Point of Crisis (10 page)

“How’s Dad? Any word on why the Marines left?”

“He’s fine. They have to keep a twenty-four-hour guard at one of the hangars. Three Marines and one of the vehicles.”

“Now we’re down to nine?”

“We’re lucky to have them here at all.”

“If they keep pulling Marines away, we won’t be able to defend ourselves from another attack.”

“Your dad has Marines arriving from the reserve company in Brunswick. He expects them to arrive by tomorrow. We’ll be fine here,” she said, resting her hand on his shoulder. “Or wherever we end up.”

“Do you think it’ll ever go back to normal?”

“I think we’ll be looking at a different normal,” Kate said.

“I’m not going back to college.”

“Why not?”

“If this is the new normal, what’s the point?” he said, touching the rifle leaned against the wall next to the window.

“It won’t be like this for long. Things got back to normal after the pandemic,” she reminded him.

“Dad doesn’t seem to think it’ll get better.”

“He told you that?” she asked, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

“No, but he’s too quiet,” Ryan replied. “He only gets like that when he’s worried.”

“We all have plenty to worry about, especially your mother,” she said, staring at the damaged sandbags under the other window.

He squeezed her hand, remembering every detail of yesterday’s battle.

“The bullets started coming through the barrier at the end. Not fast enough to break through my BDU’s, but I could feel it. Like being snapped by a thick rubber band.”

“Are you trying to give me a panic attack?”

“I’m trying to get you out of here, unless you have another grilled cheese sandwich,” Ryan said, winking.

“I’ll send Nana up with one. She looks like she could use a nap,” Kate said, pressing the mattress.

“Mom, no,” Ryan whined.

“Then I’ll send it up with Chloe instead.”

He shook his head and resumed his survey of the western approach.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a yes. You guys are relentless.”

“Part of my job description, young man. I’ll see what I can arrange,” she said, and he heard her get up.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

He paused, momentarily unsure why he had said her name. A few seconds passed before he figured it out.

“I love you, Mom. And thanks for the sandwich.”

Kate leaned over and kissed him on the top of his head. “I love you too, Ryan. We’re all really proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he said, holding back tears.

He’d overheard his dad talking with Staff Sergeant Evans about the worsening situation inside and outside the United States. The “new normal” was a nightmare landscape dominated by violence and power. He’d seen nothing to refute this belief, which was why he couldn’t sit in the basement. Someone fully vested in their safety had to watch over them. His dad trusted the Marines, but they had families too, and every one of them wanted to get back home to see them. Ryan couldn’t risk their safety on a possible conflict of interest. He pulled the HK416 closer to the windowsill and adjusted his leg. He’d stay up here all day and night if necessary.

Chapter 8

EVENT +5 Days

Route 160

Porter, Maine

Eli tightened his grip on the SUV’s grab handle as Grizzly veered onto the unmarked dirt road, skidding the tires.

“Take it easy.”

“Sorry, Eli. I figured if anyone was following us, that’d throw them off our trail,” said Grizzly.

“You about threw
us
off the trail,” Eli said, laughing at his own joke.

Nobody else made a sound.

“No fucking sense of humor in any of you. Like a funeral parlor all day,” he muttered.

The vehicle slowed to twenty miles per hour, which was barely safe on what amounted to a well-worn jeep trail through the woods. They could have continued along Route 160 to their usual turnoff, but he wanted to see if this path connected with Porterfield Road. He’d noticed this turnoff on their way out to Brownfield, but couldn’t match it to anything on their maps or GPS displays. With vehicles regularly entering and exiting Porterfield Road at the Route 160 junction, they were bound to attract the wrong kind of attention, especially when they kicked off the juicy part of his plan. He needed a less conspicuous route for everyday use, one they could easily block if necessary.

“We’ve got about a mile to go if it breaks through,” he said.

“Got it, Eli.”

“Why don’t we stick with
sir
? That goes for all of you,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled.

