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

by Mic Roland

  Martin felt uncomfortable with the silence. “She’s probably worried about me, and afraid I’ll do something dumb like walk home.” He chuckled at his own irony.

  “She’d be right. It is a dumb idea.” Susan muttered to herself and shook her head. “Walking fifty miles.”

  “I prefer to think of it as Bold or Brave or maybe Daring.” He struck a heroic pose, as if he had a cape to flap in the wind.

  Susan rolled her eyes. “No. She’s right. It’s dumb.”

  The hero pose collapsed. “Hey, I’d rather not walk either, but waiting could be worse. She wouldn’t like it if I got stuck down here for days…or longer.”

  Susan just frowned disapprovingly. “What is it with you and waiting?”

  More quiet walking made the blocks pass slowly.

  “So, do you and Margaret have any kids?”

  “Two. Dustin just graduated college and got married. He’s up north. Lindsey is out in Wisconsin going to college, in her second year.” Martin felt like the rules of conversation dictated that he then ask her about her home and family situation, but he had already run afoul of those topics. The weather? The Red Sox? No good alternative topics came to mind, so he accepted the awkward silence.

  He wondered how his son and daughter were getting along. From the sounds of things, they were probably without power too. As kids, they seemed to enjoy the periodic winter outages: board games played by oil lamp, s’mores in the open wood stove. Martin could imagine them both seeing this massive outage as another no-electricity adventure, though he felt that this outage was going to become more trouble than adventure.

  “My bag seems kind of heavy,” Susan said after a while. “Even with wheels.”

  “This stretch is somewhat uphill. Want me to take it awhile?” Martin offered.

  “No, no, I can manage. But, can we take a little rest? My feet are killing me.”

  Martin wanted to keep going. The day was already three-quarters spent and he was still in the city, more or less. His plans for a three mile per hour pace were not panning out. But, he had no defense against big sad eyes.

  “Okay, but we shouldn’t rest too long. We’re not there yet. You can have a good long rest when we get you to La Quinta.”

  Susan draped herself over the concrete steps of a shabby yellow house close to the street. Martin did not want to admit it, but getting off his feet did feel good.

  “Maybe you should change out of your work shoes,” he suggested. “I put a pair of sneakers in your duffle.”

  “That’s okay,” said Susan. “We’re only going a little further, right? I just need a break.”

  He began to visualize the rest of his day. After his Boy Scout duty was done, he would hitchhike on 93. Ideally, he would find someone bound for New Hampshire who could drop him off at the exit near the bus station and his truck. If all went well, he might still be home by dark and enjoying some of Margaret’s soup. The sooner they got going again, the sooner he could be home. Margaret had been through enough outages to know what to do in the short term. Martin wanted to get started on longer-term arrangements around the house in case the outage lasted more than a week.

  “How about we trade bags?” suggested Martin. “It’s like cross training. Uses different muscles.” Susan looked skeptical, but agreed.

  The traffic at the Broadway intersection was more troublesome to cross.

  “Whoa!” said Martin. “I think I liked gridlock better. This traffic is moving just enough to get scary. A gap appears, and someone rushes up to fill it.”

  “Over here. Quick” Susan shouted. They bolted through a gap caused by a distracted driver. The driver looked up and honked long and loud. Another car nosed into the gap he left. The driver was shouting something out his window, but Martin and Susan ignored him as they walked briskly between the lanes.

  “I feel like I’m in a giant 3D game of Frogger,” Martin said. “Over here. Behind the blue car.” They ran through.

  Once under the 93 overpass, they paused for a shared sigh of relief. Mystic Ave, however, was yet another Frogger river.

  “Tell you what. Let’s stay on this left side. It’s a bit bleak and we’ll have to go single file, but we can avoid those intersections up ahead.”

  Susan nodded wearily.

  Martin looked back at Susan as he walked in the lead. “La Quinta is a bit further from downtown, so maybe it won’t be full. But it should be near bus service — when they can get the streets clear enough for busses to run again.”

