Martial Law (23 page)

“Let’s see if Hector’s
passport
helps us cross the Hudson,” said Steven. Steven approached the police barricade slowly and kept his hands on top of the wheel in plain view of the officers.

“There are snipers on the ridges to our left and right,” said Katie. “Army bulldozers too. What are they expecting?” Steven glanced in both directions without being obvious or appearing nervous to the officers. Sheriff’s deputies approached both sides of the Range Rover with their AR-15s held at low ready.

“Sir, the bridge is closed to through-traffic until further notice,” said the officer whose name badge identified him as Deputy Mullinax. “We’ll need you to turn your vehicle around and choose a route to the north. There’s another bridge crossing at Red Hook—about fifteen miles from here.”

“Good morning, Deputy,” said Steven. “I understand your need for security, but we’re low on fuel. Highway 44 provides a direct route to the north of Hartford. We can’t afford any lost gas mileage for detours.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but for the security purposes of our town, only identifiable residents are allowed to pass on the Mid-Hudson Bridge.” Steven reached for the letter on the console, and both deputies immediately raised their weapons and shouted.

“Put your hands where we can see them, sir. Now!”

Steven raised his hands and placed them on the dashboard. “I have a letter I need you to read. That’s all!”

“Both of you step out of the vehicle!” Two more deputies ran to the aid of their partners, with weapons drawn.

Steven looked at Katie and nodded. They both exited the truck with their hands held away from their bodies.

“We don’t want any trouble,” started Steven. “Please look at the letter, Deputy. It’s there by the gearshift.”

A few cars were lined up behind the Range Rover but were keeping their distance. The deputy visually confirmed that the other officers were in position, and he found the letter.

“Do you have some identification?”

“I do, it’s in the console. But just be aware, my Glock is in there as well.”

“Understood.” Deputy Mullinax looked at Steven’s identification and reread the letter. He walked away for a moment and called someone on his two-way radio. After a moment, he returned the letter and Steven’s driver’s license. “Weapons down.”

“My apologies, sir,” said Deputy Mullinax. “You can relax now. We’re trying to avoid the types of incidents that have plagued other small towns.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you related to Professor Henry Sargent?”

“I am. He’s my older brother.”

“My brother, Michael Mullinax, is the county executive and a fan of your brother’s writing. Apparently they met in Orlando last summer at a libertarian conference.”

“Apparently, Sarge has made a lot of friends this year,” said Steven. He adjusted his arm sling, where his Glock 26 subcompact was hidden.
No need for this yet
.

“His book made a big impression on a lot of us, which is part of the reason we’re guarding this bridge. After the power went down, our world became a lot smaller. As odd as it may sound, the City of Poughkeepsie must maintain its borders first, and then we’ll concern ourselves with the rest of New York and America. As my brother says,
sovereignty starts at home
.”

“He’s right,” said Steven. “Thank you for letting us cross.” Steven was ready to continue.

“Yes, sir. You’re welcome. Another patrol car will escort you across the bridge and to the east side of town. From there Route 44, or the Dutchess Turnpike, as it’s also known, will take you directly to Hartford. It’s about a hundred miles from here.”

“Thank you, Deputy Mullinax.” Steven and Katie got into the truck, and Deputy Mullinax leaned into the window and quietly said, “Choose freedom.”

Chapter 45

Monday, September 5, 2016

11:21 p.m.

Sturbridge, MA

Katie and Steven continued their trek across the northern route of Connecticut. They didn’t encounter any violence, but several of the towns they approached were establishing security checkpoints. Hector’s passport helped most of the time. On other occasions, Steven and Katie were forced to detour. With his injury, they were not interested in conflict with local law enforcement or the ragtag militias that protected these small townships.

The extended amount of time necessary to travel across the state was not an issue except evidence of looting became more frequent, especially north of Hartford. More disabled vehicles were seen on the roadways, and travelers were seen walking or riding bicycles to reach their destinations.

“Mass-a-two-shits dead ahead.” Katie laughed.

“Home sweet home,” joined in Steven. “Home of the baked bean.”

