Point of Crisis (15 page)

“How does that make sense?” asked Kate.

Alex shrugged his shoulders. “My guess is they have a fleet of supply ships, similar to the DoD’s maritime prepositioning ships. Roll-on, roll-off capable, high-capacity vessels, probably based out of Norfolk or Philadelphia. The MPS squadrons used by the military carried a shit ton of equipment. Each squadron carried enough gear to support a Marine Air Ground Task Force for thirty days—fuel, ammo, food, water. Everything. I’d be shocked if they didn’t have something similar.”

“By the time they deploy something like that, it’ll be too late,” Kate said. “The people will be on the move.”

Tim nodded. “Then it’s all a question of whether the runoff will head north or south. Navigating through the Allegheny and the Appalachian Mountains won’t be an option for most.”

“The nearest RRZ south of Long Island is the Delaware Peninsula, but you’d be travelling through some seriously congested areas to get there, and you’d be competing with millions of people from Baltimore and D.C.,” said Alex.

“But people won’t know about the RRZ starting out. Right?” asked Kate. “It’s eight days after the event, and FEMA’s still not advertising. They’ll look at a map and start walking. I’d want to avoid major population areas, but I’d be concerned about winter.”

“Either way, this could spiral out of control if just a quarter of the people went north,” said Tim.

“I mean, we all know FEMA can’t do a goddamn thing right in the first place. I hate to say it, Alex, but I think it might be a wise idea to finish up the patchwork and start arranging a contingency plan.”

“First we need to talk Charlie and Ed down off the ledge. We’re not in any danger, yet. Not with a brigade from the 10
^th
Mountain Division arriving tomorrow,” said Alex.

“It might be time to take Ed’s Jeep on a trip to Belgrade,” said Tim.

“And a few other places,” said Alex.

Kate didn’t like the sound of Tim’s idea, not with Russell’s militia on the loose. They had no idea if he had people in Limerick looking for Ed’s Jeep or the silver BMW SUV. All it would take was one random sighting to initiate an attack, far from the safety of their guarded compound or an armored vehicle.

“Promise you won’t take a trip like that without talking to me first,” said Kate.

“I promise,” Alex said, but she didn’t believe him.

Chapter 13

EVENT +9 Days

Sanford, Maine

Alex’s tactical vehicle slowed as they passed Goodall Hospital. Tents swarmed the wide, grassy areas surrounding the main driveway, blocking their view of the parking lots. He leaned close to Lianez’s face and peered through the thick, bullet-resistant glass of the driver’s side window, straining to catch a glimpse beyond the tents.

“Jackson, what do you have in the hospital parking lot?” he yelled into the turret.

“Packed with vehicles. People milling around, camping in and around their cars. Looks like a tailgate, except nobody looks to be in the partying mood.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Staff Sergeant Evans remarked from one of the back seats.

He’d decided to bring Evans on the trip to meet with Harrison Campbell in Sanford before heading to the airport. Alex figured the militia leader needed to meet some of the Marines tasked with the “internal security” mission. To give them a human face. The sooner he pictured the battalion’s Marines as men and women with the same needs and fears as his own, the better. Same thing the other way around
.
Eventually, members of the York County Readiness Brigade would ride in vehicles and man checkpoints alongside 1
^st
Battalion Marines. Integration of the two groups was critical to establishing and maintaining trust. Until then, Campbell was taking an enormous leap of faith.

He followed the Mousam River for a few blocks, passing under the long shadows of several windowless four-story brick buildings, fading relics of a prosperous era in Sanford’s distant past. Alex was pleased to see people on the streets as they approached Main Street. Logically, he understood that none of them were out for coffee and a morning stroll, but on a deeper, emotional level, the sight of people encouraged him. This distant feeling of contentment faded quickly with the realization that the people avoided eye contact with the vehicle, hurrying their steps to increase the distance. He understood their concerns perfectly.

“Take a left at the intersection and pull up behind that row of cars,” he directed. “We’re in the empty place next to the coffee shop. Jackson, down from the turret. No point in sending the wrong message to the good folks of Sanford.”