  “That would be good,” Susan half-shouted up to Martin. Horns and driver shouts echoed off the concrete wall of 93’s elevated deck. “I’ll have be able to get in to work when they reopen the bank. Take my test.”

  At one dark traffic light, two cars sat locked with crumpled fenders. One car steamed. Their drivers stood on opposite sides, flailing their arms at each other. The rest of the traffic tried to creep around them, creating gaps in the flow.

  “Look,” Martin hollered back. “See the sign up there?”

  “Yes.”

  “We should cross now. You ready?” She nodded. They managed to cross all three lanes without breaking stride. The drivers were either being kinder, or Martin and Susan were getting better at Frogger.

  “Oh hey. That’s good to see.” Susan pointed between two low brick buildings. “That glass building back there? That’s the Orange Line’s Assembly Square stop. That’s pretty close to the hotel, actually. This will work out great. I can get a good night’s sleep and when the power comes back on, and the T is running. I can get back in to the bank almost as fast as I did before.”

  They made a beeline for the hotel, over curbs and grassy strips and up through the rear parking lot.

  “I am so ready for a huge long nap,” Susan said. “I don’t remember being this tired in a long time.”

  “This place won’t have power either,” Martin cautioned. “But at least you’ll have a bed. Should still have water pressure for a while, I’d think, so you can clean up — with cold water anyhow.”

  Susan laughed softly. “Cold is fine. I just want to get off my feet. I need some quiet time to clear my head.”

  “You know,” she continued. “Maybe you should get a room here too. Walking to New Hampshire still sounds crazy to me. What could be so bad about waiting until tomorrow? Things are bound to get better in a couple days.”

  “Thanks, but I still don’t like waiting.” Martin said. He did not think things would get better in a day, or maybe even a week, for that matter. He had no clear notion of why the roads had become impassible, but it seemed imprudent not to travel while it was still possible.

  Susan frowned at him. “I don’t see the big deal about waiting.”

  “That’s okay,” said Martin. “Just call me crazy. The important thing is that we’re here at La Quinta, and you will have a place to stay.”

  Martin smiled at the prospect that his Good Samaritan detour was nearly done. He visualized her happy smile upon hearing there was a room for her. He imagined that he would shake her hand, wish her well, and perhaps say something upbeat like, hope to see you at the bank again soon. He would try to end their joint adventure on a positive note about the future — her future. Then, he could get going and maybe catch a ride up to his truck.

  They rounded the corner to the front of the building, but stopped cold. Something was wrong. A sizable crowd stood around the lobby door. Many of them were shouting. Martin could not make out what they were shouting, but the tone was unmistakably angry. Others stood braced, as if expecting a strong gust of wind.

  “What’s going on? Susan asked.

  Just then, a man in a tan suit came sailing backwards out the double doors. He landed on his back and rolled.

  “Hey, that’s the guy from Holiday Inn I was telling you about.” Two other men came running out, trying to grab the tan-suit man. A man and a woman in the crowd pulled at the two men, not so much to save the man in tan as a chance to get in some licks of their own. The
melee broke up into smaller schoolyard scuffles of three or four people, slapping, kicking and pulling at each other’s clothes. One of them made a break for the lobby doors. The other fights ceased and their combatants also rushed for the doors.

  “What the heck?” Martin asked rhetorically. His visions of smiles and handshakes clearly had no place here.

  The doors flew open and two different people were pushed out. An opportunist from the parking lot crowd pulled them out of the way and ran into the open doors. The less ambitious in the crowd shouted and shook fists from a safer distance.

  Susan stared in disbelief. “What on earth are they fighting about?”

  “Got me. I really didn’t think things would get bad that fast.”

  “What do you mean ‘get bad that fast’?”

