Plan B: Revised (Siege of New Hampshire Book 1)

by Mic Roland

  “Good good. So maybe you could stay with the Mendes for a couple days until…”

  “No, His little house is full. Grandmother, Mother-in-law, his sister and her kids, a nephew and his kids.”

  “Oh. I see. Any other neighbors?”

  Susan turned away from the fire with her eyes shut tight. “No. I hardly ever see any of them. They’re all strangers.”

  “Okay, well, what about friends somewhere else in the city? I’d be happy to help carry your…”

  “No. No friends in the city.” Her voice turned impatient. “I moved here from Marlboro six months ago. I had a couple friends out there, but not here.”

  His Good Samaritan detour was turning into quicksand. “Oh. Um. Geez. Marlboro. I don’t think that’s gonna be possible, at least not by tonight. What about co-workers? Does, um…Laurie live in town?”

  “I don’t know where she lives. We don’t talk personal that much, okay?” She snapped.

  Martin felt neck-deep in the quicksand. He pulled at his collar. As much as he did not like pressing the matter, he felt he had no choice. He could not just resume his travels north and abandon her out on the streets. Helping meant prying questions at a bad time. He swallowed hard and went on.

  “How about family?” He recalled her saying her parents lived in Ohio, but perhaps there was a sister or an aunt nearby.

  “No! There’s no one!” She started to shout, but dialed back her tone. “I’m all alone out here, okay? There’s nobody. After my stupid boyfriend…EX-boyfriend… He said it was over between us, but I was the one who had to leave. His condo. His car. He got to keep our friends. I got nothing!” Her eyes flashed with rage, but got moist a moment later. Her voice sank to a whisper. “He said we were forever.”

  Martin felt like an animal stuck in a snare. Usually, when things went wrong — a broken fan belt, a ruptured water pipe, his mind quickly figured up some Plan B. This time, however, his knack for Plan B thinking had abandoned him. He had no idea how to actually help her.

  Susan wiped her eye with the back of her hand, sniffed hard and straightened up. “I had to start all over. So I did. I found a job at the bank downtown. I found this cute little place to start over…”

  She looked back at the burning Victorian and paused. “That was my…new life.” She closed her eyes tightly and shook off a sob. Martin felt awkward. What does one say? He started to put an arm around her, but stopped. That felt even more awkward.

  “Um…I’m sorry. I didn’t know about…I mean, I’m sorry about your house. But, we have to, you know, find you someplace to stay. There’s nothing we can do here. Let me help you with your stuff.”

  He picked up the coat and sweaters and rolled them into the canvas bag. He felt relieved at having a task he could do — some way to help. With some cord from his bag, he lashed the canvas bag and duffle to the roller bag’s long handle. He stood up to survey his progress. The roller bag bundle was bulky, but a fairly manageable load. His minor feeling of success faded away when he realized it was also all she had now.

  His Plan B intuition returned. A hotel! She had recommended that he stay in a hotel instead of walking.

  “You could stay in a hotel until you found a new apartment. How’s that sound?”

  Susan did not respond.

  “We should get you a hotel room to stay in,” Martin repeated.

  “Hmm.”

  Martin took that as agreement. He realized that someone should know what he was doing. He told Mr. Mendes that he was going to find a hotel for Susan. He left his name, address and cell phone number with Mr. Mendes. Cell phones were useless at the time, but he wanted to leave some sort of record, in case someone came looking for her. Though, from what she said, who would that be?

  He pulled at Susan’s elbow to start her walking away from the fire. “I saw a Holiday Inn down the street when we were coming under 93. What do you say we go get you a room there? Hmm? You’ll have a bed for the night, get some rest.”

  “Sure,” she said flatly.

  They walked slowly, and silently, for a couple blocks. Martin had to portage Susan’s bag bundle on his head to get through the stalled traffic. A frustrated policeman was trying to clear an intersection, but with little success. Each opening he created was quickly filled by some other driver who thought the open space was for them. The cats refused to herd.

  Martin felt uncomfortable. A Boy Scout does not lead a woman, whom he barely knew, to some unknown place. It felt like all kinds of wrong. Someone else needed to know. “Maybe you should text your dad and let him know you’ll be in a hotel tonight,” Martin suggested.

