through the sitting room.

  Alex complied, glancing through the shattered French doors. A rifle pointed at him from the lower right corner of the sitting room windowsill, locked tightly into a woodland MARPAT battle helmet.

  “Captain Fletcher?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Have all of your people stand fast while we clear the house. Hands visible and clear of any weapons until we positively identify all friendlies. Ooh rah?”

  “Ooh rah,” said Alex.

  “Dad?” called Ryan from their bedroom.

  “Place your rifle on the bed and wait for the marines,” Alex said, leaning his head into the railing behind him. “Linda!”

  “What?” she screamed.

  Everyone made it.

  Alex kept his hands in the air as the first marine appeared, aiming his rifle past the safe box toward the great room. He recognized Corporal Lianez immediately.

  “Lianez, my dad’s by the wood-burning stove.”

  Staff Sergeant Evans appeared on the other side of the kitchen island and aimed at the sandbags. “Hands up. Stand where I can see you.”

  Chloe and Daniel Walker rose slowly, with their hands on their heads. The marine activated his rifle light and swept it through the safe box.

  “These two are clear. Lianez, check the room across from the kitchen table.”

  “On it,” said Lianez, winking at them as he moved forward to check the dining room.

  “Captain Fletcher, what is your dad wearing?” said Evans, aiming his rifle past Lianez.

  “Should be old-school woodland camouflage marine cover.”

  “Check. Any tangos in that room with you, sir?”

  “Negative,” said Tim Fletcher. “I didn’t let any by.”

  Evans turned his point of aim to the covered porch. “That’s a no-shitter. Jesus.”

  A third marine glided through the sitting room, examining the damage to the sandbags and nodding at Alex.

  “Clear in the front room, Staff Sergeant!”

  “Same here,” echoed Lianez.

  “Clear on the first floor,” said Evans, activating his tactical radio. “Lianez, get these two stabilized for transport.”

  “Copy that, Staff Sergeant,” Lianez said, dropping his MARPAT assault pack on the floor next to Ed.

  Staff Sergeant Evans glanced up the stairs.

  “Sir, is there any chance one of them slipped by you and made it upstairs?”

  Alex shook his head. “We stopped them here.”

  PART V

  “Far from Over”

  Chapter 43

  EVENT +75:51

  Limerick, Maine

  Eli Russell stumbled out of the forest with four of Bertelson’s men, nearly collapsing on the dirt road.

  Where the fuck is McCulver?

  Flames leapt from the charred frame of a two-door sedan, superheating each breath of air he greedily sucked into his suffering lungs. He was at his breaking point and needed something to go right. Searching through the dense black smoke, he spotted the extraction vehicles crossing Old Middle Road. Finally. He took a knee and triggered his radio.

  “Liberty Three, this is Actual. We are at the secondary extraction point. What is your location, over?”

  A calm, composed voice responded, “Switch to the emergency frequency. Over.”

  Eli fumbled with the buttons, his fingers slipping from th
e sweat that poured from his hands. “Brown, I need you at the extraction point immediately. If the tactical vehicles catch up with us, we’re done.”

  “You’re good for now, Eli. No marines in pursuit. One of the Matvees is behind the house. The other is in front. Looks like they’re loading up the casualties.”

  “Brown, why are you still there? You were supposed to head north and pick up the thirty-cal.”

  “Northern egress wasn’t an option. I’m sticking. I want to know why I lost an entire squad to some guy wearing a Daniel Boone cap.”

  “What? Never mind. What’s your E and E plan?”

  “I’ll head north in a few hours, tracing Route 5. Radio checks at the top of the hour on channel 18, code 93. How copy, over.”

  “Solid copy. Don’t get caught. Actual, out.”

  Kevin McCulver’s black, matte-finished Bronco sped past the burning wreckage and skidded to a halt in front of them. A mud-spackled red SUV followed, pulling up several feet to the left. He turned to the survivors and signaled for them to get in the SUV. McCulver leaned across the seat and pushed the door open for Eli, who heaved himself into the seat and slammed the door.

  “What the fuck took you so long?”

  “What about Brown?” said McCulver, eyeing the road to the compound.

  “He’ll be fine,” said Eli.

  “Did you see him on the way back?”

  “What is it with the twenty goddamn questions? Back up and get us out of here!”

  “All right,” said McCulver.

  “How about a yes, sir, once in a blue moon?” he said, pounding his right fist into the dashboard.

  Without saying a word, his second in command navigated the truck onto Old Middle Road and sped west, with the rest of the convoy falling in behind.

  “Are all of the drivers on your radio net?” asked Eli, lifting the handheld radio from the drink holder.

  “Yes, sir,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be a smart ass, Kevin.”