  “Brian thought the city would go all chaotic soon after a crisis. Sometimes, when we were working late, he’d talk about how he figured people in the city would go crazy if the system ever broke. How, just a few days without power, water and food, hoards of starving city people would totally freak out — fights, riots and…” Martin decided he should stop there.

  “A few days?” Susan said. “The power hasn’t even been out for one whole day yet. These people haven’t hardly had time to get hungry, let alone starving.”

  “True. This can’t be what Brian talked about. Maybe it’s more like too many Type-A personalities in the same place at the same time, not finding any rooms here either, they just snapped.”

  “Snapped? More like flipped out! There’s no way I’m going in there,” Susan pointed at the door. “Those people are dangerous.”

  Martin knew she was right. He could not leave her at La Quinta. His Good Samaritan deed was not finished after all. Her trouble finding housing was turning out to be similar to his problem finding a bus or a train. He should have resisted the urge to make a little gotcha dig out if it, but he did not.

  “Hmm.” Martin pulled at his chin. “I suppose you could wait, though.” He put extra emphasis on the word wait. “The fighting is bound to stop eventually. If you waited until things calmed down you could go see if there’s a room.”

  “Wait? That’s crazy. They may only stop fighting when there’s nothing left to fight over. I don’t want to wait. Where is the next hotel?”

  Martin smiled a smug little smile.

  “What?” Susan asked, irritated.

  “You’re sounding like me now.”

  “What? Am not. And walking fifty miles still sounds dumb. I’m talking about maybe a mile more. Totally not the same thing.” Susan peered around the cityscape. “Where is the next hotel?”

  Martin regretted his little irony dig. She was under a lot of stress already and certainly did not need someone making wisecracks. He decided to be all-business the rest of the time and hoped she would forget his lame attempt at humor.

  “Ahem. Well, I hadn’t marked hotels on my little map,” he said. “Maybe I should have. But I do know there’s a Hyatt a couple miles further up 93 in Medford.” He showed her his map. “We’re here, and that Hyatt is right about here, just over the river. 93 is the most direct route.”

  “How far is that?”

  “Two, maybe two and a half miles.”

  “Ugh. I don’t want to sound whiny, but that’s another hour of walking. I’m already tired. I sure hope the Hyatt has a room on a lower floor — no stairs…and no fighting.”

  Martin gazed at the upper deck of 93. “I was planning to hitchhike on 93. Traffic is heavy up there, but moving. That’s better than the lower deck or the surface roads, which are dead-stop. We could hitchhike on 93 and get a ride for the two miles, or walk down here. Which would you rather do? Your call.”

  Susan squinted at the traffic moving at a walking pace on the upper deck. “I’ve never hitchhiked before. Seems risky…”

  “It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming,” Martin interjected.

  “Yeah. But my feet really hurt. I suppose, since you’re coming too, and it’s broad daylight…but if I get the slightest sense of creepy from whoever the driver is, I am not getting in their car. No sketchy vans. No old cars with black windows…”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. No risky rides. Agreed. It’s not like I’d get into some sketchy van either. Over there is the on-ramp. We’d better get started.”

  Martin and Susan walked along in the breakdown lane of 93. All four lanes inched along. Sometimes the cars rolled slightly faster than they were walking. Sometimes traffic stopped and the pair got ahead.

  “I’ve been trying to catch the eye of one of these drivers,” said Martin. “You know, ask-with-my-eyes? But they’re either ignoring us, or we’re become invisible.” He studied his hand against the skyline to check for transparency.

  “These shoes were always so comfortable,” Susan said. “…but then, I don’t think I’ve ever walked this much in them before. I’m beat.”

  Martin spotted a tradesman’s pickup slowly catching up with them. Walsh Bros Remodeling. Manchester, NH. It was an extended cab pickup, so Martin thought they might have room. The truck’s passenger had his window down and elbow on the sill, so it would be harder to ignore him.

  “Hey there, ” Martin called and waved. The man gave a little wave back. “Think you could give a couple of tired travelers a ride?”

