Point of Crisis (The Perseid Collapse Post Apocalyptic Series)

by Steven Konkoly

  “How do we reverse that trend?”

  “Community outreach. The recruiting station is located next door to the Readiness Brigade’s community assistance center. They distribute limited quantities of food and basic medical supplies on a case-by-case basis to the public. Backing their efforts with a more robust aid package will draw people to the downtown area and the recruiting station.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’d like to get that platoon training together as soon as possible. What else do you have on your plate?”

  “Something related. I’m working loosely with the Sanford Police Department to ease some of their concerns about the RRZ security situation. I’d like to include a few of their reserve police officers in the provisional platoon structure. We may as well add a local law enforcement element to the mix—especially if we plan to deploy standalone teams within the RRZ.”

  “Vesting local law enforcement and militia in the military efforts? Sounds like you’ve done your homework. What about other communities pitching in, or maybe the sheriff’s department?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. Sanford has the biggest police department south of Biddeford, and they’re barely keeping up. The York County Sherriff’s department is spread all over.”

  “See what you can add to the platoon. I like the concept. This is the kind of initiative the RRZ Authority expects from its Marines.”

  “Speaking of initiative, I’d like to go on the offensive against Eli Russell. My gut tells me he’s just getting started. Prior to the attack, he visited several towns around Limerick, stirring up antigovernment feelings. Sounded like a recruiting drive.”

  “Recruitment couldn’t have gone very well. Not if he had to resort to prison inmates.”

  “You should spend a few minutes chatting with the prisoners I delivered. They believe I was planted in Maine by the government. Part of a false-flag operation designed to subjugate the people. You have to admit, it’s a clever story. From an outsider’s perspective, all of this looks highly suspect.”

  “The government didn’t conjure an asteroid, then turn out the lights. We were attacked with a low-orbital EMP device.”

  “How did an asteroid sneak by billions of dollars of technology aimed at detecting near Earth objects one meter in diameter, one hundred years away? I’m just asking a question the RRZ needs to be prepared to answer.”

  “Whoever detonated the EMP device obviously knew about the asteroid. Both hit us at the same time.”

  “Still doesn’t clear the United States of perpetrating a false-flag operation in their minds,” said Alex.

  Grady shook his head and walked to the open bay door. “Have you seen the light show up there? It’s slowed to a trickle now, but it was particularly active four days ago.”

  “We caught some of it. Wasn’t moving fast enough to be a meteor shower.”

  “Rumor has it that we knocked out every Chinese satellite in orbit. My guess is the Chinese hit us with an EMP, and the U.S. wasn’t taking a chance on a follow-up attack.”

  “Still doesn’t explain how an asteroid the size of a small business park evaded detection for so long. Eli’s stories are gaining traction, and we can’t afford him gaining some kind of foothold in southern Maine. I’d like to start regular vehicle patrols and aerial reconnaissance extending north of Limerick.”

  “Air assets are out of the question right now. Every helicopter is tied up with border surveillance and transport missions. You have six vehicles attached to the FOB. That’s the best I can do until we figure out our tasking.”

  “That’s barely enough to scratch the surface! I’m looking at nearly a thousand square miles between Limerick and Route 302, assuming he didn’t go further north. Cached satellite imagery shows hundreds of houses buried in the woods off the established roads. He could be at any one of those sites.”

  “Not if he just liberated a prison.”

  “We have no idea how many prisoners he took. Without more vehicles and helicopters, we’ll be lucky to find him before Christmas.”

  “Unfortunately, much of the battalion’s mission is rather strictly defined by RRZ protocol. Checkpoints, patrol routes, VIP security—the list goes on. You’re lucky to have six vehicles at your disposal. I’m not sure I can meet the battalion’s baseline obligations with the remaining inventory.”

  “Russell’s the only internal security threat on our radar right now. Just saying, sir, if we wait too long, this’ll bite us in the ass. Bite the RRZ in the ass. I can feel it.”

  “I’ll give you what I can, when I can,” said Grady.

  “I hope it’s enough to make a difference.”