“Looks like they already got the message,” said Evans, nodding at a group of people walking briskly away from the park across the street from the coffee shop.

“Yeah. We have our work cut out for us. There’s Campbell,” he said, pointing toward the park.

A small group of men in woodland camouflage appeared as the group gathered in the park dispersed. They wore black baseball caps with “YCRB” stenciled in white across the crown and carried military-style rifles.

“Lianez and Jackson will keep an eye on our ride home. Report any vehicles that approach the intersection, and take notes. I want license plate, make and model. I saw a stack of Maine license plates in the church by Milton Mills. Probably lifted from cars throughout southern Maine.”

“I don’t think the state police have internet access,” said Evans.

“Probably not, but I’m willing to bet Homeland has an active license plate database. Never know, we might get lucky and stumble on one of Russell’s guys. If I were him, I’d be out looking around, very incognito-like.”

“Driving a car these days ain’t exactly incognito, sir,” said Lianez.

“True, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Copy, sir. Staff Sergeant, you want us out of the Matvee?”

“Affirmative. Kind of hard to keep an eye on Uncle Sam’s property sitting inside one of these buckets. Post yourselves on the sidewalk. Weapons slung.”

“Roger, Staff Sergeant,” said Lianez.

“Sidearms only—for us,” said Alex.

“You’re killing me, sir.”

“We have a 30,000-pound armored vehicle backing us up. We’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

They met Harrison and his entourage in the middle of Main Street.

“Harrison, this is Staff Sergeant Evans. He drew the short straw and got stuck with me. His family’s in Worcester,” said Alex.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Campbell,” said Evans, shaking his hand.

“Likewise. Welcome to Maine. I wish it were under different circumstances,” said Harrison. “Any news from your family?”

“They’re trying to evacuate military families to Devens or Hanscom Air Force Base. I haven’t heard anything definitive. It’s wait and see, sir,” said Evans.

“I’m afraid we’re in one big wait-and-see holding pattern for now. We’ll say a prayer for their safe arrival, Staff Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Harrison. Please call me Harrison. Only these yahoos call me sir, and I wish they wouldn’t,” he said, nodding at his own group.

“This is Margaret and Sheldon Klein. Neighbors, good friends and longstanding members of the militia. You’re getting two for the price of one out at the airport. Both highly capable and deadly serious. Probably not what you expected, but this way I don’t have to tear someone away from family.”

“Works for me. Welcome aboard,” said Alex, shaking their hands.

They looked uneasy, which he expected.

“I brought some communications gear so you can talk freely with Harrison. I assume you have gear to transfer?”

“Our gear is loaded in one of the cars,” said Margaret, glancing at Harrison, “but we’d like to bring the car onto the base.”

“I don’t see a problem with that. We can sneak it through the back gate,” said Alex.

“Perfect. I have to concede an ulterior motive for assigning the Kleins to the airport. Their son just started his junior year at U.C. Davis. Plant Sciences major. The Kleins own a hundred and thirty-three acres down the road, which he planned to turn into some kind of organic, sustainable farm. They were hoping there might be a way to communicate with their son. I figured the airport would be the best place for that.”

“Sounds like your son would be a critical asset to New England’s recovery. I can’t make any promises, but stranger things have happened. Fortunately for your son, the EMP effects seem less pronounced on the West Coast,” said Alex.

“We heard the same thing over the radio,” said Harrison, turning to the Kleins. “See?”

“I’ve confirmed it through my sources,” said Alex.

“We’ve heard some other disturbing things via HAM. Reports of naval assets scrambling out of port. Stuff passed from Europe about hundreds of satellites burning up in orbit, or more meteorites. Nobody knows.”

“My dad heard the same things,” said Alex. “You want to step inside? I’d hate to tarnish your reputation any further.”

“I’m not too worried. People have pretty much made up their minds about Harrison Campbell. We need to work on
your
reputation, which starts right here with a pat on the back and a cup of coffee next door, unless Marines don’t drink straight coffee anymore. I’m afraid the espresso-chino machine is out of order.”

“If they’re open, we’d be more than happy to give up our latte habit for the morning,” said Alex.