  Susan did not respond at first, but eventually pulled out her phone. She looked at the screen, then showed it to Martin.

  “Oh, no signal. Well, you could try again later. You should let him know. He worries, you said.”

  “Hmm.” She dumped her phone back in her purse.

  As they made their way through the lines of cars that filled Washington Street, Martin could see a fire engine several blocks up the street. Flashing lights, siren, it was the very image of urgency, but it was not moving. The way the big red truck towered over its surroundings of gray, white and beige car roofs, it looked to Martin like an automotive reenactment of Shackleton’s ship Endurance, trapped in the polar ice.

  If that fire company is trying to get to Wheeler Street, they won’t find much left by the time they get there, he thought. Pessimism is not good for sharing, so he kept that thought to himself.

  “Hey look, there’s that Holiday Inn I saw.” Martin tried to sound upbeat. Susan did not look up, but trudged along beside him, eyes down.

  Several clumps of people stood under the carport in front of the hotel lobby as if it were at a neighborhood barbecue. The lobby itself was full of people standing in pairs and trios, cocktail party fashion. People sat on every chair. They sat upon the tables and even the planters. People sat along all the walls with bags or boxes beside them. The lobby looked more like an airport gate of a long-delayed flight. The air was heavy, humid and smelled of perspiration.

  Martin pulled Susan to one side of the lobby doors. “It’s really crowded in here. How about you wait here, with your bag, and I’ll go see about a room for you.” Susan didn’t look up or answer, but took the handle of her roller bag.

  Martin stepped over the legs of people sitting along the walls, and through clusters of people standing around. The desk clerk seemed very busy writing things on loose paper. “Excuse me? Um. Excuse me? Hi. I’d like a room?”

  The clerk scoffed, but composed himself. “Ahem. No sir. No rooms.”

  “None? Don’t you usually…”

  “None at all. I was three-quarters booked with a convention before the power went out. Between conventioneers, stranded travelers and locals who think they should stay in a hotel ‘cuz their house doesn’t have power… We don’t have any power either. Why is this better? I don’t know. Anyhow, people have been pouring in here all morning, offering cash for a room. I’ve been booked solid since 10:30.”

  “Alright then. How about another hotel in the area?” Martin asked.

  “Don’t count on it, pal,” offered a man in a rumpled tan suit. “I’ve been working my way out from the center of town all morning. Marrott’s full. They sent me to the Sonesta. They were full. ‘Try the Marlow on the river,’ they said. Full. Marlow said I should try the Hampton. I schlep all the way over there, but wouldn’t ya know, they’re full too. Hampton guy told me to try the Holiday Inn, but it’s the same story. Full. My next try’s the La Quinta.”

  “Without phones,” the clerk added. “I’ve got no way of knowing who has rooms or not. My ‘Spidey Sense’ hasn’t picked up any vibrations of empty rooms either. You’re kinda on your own.”

  “Look,” Martin’s tone was more impatient than angry. “That young lady over there needs a room. Her apartment house just burned down and she’s got no friends in town, no family, nowhere to stay. Don’t you have something? Anything?�
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  The clerk scowled, raised a jabbing finger at Martin, but glanced at Susan. Her orphan look melted him. His arm dropped to his side.

  “Aw crud. I wish I could help, but I’ve got nothing. The conference rooms are full of people camping out. I’ve been letting people hang out here in the lobby and along the halls, but as you can see, that’s pretty full too. Truth is, if the fire marshall came in here, he’d go ballistic and order everyone out. I’m already on thin ice as it is. What I can tell you is that some people with rooms have been doubling up, kinda like subletting. I’m not supposed to allow that, but what can I say?”

  A portly man, face glistening, sidled up to Martin. “Pardon me, but I couldn’t help overhearing. You say the little lady over there is in desperate need of a place to stay?”

  “Yeah?,” said Martin cautiously. Is this guy part of the hotel staff?

  “We would hate to see anyone left out on the streets during a crisis like this, especially when we had the means to help them.”

  “We?” Martin asked.