  Chapter 23

  EVENT +12 Days

  Bridgton, Maine

  “Slow down a little,” said Eli, nestling a pair of binoculars between the dashboard and the windshield.

  The Welcome to Bridgton sign stood several hundred feet ahead of them, marking the start of a sharp curve that would dump them into the roadblock.

  “You ready?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at McCulver.

  “Strong signal. Ready to go.”

  A red SUV followed closely behind them, filled with the remaining Vikings. As Eli predicted, the last of Jimmy’s criminal brethren had chosen to ride together as the raid’s shock troops. Once through the checkpoint, they would ride ahead into town and attack the police station, cutting off communications to the officers on patrol, or so they thought.

  “You sure we’ll be safe?” Eli asked.

  “Duck if it makes you feel any better,” said McCulver, holding a garage door remote control.

  Eli slid his Colt Commander out of the holster on his thigh and cocked the hammer with his thumb.

  “Start flashing your high beams so we don’t have a blue-on-blue engagement here,” he said, noticing Grizzly’s nervous glance toward the pistol. “Can’t be too careful.”

  Grabbing the binoculars with his free hand, Eli scanned the roadblock. A scoped rifle without a shooter sat on the hood of the same blue pickup truck they had encountered a week ago. A figure dressed in MultiCam utilities and a tactical vest stood behind the roadblock, firing a pistol at someone obscured by a two-door, silver sedan. The sound of gunfire reached the car, causing Grizzly to brake.

  “They’re firing at us!” he blurted.

  “Keep going. It’s something else,” Eli said, pretending to care about what he saw through the binoculars.

  “I told you, Eli. They’re up to something,” said McCulver.

  “Son of a bitch, Kevin. You were right,” muttered Eli.

  “Right about what?” asked Grizzly.

  “Griz, I need you to do exactly what I say. I’ll explain when it’s over.”

  “When what’s over?” he protested, stopping the car.

  “Keep us going, or we’re all dead. Stop right in front of the roadblock, and don’t move the car.”

  “Jesus,” said Grizzly, glancing at the rearview mirror.

  “We have this under control,” said Eli, raising his pistol to the bottom of the door frame. “Please drive forward, and stop at the roadblock.”

  Grizzly eased the car forward, breathing rapidly between panicked statements. Eli hated to put the man through this kind of fabricated stress, but his perception of events, when recounted among the troops, would prove important to his credibility as a morally honest leader and shrewd tactician, two traits he needed magnified to pull off the next phase of his plan. As the car approached, Craig Page squeezed between the roadblock vehicles, grinning wickedly.

  “Eli, I could run him over,” said Grizzly.

  “Negative. We have to do this right, or we’re dead men. Stop right here.”

  Pistol along his right side, Craig jogged forward and leaned in Eli’s window.

  “You see that shit?” he yelled, unaware that Eli’s pistol was pointed at his face.

  “Unfortunately,” said Eli, jamming the pistol beneath Craig’s jaw.

  Before Craig could register a lo
ok of surprise, or betrayal, Eli pressed the trigger, blasting a hole through the top of his skull and snapping his head backward.

  “Duck!” he said, throwing his head down as a deep thump shook their car.

  Eli swung the door open and aimed down the side of his car, sliding against the metal until the red SUV came into view. Through the billowing gray and white smoke, the roof appeared punctured in several places, warped upward from the cabin. The vehicle’s shattered windows littered the road with pieces of bluish-white safety glass. He kept his pistol sighted on the cabin, unable to determine the true effects of the blast through the smoke billowing out of the windows.

  “They’re dead, Eli. Trust me on that. There’s a head on the road about thirty feet back,” said McCulver, pointing beyond the smoldering car.

  “Remind me never to piss you off. I thought you’d blow the whole car,” said Eli.

  “I don’t like to waste explosives. That was a small thermobaric charge, which fit snugly inside the center console compartment. I basically detonated a racquetball-size quantity of magnesium powder inside the car. Nasty shit.”