“Good, because it happens that the mayor walked in a few minutes ago, and I think we should run the idea of a joint recruiting station by him,” said Harrison.

“Sounds like you know this hearts and minds game better than I do.”

“You’re not doing so bad, Captain Fletcher. Approaching the brigade was a smart move. Buys you some legitimacy right away,” said Harrison.

Alex smiled. “And I thought I was being slick about this.”

“You’re about as slick as sandpaper, which is why we’re standing here. Speaking of slick, let’s head inside before the mayor starts sliding through the town. No pun intended,” he said, motioning toward the coffee shop.

“He can’t be that bad,” said Alex.

“He really isn’t, but he’s a career politician, and politics is a game of give and take, with an emphasis on the take. Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”

“I really don’t have that much to offer,” said Alex.

“That badge you’re carrying says different. It wouldn’t hurt if you’d start wearing a full Marine uniform. This civilian-slash-military hybrid style will only confuse people,” said Harrison.

“Hallelujah,” said Staff Sergeant Evans.

Harrison led them through the front door of the mostly empty coffee shop. A heavy blond woman in jeans and a red coffee-shop-logo T-shirt stood in front of the mahogany service bar, talking to the mayor. At least Alex assumed he was the mayor.

Who else would dress in gray slacks and matching blazer over a light blue button-down oxford?

The two of them stopped talking as they filed into the shop. For a moment, the mayor looked terrified, as if he suspected they had come to arrest him. Alex guessed that was how most of the people in town felt with the military busy at the airport.

It would only get worse later today, when elements of the 10
^th
Mountain Division started pouring into Sanford. Hundreds of vehicles, from Stryker AFVs (Armored Fighting Vehicles) to L-ATVs (Light Combat Tactical-All Terrain Vehicles), would stream into town from points west. At the same time, the skies above would roar from the continuous flow of heavy transport aircraft transporting the rest of the 4
^th
Brigade Combat Team from Wheeler-Sack Army Airbase near Fort Drum to their new home, Regional Recovery Zone #1, New England North. The mayor was about to find himself at the epicenter of attention.

“Are you all right with these weapons in here, Terry?” asked the mayor, watching them closely while addressing the owner.

“They wouldn’t be breaking the law even before all this craziness happened. Open carry is perfectly legal and acceptable in my place of business. Keeps out the riff-raff,” said the woman.

“That’s my Terry,” said Harrison, walking forward to give her a quick hug.

“Just saying that you have the right to keep firearms out of here, if you want to,” said the Mayor.

“Seeing as we’re not exactly flush with customers, I’ll keep the current policy intact,” she said.

“Free coffee and you’re empty?” said Harrison, looking at the sign on the door.

“Nobody’s in the sipping coffee mood, I guess, and a few of the patrons might have slipped out the side door when your armored car arrived,” she said, winking at Alex.

“Sorry about that, ma’am,” said Alex. “That’s about as low profile as it gets for us right now.”

“The mayor might have scared a few away himself,” she said, winking at the man in the sport coat.

“Good to see you down here, Harrison.”

“Same to you, Mayor. I don’t want to hold you up, but I thought you might want to meet a few new friends of mine. This is provisional Captain Alex Fletcher, United States Marine Corps, and Staff Sergeant Evans. They’re attached to 1
^st
Battalion, 25
^th
Marines, reserve unit out of Fort Devens, Massachusetts. Captain Fletcher is from Maine.”

“Greg Hoode, mayor of Sanford and the most uninformed man in the county. Provisional captain? Sorry, let’s take a seat. Terry, the coffee’s on me,” he said, eliciting a few laughs.

“It’s good to see you giving the people a place to pretend things are normal,” added Alex.

“For a few minutes, anyway. People are worried, especially about the lack of information. It’s been nine days, and nobody has a clue what happened,” said Terry.

“Information is scarce at this point, at all levels. Why don’t you grab a seat since we scared away most of your customers. I can’t think of a better place to start spreading what little knowledge I have.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that,” she said, walking around the counter. “Coffee’s self-serve.”