  The glistening man pointed with the neck of his beer bottle. “Yes, that’s Jimbo, my associate, over there by the windows. We’re in town for the medical devices convention, so we’ve already got a room. We’re…doctors, ya see.”

  Dr. Jimbo?

  “Our room has two big beds, ya see. It was Jimbo and his…wife in one and me in the other.”

  Martin could only see Jimbo having a hearty laugh with two other portly men. No Mrs. Jimbo.

  “So I figured he and I could double up in one and the little lady could double up with Jimbo’s wife.” The glistening man beamed proudly at his clever generosity.

  Mrs. Jimbo doesn’t have a name? Martin’s “Spidey Sense” shouted: No Way.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I think we’ll look for something else.”

  The glistening man’s smile dropped. “So, what are you, her brother or something?”

  “No, I’m just a guy trying to help….” Martin turned to look towards Susan.

  The man took advantage of Martin’s distracted attention to elbow him aside. “We’ll just let the lady decide for herself.”

  This is definitely bad, Martin thought.

  Martin stumbled over someones legs. The sweaty man got to Susan before Martin did.

  “Excuse me, Miss, but I hear you need a place to stay.”

  Susan’s eyes came up and brightened. “Oh?”

  “No. No she doesn’t.” Martin inserted himself between the man and Susan, grabbed the handle of her bag with one hand, her elbow with the other. “Come on, Susan, we have to go now.”

  The man grabbed Martin by the shoulder. “Hey Pal. Mind your own business.”

  Martin reflexively batted the man’s hand off his shoulder. The man looked indignant for a moment, then reeled back to throw a punch.

  Maybe it was the way the man took a little half step back, or maybe it was something else, but the thought flashed across Martin’s mind: off balance. With his hand still in front of him, he made a quick jab to push the man in the chest. The glistening man started to topple backwards. He took faltering steps back, arms flailing, and stumbled against another man. While the two were entangled, Martin pushed open the door and ushered Susan out.

  Once outside, he pulled the disoriented Susan and her bag across the parking lot, through the line of trees and up the street. He looked back to be sure the man was not following them. He was not.

  The air outside felt cool and refreshing. Susan looked around. “Hey. Where are we going? Did you push that man?”

  Martin hesitated. “Let’s just say he was being a jerk and needed a push.”

  “Why? What did he do?

  “Never mind.” Martin mumbled.

  Susan stopped and gasped. “Oh my god. My apartment is gone. I can’t go home. I have no home. The fire…”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry we couldn’t save more of your stuff.”

  “No no no. We were crazy to go in there at all. We could have been killed!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I thought we had a little time. We had to save something. At least you have your important papers, photos, and some clothes. Sorry about your furniture and dishes and all.”

  Susan waved off his apology. “The furniture came with the apartment. The clothes, well, I can get more. But where am I going to stay? I don’t have any place to stay. I don’t know anybody in town.”

  “Right. That’s why we came here, to the Holiday Inn, remember? I said I’d help carry your bags to a hotel?”

  Susan’s brow furrowed. “When did you say that? Never mind. But if that’s why we came here, why did we leave?”

  Martin did not have any easy answers, but was relieved to hear her using more than monosyllables. He thought it best to skip the part about the sweaty man.

  “They were all full up. We’ll have to look somewhere else.”

  “Full. Oh. I see. Look somewhere else. Hmm. I have to find a place to stay. I can’t just stay out on the streets tonight. Oh, I remember. There’s a Hampton-something down on McGrath. I walked past it a few times. Here. It’s down this way.”

  “Hold on. A guy back in Holiday Inn said hotels downtown were full, so they sent him to the Hampton. It was full too. Hampton sent him to Holiday Inn. Apparently, all the stranded people in Boston are working their way out from the center of town: all looking for a place to stay tonight.”

  “What? Shoot. All the other hotels I know about are downtown.” Her shoulders slumped. “If all the hotels are full, that probably means a shelter, but I really don’t want that.”

  “Can’t blame you there. Another reason why I’m walking. But don’t give up yet. There are more hotels.” Martin slung his backpack around to dig out his map. He was glad she was finally focusing on the problem at hand. The situation felt like a Good Samaritan deed again, and not a creepy abduction.