“All hail to Mass-a-two-shits!” exclaimed Katie as they crossed the state line on Interstate 84.

“I think we’re getting slaphappy,” said Steven. “As much as I’d like to coast right into Beantown tonight, it’s not gonna happen.” Steve tapped the fuel gauge for Katie to see the red
low fuel
indicator.

“We’ll be lucky to make it to Sturbridge.”

“Twenty miles?”

“Yep.” They passed the rest area and welcome center as they approached Exit 1. “Let’s sleep for the night so we’ll be fresh when we hit Boston tomorrow. If things have deteriorated, we may have to fight our way to 100 Beacon.”

“What about fuel?”

“I have a plan,” replied Steven. “Hector gave me a siphon hose and taught me which vehicles are easiest to pull from. This Mobil truck stop might give us some options.”

“What are we looking for?” asked Katie.

“Most vehicles from the nineties forward have anti-siphon devices that prevent you from inserting the rubber hose all the way to the fuel. You just end up sucking air. Older models are easier to work with, especially pickup trucks if you have a long siphon hose.”

“Do we?”

“Yes—courtesy of Hector’s Passport and Gas Theft, LLC.” Steven laughed.

Katie was still perplexed. “Do you know the model years of pickup trucks?”

“Look for the most busted-up vehicles you can.”

Steven and Katie drove through and caught the attention of a couple of truckers standing by their rigs. After another pass through, they realized there were too many eyes upon them.

“Too hot, Bonnie,” said Steven. “Let’s work our way up US 20, Worcester Road. Surely something will catch our eye.”

“It needs to be soon, Clyde. We’re on fumes.”

They drove several miles along US 20 and then hit the crest of a hill. “Katie, this is our last chance. We can coast down this hill, but then we look for another car or walk the last seventy miles.” Steven let off the gas and put the car in neutral. As they began to coast, Katie yelled for him to stop.

“Back there, a driveway up into the woods. There was a sign with orange lettering that read
Landscape Supply
.”

Steven pulled over to the side of the road and shut off the engine. He didn’t want the fuel lines to run completely dry.

“How did you see that in the dark?” he asked.

“They probably have solar landscape lighting. You know, as a sales tool.”

Steven shrugged.
Made sense
. “I’ll check it out. Wait here.”

“No, Steven.”

“What?”

“I won’t wait here. This is not a job for a one-armed bandit. We’ll go together.” Katie jumped out of the truck, and Steven followed suit. They hopped over the concrete highway barriers and crossed the remaining two lanes of the road.

They circled around the back of the greenhouse and immediately found an empty gas can.

“Shit,” said Steven. Katie crouched behind a hedgerow and pulled her weapon. She was looking in all directions.

“What?” she asked.

“I forgot the siphon hose.”

“You dumbass,” said Katie jokingly. “You suck at burglary. I’ll be right back.”

While Katie retrieved the siphon hose, Steven looked through the greenhouses and found nothing. There was a large shed with a roll-up door that was padlocked. He quietly tried a side door, and it was unlocked.

Katie returned. “Any luck?”

“Yeah. This door is unlocked. Let’s be smart and clear the building.”

“It’ll be easier with this,” said Katie, holding up one of the solar-powered landscape lights.

“God, I love you, Katie O’Shea.”

“I know. Me first.” Katie led the way in and swung left, and Steven took the right side. There was no other room inside, and they quickly determined it was unoccupied. But there were also no filled gas cans.

“Nothin’ runs like a Deere, unless it’s empty,” said Steven as he siphoned the gas out of two John Deere lawn tractors and a push mower.

“It’s not quite five gallons, but it should get us home,” he said.

“Good. I picked up a few burglary tools in case we need them.” She showed Steven a pry bar, a long screwdriver, and another set of bolt cutters. “You never know.”

Chapter 46

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

9:13 a.m.

Framingham, MA

The decision to drive into Boston on the Massachusetts Turnpike was not an easy one. They could have easily turned north and sought the comfort and safety of Prescott Peninsula. But in their last communication with Sarge and Julia yesterday morning, they’d confirmed their plans were to return to 100 Beacon. Traffic came to a standstill as they approached the intersection with the Boston-Worcester Turnpike.