  “Holy shit. You weren’t kidding about the head,” said Grizzly, stepping out of the car. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Griz, why don’t you drive back to Porter and warn the others? We’ll take the pickup and head to the other checkpoints manned by the rest of these psychopaths. You tell the sentries to shoot on sight if any of them try to get back to the farm.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Only two left after this, but I’ve got regular troops at five other checkpoints. I need to get to them immediately before this spirals out of control. Don’t stop for anyone. Don’t fuck up the passcode on the way in, or they’ll turn the SUV into Swiss cheese.”

  “Roger that. Good luck, sir.”

  “Carry on now, Griz. Hey, sorry you had to see this, but I won’t tolerate the murder of civilians. We’re all in this fight together.”

  “That’s right, sir. I’ll pass the word.”

  “What’s the code?” Eli prompted.

  “Code?”

  “The code to keep your ass from getting shot.”

  “Born to Run. Backstreets,” stated Grizzly.

  “How many flashes?”

  “Track number four. Four flashes.”

  “Good man. Get out of here,” he said, patting him on the back.

  When Eli’s SUV swerved to avoid the blackened head in the middle of the road, McCulver shook his head.

  “He’s not coming with us, is he?”

  “To the new place? I don’t think so. He wouldn’t fit in with that crowd,” said Eli, removing a handheld radio from one of his vest pouches.

  “All cleanup units, this is Liberty Actual. Over.”

  Staticky voices responded, acknowledging his transmission.

  “The northern checkpoint has been neutralized. Commence your runs. Stick to the script. No improvising. I want all units headed back to base within ten minutes. Out,” said Eli.

  “You want to hit the route three-oh-two checkpoint on the way out?” McCulver asked.

  “Not a bad idea. Byrd’s men are good, but you never know with Jimmy’s old crew.”

  Chapter 24

  EVENT +15 Days

  Porter, Maine

  Alex stood in the shade of the two-story pavilion next to the Ossipee Valley Fairgrounds, hiding shamelessly from the late afternoon sun. Transitioning from the Matvee’s cool, crisp environment to the humid August air proved infinitely uncomfortable in full combat gear. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to pull this off in Iraq, where the temperatures routinely soared twenty degrees higher than the hottest day on record in Maine, made worse by a complete lack of air-conditioning in any of their vehicles.

  “Guardian Four-Zero inbound with local contact. ETA one mike,” his squad Motorola crackled.

  “Roger. Break. Guardian Two-Zero, this is Guardian Actual. What is your ETA with Guardian Three-Zero?” radioed Alex.

  “This is Guardian Two-Zero. Five mikes. Over.”

  “Copy. All units meet by the white pavilion inside the front gate.”

  “Sounds like we might have a break,” said Staff Sergeant Evans, scanning deeper into the fairgrounds with binoculars.

  “I hope so. Three days without a sniff of Russell is a little discouraging.”

  “We’ve barely scratched the surface, sir. This is going to take time unless we get lucky.”

  “Tell me about it,” Alex muttered.

  They’d spent almost every daylight hour driving the three main roads heading north toward Route 25. Most of their effort had been focused on areas directly north or northwest of Eli’s previous headquarters, leading them to the towns of Porter and Cornish. Alex planned to stay south of Route 25 and sweep east, canvassing rural roads until they hit Standish. Canvass was the operative term. Each team of two vehicles set out to explore dozens of sites selected the night before using archived satellite imagery. If the team leader spotted an unmarked dirt road or trail, they radioed their position and took a closer look.

  The process was slow and tedious, requiring an entire day to thoroughly investigate a fifteen-square-mile area. By his calculation, they had nine hundred square miles to search before reaching Route 302. Sixty days. Eli Russell wasn’t going to wait sixty days.

  A tan Matvee appeared on Route 25, racing toward the fairgrounds’ entrance with a promising lead: a local claiming to have seen a few vehicles pull deep into the fairgrounds eleven days ago. Same day as the attack in Limerick. Alex highly doubted Eli Russell picked the fairgrounds as his headquarters, but he wasn’t discounting the possibility that a small cell had remained behind for surveillance or to serve as a radio relay. Jeffrey Brown’s notebook suggested the use of a mobile communications network, which made sense given the geographic separation between Sanford and points north of Limerick. They’d sweep the grounds and surrounding trees with all four vehicles just to be sure.