  “That guy said he was going on to the La Quinta. I know where that one is. It’s north of here, beside 93. I’ve never stayed there. Just pass by it every day. Not a fancy place from the look of it, but fairly new.” Martin studied his map.

  “La Quinta, huh? Sure, I could go there.” Susan sounded like she was trying to sell herself on the idea. “That would be okay. I just need someplace — a room. Get some sleep and figure out what I do next. Huh. Looks like I’m starting over — again.”

  Martin studied his map. “Hmm. If we go up this road, Mount Vernon, Broadway. That connects with Mystic Ave. Then up to this triangle here. That should be where La Quinta is.”

  Susan stepped in front of him and faced him, somewhat sheepishly. “Umm. I don’t remember much after…the fire got… but I do remember yelling at you…back there.” She pointed towards the smoke above the rooftops, but did not look in that direction. “That wasn’t right…”

  “Don’t worry about it. You were just upset, that’s all. Totally understandable.”

  “Thanks. I really do appreciate you helping me find a hotel. But you need to be getting home too. I don’t want to keep you from…”

  Martin raised a hand to cancel her concern. “Not a problem. I can’t just leave you on the streets, all stranded, now can I? What kind of Boy Scout would that make me? I’ll help get you to a room. Then I’ll head home. Besides, La Quinta is right on my way. See?” He pointed to the yellow highlighter line beside his finger on the map. “A win-win.”

  “Oh.” Susan’s worried look softened with hints of a smile. “Cool.”

  Martin felt encouraged. “You’re right. After a good night’s rest, you can see what the situation is with your old place, find out when the bank is open, etc. So, it’s not like you’re starting over completely from scratch.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. Not quite from scratch. I do have my job, and my test coming up. These are just wrinkles along the way — some really really big wrinkles.”

  As they portaged back across the several lanes of Washington, Martin glanced up the street. Endeavor was still trapped in the ice. T
he walk up Mount Vernon was more of the same weaving around gridlocked cars. Martin noticed Susan deliberately looking in the opposite direction of the rising smoke beyond. He wanted to make distracting conversation. The task of finding passages through the cars, however, proved distraction enough.

  “Wait a minute,” Susan said at one point. “You’re pulling all my stuff and carrying your own. I’m not carrying anything.”

  “So?”

  “So, that’s not right. It’s my stuff. I should be carrying it.” She grabbed the roller bag handle away from him. The weight of it surprised her a little, but she put on an oh-this-is-nothing face and walked on.

  “Okay, but if you get tired, you just say something,” Martin said as he caught up to her.

  With his hands free again, Martin checked his phone. None of the news sites would load. No email servers. No messages. The last tweet was over an hour old. His other feeds were even older. They reported nothing new: power out all over, there were many wild theories for why. The #SasquatchUprising thread proved that even in the midst of a national crisis, some people still did not have enough to do. The theory that al-Qaeda used a thousand little radio-controlled planes to simultaneously crash into power lines, was at least technological, even if absurd. His phone still had two bars of signal, so he tried to send a couple more short text messages.

  “Mon.2:45pm. Pwr out here. How u doing? -dad”

  “Mon.2:47pm. Pwr out here. U & Judy ok? -dad”

  “Mon. 2:50pm. Somrvil. Doing ok but slo. Going 2 hitch on 93.”

  “Texting home?” Susan asked.

  “Yes. I have no idea if she’ll get it or not. Most cell towers have backup power, but some less than others. One of them nearby must still be working. I’m getting two bars. Even then, who knows if the network behind them still has power?”

  “Who is ‘she’? Your wife?”

  “Yes. Margaret.”

  “Oh.” They walked for a full block without talking.

  He could picture Margaret getting the house ready for a night without power, hauling up a couple armloads of firewood, getting the oil lamps topped up and positioned. She would probably have one of her frozen tubs of soup thawing for supper. He had not received a text from her. Did she try to text him, but the system was down? Was she worried about him? He mentioned his Plan B to walk home only once. Her scoff was a few points shy of encouraging.