“They’re diverting traffic off the Mass Turnpike for some reason,” said Steven.

Katie studied the map. “We’ll have to go through a toll booth.”

“No fuckin’ way. Not in my lifetime.” Steven pulled onto the shoulder and began driving through the grass along a utility easement.

Katie grabbed the dashboard. “Steven, the fence!” Steven revved the engine and drove through the chain-link fence—bouncing both of their heads off the ceiling.

“What fence?” he asked as he gunned the engine and the back of the Range Rover fishtailed through the pine needles. He bounced them along under the high-voltage lines—which no longer carried any voltage—until they came out on Oak Hill Road. “Which way?”

“Are you asking me?” asked Katie, rubbing the newly formed knot on her head.

“You’re the navigator. Do you want me to ask Siri?”

“No, wiseguy. Hold on.” Katie studied the map for a moment. “Turn right. We’ll pick up Highway 20 again.”

Katie directed Steven through the neighborhoods until they came out on Turnpike Road at an industrial park.

“Steven, look!” Katie pointed to their left, where three men were chasing a young woman dressed in a FedEx uniform. “We have to help her!”

“Katie,” started Steven, “this could be a really bad idea.”

“Yeah, for her! Stop. Turn here!”

Steven slid the Range Rover into a turn—barely avoiding a curb and hopping into a cluster of trees. The men were gaining on the woman as she ran through the Penske Truck Rental parking lot.

“She’s headed for the FedEx building on the right. Fire a warning shot to slow them down.”

Instead of a warning shot, Katie shot one in the back of the leg, bringing him down in a heap.

“Katie!” screamed Steven.

“No rules, remember?” she fired again, missing the other two men, who continued their pursuit. While their attention was directed at the assailants, a BMW sedan crashed into their rear bumper, sending the Range Rover into a spin. Steven overcorrected in an attempt to gain control and skidded to a stop. They were sideways in the middle of the road with the BMW barreling toward them. Katie calmly shot the driver and braced for the impact.

The BMW struck the right front quarter panel of the Range Rover. The truck did a complete revolution, and the BMW went airborne before hitting a telephone pole that almost split the car in two. Smoke and fluids poured out of their engine.

“Are you okay?” asked Steven. But Katie was halfway out of the truck before he got a response.

“Let’s go!” Katie shouted, after confirming the driver of the BMW was dead. Again, without waiting for Steven, she began running towards the FedEx building.

“Fuck me,” muttered Steven as he grabbed his handguns and ran after Katie, who had disappeared through some trees in front of the building.

He caught up with her at the front entrance. The plate-glass window was broken open with a trash can. She held up one finger to her lips—to indicate quiet.

Steven whispered, “Katie, this is not our fight.”

“Yes, it is, Steven. I’m not gonna let that girl get raped or murdered. What if that was me in there?” Of course, she had a point. His shoulder was throbbing, and all of the bandages had fallen off his face at this point.
I could scare them away.

With a deep breath and an exaggerated wince, Steven removed his sling.

“You’re bleeding.”

“We’ll fix it later.” He holstered the subcompact Glock and carried the other 9mm in his left hand. He was ambidextrous and very comfortable shooting with either hand. “Follow me and listen for sounds. They won’t be able to stay quiet.”

“I think they’re more interested in their prey than their hunters,” said Katie.

They entered the lobby of the FedEx facility. Behind the counter, there were two swinging doors. Steven surmised the woman would run into the larger space—the warehouse—which might provide more places to hide. He nodded toward the set of doors on the left and Katie followed. They both crouched as they entered the massive sixty-thousand-square-foot building.

“Damn,” whispered Steven. “Needle in a haystack.” It was pitch black inside.

“It’s dark. It benefits someone who is familiar with the building.”

“Let’s wait here a moment until our eyes adjust to the darkness. We can use the slivers of light coming through the top of the steel roll-up doors as our guide.”

A crash to their right caught their attention. Then they heard the metallic sound of wheels spinning.

“The package conveyor belt,” said Steven.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” shouted one of the men.