Better—barely.
He watched their track on the handheld GPS screen, encouraged that they continued west toward Porterfield Road. If this was a private driveway, it was one long-ass private driveway—and whoever lived at the end of it would die horribly. He’d been itching to hurt someone or something since they started out in the morning, but he’d promised himself that he’d wait. The situation at the roadblock outside of Bridgton might not have gone so smoothly if his clothes had been covered in blood—and boy, did they go smoothly.

He could barely believe his luck. The chief of police had been less receptive to the idea, but Eli had won them over with tales of how his men were handpicked, only vetted and screened ex-military or law enforcement at first. The rest were recommended and vouched for by fully vested members of the militia group. All total bullshit, but he’d make sure his people looked the part when they reported for duty at the checkpoints.

The chief had positively swooned over his offer to keep the men unarmed. He’d been on the fence until Eli had suggested it. No firearms unless they were issued by the Bridgton police or by authorized checkpoint personnel. Good ol’ Ron Bevins, the town’s chief selectman, had insisted on that point. He wanted permission to arm Eli’s volunteers if necessary. Too good to be true. Bevins was in for one hell of a surprise in a few days.

On top of it all, the town council gave him an hour to speak at the high school. The turnout hadn’t exactly broken any records, but he left with nine names, their souls to be collected tomorrow and never returned to Bridgton. He had it all worked out.

Grizzly eased the SUV into a shallow turn as the trees thinned and a field of corn appeared on their right. The GPS unit indicated they were driving at a forty-five-degree angle to Porterfield Road, which lay directly ahead. The SUV slowed at the junction and stopped as soon as it hit the pavement.

“What are you doing?” said Eli.

“I thought you might want to mark the location on your GPS or fashion some kind of sign.”

“Can I just for once be the one to give the orders to my own fucking militia?”

“Sorry, sir. I just wasn’t sure we’d find this spot again, since the other groups didn’t report finding a road that broke through.”

“I know you’re new, Griz, but you’re thinking too much, and you’re making assumptions. We all know what happens when you make assumptions, right?”

“You make an ass out of you and me. Really sorry about that.”

“No, you have it wrong. I don’t make an ass out of anyone, especially me. I’m never the ass.”

“That’s right, Eli. I mean, sir. That’s just the saying. ‘You’ means me—the one saying the quote. I didn’t mean you were the one making an ass out of you and—”

“You all right, Griz? You’re starting to sound like a mental patient. I already marked the coordinates. Let’s go.”

The engine revved, but the SUV stayed in place.

“You need to put the car in drive. Jesus Christ, did you have a stroke or something?”

“Just nervous, sir.”

Eli shook his head. “Nervous about what?”

He could tell Grizzly wanted to say something but held his tongue. Griz was learning pretty quickly, which was more than Eli could say for the majority of his undisciplined crew
.
He took one of the handheld radios out of the cup holder and raised it to his ear.

“Liberty North, this is Liberty Actual, approaching your position. Stand by to authenticate.”

“This is Liberty North. Read you loud and clear. Authenticate Lucky Town.”

“I authenticate Local Hero. Over.”

“Welcome back, sir.”

“Good job on the RT procedure. Picture perfect. Any traffic since we left?”

“Negative. The special-purpose group kept everyone corralled north while they went house to house. How did you get onto Porterfield from the north?”

“Small jeep trail I saw on 160. I marked the coordinates. We’ll probably make a few adjustments to Liberty North’s location so we can keep an eye on it,” he said, glaring at Grizzly.

“Copy that. You should be able to see us right about now,” said the sentry post.

A pair of headlights shined through a cluster of thick bushes next to a dilapidated gray barn. Four flashes.

“Flash them back. Three times.”

“Track number three,” said Grizzly.

“That’s right. You a fan of The Boss?”

“Hell, I grew up on The Boss—sir. Used to drive down to Hartford once a year to see him. Fourteen shows.”

“No shit? Hit the lights, Griz, before they light us up.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, flashing the high beams three times.

“Secondary authentication complete,” said Liberty North.