  The most likely scenario here involved Eli using the fairgrounds as a staging area or rally point while a new base of operations was established. It suggested they would find Eli north of Route 25, but that wasn’t a guarantee. The Ossipee fairgrounds could have been established as a fallback point well before the Limerick raid. Unless the eyewitness saw the bulk of Eli’s vehicles headed in a particular direction, Alex couldn’t draw any conclusions or make any assumptions about the location of Eli’s hideout.

  Alex walked into the scorching sun and met Sergeant Keeler’s tactical vehicle in front of the pavilion, noticing a mountain bike strapped to the side. Keeler hopped out of the front passenger seat and opened the door behind him. A stocky, gray-haired man wearing faded jeans and a yellow short-sleeve button-down shirt jumped down to the dirt road, kicking up a shallow cloud of dust.

  “Perry Gerson. Hope I can be of some help with this, Captain,” said the man, extending a hand, which Alex gladly accepted.

  “Alex Fletcher. Any help at this point is highly appreciated. Prior service?” said Alex, shaking his hand.

  “Army staff sergeant. Infantry. Last tour was with 1st battalion, 6th Infantry. An IED sent me home with two broken legs and a permanent back injury.”

  “Ramadi 2006?”

  Gerson nodded with a confused look on his face.

  “He’s like a walking encyclopedia of the Iraq War,” said Staff Sergeant Evans, shaking his hand.

  “Insurgents took over Ramadi after the fall of Fallujah. Not a fun area of operations. They relieved 3rd Battalion, 8th Marines. One-Six had a rough go of it.”

  “The good captain fought with Regimental Combat Team One in Iraq.”

  “Now I’m really confused,” said Gerson. “I thought they eventually put officers out to pasture if they didn’t pick up major.”

  “Apparently, if you wander too close to a group of Marines during a national crisis, they hand you a rifle and restore you to your old rank,” said Alex.

  “I’ll keep that in mind if
I see any army units. So, the sergeant here tells me you want to hear more about the vehicles I saw last week?”

  “Yes, please. Why don’t we step behind the pavilion before I die of heat exhaustion,” Alex suggested.

  Staff Sergeant Evans checked his watch.

  “Yep. He’s been out of the air-conditioning for twelve minutes. Ten’s the limit.”

  “That’s what happens when you strap sixty pounds of armor and gear to a forty-eight-year-old body,” said Alex.

  “Point taken, sir. You are getting a little old,” retorted Taylor, flashing a smirk.

  “See what I put up with?” said Alex, guiding them to the shade.

  Getting out of the sun was only part of the reason Alex moved Perry Gerson behind the pavilion. If Eli had left a surveillance team behind, the less time Gerson spent in the open, the better.

  “So, you’re sure about the day you saw vehicles here?”

  “Definitely. I bike to Porter every day to check on my mom. Up until that day, I could count the number of running vehicles I’d seen on my two thumbs. All of a sudden, I got three pulling into the fairground.”

  “They came from the west?”

  “Definitely. Two SUVs and a smaller car. I took a side road off Route 25 to bypass the fairgrounds. Seeing three cars pull in at the same time made me nervous.”

  “Good instinct. This is a particularly nasty group,” said Alex. “Were you able to see into the fairgrounds?”

  “I stopped a little ways up the side road behind the Quick Mart and hoofed it over to those bushes. Watched them for about fifteen minutes through my rifle scope.”

  “That’s why we stopped him,” said Sergeant Keeler. “Carrying a hunting rifle over his back.”

  “And I really didn’t appreciate that. There’s a lot of talk about Homeland confiscating firearms. We’ve been hearing about it all over the HAM radio frequencies,” said Gerson.

  “We’re not following that directive. I ordered my Marines to stop and question any civilians carrying firearms because anyone carrying a gun is more likely to observe their surroundings.”