  “Ain’t no room. Sorry,” said the young man. “Bed’s full of scrap, and back seat’s full of tools n’ buckets.”

  Those were technicalities, not an outright rejection, so Martin kept up his appeal. Maybe tool buckets could be moved. Maybe sitting on scrap metal would not be so bad. He had a fish on the line. He might as well see if he could reel it in.

  “Oh, well, it’s just that the young lady here is really tired.” It was a blatant appeal to a young man’s chivalry.

  The man shrugged at the impasse. “Sorry. Too much stuff in back.”

  Martin was not ready to give up on a possible ride. A Plan B flashed through his mind.

  “Maybe we could stand on your running boards? Hang onto your pipe rack? We’d settle for that.”

  “We could what?” Susan was taken by surprise. “Ride on the outside? I’ve never ridden on the outside of a truck before. That doesn’t sound safe.”

  “You’d rather walk?” Martin said out of the side of his mouth. “Smile at the nice man.”

  The young man looked skeptical, so Martin tried harder to sell the idea. “Not much can happen at these speeds, right? And we’re not going far. Sure would beat walking.” He felt his smile was too cheesy, but held it.

  The driver and passenger discussed his proposal. Martin and Susan walked faster so as to stay even with the truck and maintain eye contact.

  “Yah, come on up.” The passenger waved them over.

  * * *

  Chapter 4: A ride to the O.K. Corral

  Even catching a metaphorical fish felt great. Martin thanked them over and over as he hefted Susan’s roller bag on top of the tangle of bent metal studs in the bed. He helped her onto the passenger side running board, then climbed up in front of her, beside the open window.

  “We really appreciate this. I’m Martin, by the way. This is Susan.”

  “Hey, no problem,” said the driver. “I’m Leo Walsh. This is my brother David.”

  “The Bridge Street Boys!” David added with a wide grin. Leo smiled too. David said it as though Martin should have heard of them, but he had not. Martin smiled and nodded as if impressed.

  “So, Martin, if things clear up and traffic speeds up, we’ll have to drop you two off,” Leo said.

  “That’s okay. Any progress without walking is a gift. We’re only going up as far as that Hyatt in… hey, is that the news on your radio? Could you turn it up? What do they say about all this?”

  “Not too much,” said Leo, as he fussed with buttons. “Had it on for over two hours, but they just keep repeating the same five minute’s worth of info. Power grid’s down all over. Phones don’t work. Pregnant lady has baby on a train.
Airplanes aren’t falling from the skies, but all flights are cancelled. Emergency this and emergency that. There’s supposed to be a statement by the governor — any minute now — for the past hour.”

  “Turn it up, Leo,” said David. “This might be him.”

  “…has been in close contact with state and local officials….”

  “That’s not the governor,” said David. “That’s just some guy…” Leo shushed him.

  “…reports of widespread failures in the power grid…”

  “Everybody knows that, Einstein…” Leo shushed David again.

  “…crews are working to restore power as soon as possible. Residents are being advised to remain calm and stay wherever they are…”

  “Stay stuck on 93?” David quipped. Leo backhanded David on the shoulder.

  “…The governor’s office is working to get essential services restored as quickly as possible. We are asking the people of the greater Boston area to stay off the streets so emergency personnel can do their jobs. In the event that this outage lasts into the night, residents should secure flashlights and blankets, avoid the use of candles or open flames. The governor will be meeting with federal authorities this evening to map out…”

  Leo shut the radio off. “That was a total waste of time. They don’t know nothin’.”

  “Yeah, but now it’s official,” David said deadpan.

  “Did they say what caused it?” Martin asked.

  “Nah. They keep talking, but they don’t know,” said Leo. “They had some guy on talkin’ about solar storms, but said how a solar storm would wipe out computers and cars should stop dead. He couldn’t explain why cars and computers and phones still worked. Another one said it was caused by greedy power companies skimping on maintenance.”