They passed a small clearing on the left with a mobile home and an aboveground pool in the front yard before reaching the checkpoint. An F-150-sized pickup truck sat hidden in the brush, parked at a narrow angle to the two-lane road. If they had failed the first authentication sequence, the F-150 would have raced onto the bumpy pavement, blocking their path. Eli waved at one of the sentries standing near the road with a pump-action shotgun, who saluted him.

Now that’s what I’m talking about. Someone with a little discipline.

“Good job, boys. Liberty Actual, out.”

Eli turned back to Grizzly. “I’m putting you in charge of the daily security code. Different album every day. Pick the track. One member from each group leaving the compound gets the information, along with the sentries. Changes every twenty-four hours, with the morning swap out. The light trick is a little insurance policy, in case the group is compromised. If we were under duress, you could have flashed twice or six times. Bam! They would have opened fire without warning.”

“Pretty clever, sir.”

“Eli. Any man that’s seen The Boss fourteen times can call me by my first name. I’ve only seen him twice.”

Ten minutes later, after passing two more hidden checkpoints, they pulled up to the farmhouse. McCulver stood up from one of the rocking chairs and met him at the foot of the covered porch’s stairs.

“How’d we do?” Eli asked over the hood of the SUV.

“Long day, but we cleared out the properties all the way to Kennard Hill Road, then circled back toward Route 160 and vacated those premises. The York County sherriff’s cruiser came in handy.”

“Any trouble?”

“No,” said McCulver, “but Jimmy’s guys are, uh—a little out of control.”

“How so?” Eli asked, guiding McCulver onto the porch so the men getting out of the SUV wouldn’t hear.

“They’re a little quick to pull the trigger. We didn’t bring anyone back to help out with the farm work.”

“Well, we don’t have enough people to watch over prisoners anyway. Not yet,” said Eli, sensing there was more.

“And they don’t take orders very well. Not from me, at least. We had some delays while they toyed around with some of the survivors. If we weren’t short on personnel, I would have killed them on the spot. Looks like some prison habits rubbed off on them.”

“You better watch that,” snarled Eli, tensing his fists.

“I’m only bringing it up because it’s a liability. We had eight homesteads to clear on Porterfield, and these sick fucks spent an hour in the first house.”

“I’ll have a talk with them,” said Eli.

“Good, because they’re multiplying. They took two of the minivans out this afternoon and collected more ‘Vikings,’ as they like to say. They came back with seven recruits, all armed to the teeth and about as scary looking as Jimmy’s crew.”

“That’s good news,” said Eli.

“If you can control them. I meant absolutely no disrespect toward your brother, but this is a dangerous group. We have to watch them closely, or we could have a ‘situation’ on our hands. I’ll feel more comfortable when we’ve doubled our numbers,” said McCulver.

“You think they might mutiny?”

“How much time did you spend with them before all of this happened?”

“Not much. Jimmy kept a close leash on—”

“And Jimmy’s dead. If you’d seen what they did to that family, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

“If they’d disobeyed my orders, I would have killed them,” stated Eli.

McCulver squinted, clearly considering his next words. Eli knew what he wanted to say. The question was whether McCulver had the good sense to keep it to himself. Eli didn’t care what kind of collateral damage Jimmy’s ‘Vikings’ did during their assigned operations, as long as they obeyed orders and accomplished the mission. He hoped Kevin was wrong about the possibility of a mutiny. He’d need their help.

“I have an idea that will keep them occupied while we build up the core militia group. I’ll show you inside,” McCulver said, opening the front door to the farmhouse. “How was your foray along the 302?”

He chose those words wisely,
Eli thought to himself
.
McCulver continued to impress him, even if he sensed a touch of insubordination.

“Unbelievably productive. We signed up an entire town.”

McCulver paused, searching his face for a sign that he was joking.

“They just don’t know it yet,” continued Eli.

“Sounds interesting,” he said, directing Eli to the dining room.

A large-scale map of southern Maine covered half of the rectangular table, along with scattered notebooks and pencils.

“Which town?”

“Bridgton. Met with the town council and the chief of police about helping them train up some of their folks to help man their checkpoints. Told them we can train them in basic firearms procedures, military-style cover and concealment. Enough to handle their own needs.”