THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  “Why?” whispered Charlie.

  “Because there’s gonna be some shooting, and we need it to be as quiet as possible,” said Alex.

  “This is crazy,” muttered Charlie. He unclipped the rifle from his one-point sling and handed it to Alex, casting a doubtful look.

  “We’ll be fine, Charlie, as long as you stay close to me and remember what I tell you. We clear one room at a time. I enter the room first, staying low and sweeping from left to right. You’ll lean in aiming high, sweeping from right to left. When the room is clear, you enter the room and transition to cover the hallway or whatever open space we just used. We’ll clear the building room by room until we find what we’re looking for. Clear?”

  “Clear. What are we looking for?”

  “The families they brought here. Ready?”

  “Not really,” said Charlie.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Alex rose to his feet and clipped Charlie’s rifle into his own sling harness, shifting the rifle and sling behind his back. Charlie raised Alex’s rifle to his shoulder and stared through the ACOG scope, shifting his aim a few times. He nodded at Alex, and they started forward. The back door burst open. Alex pushed Charlie down and furiously low-crawled to the next tree trunk several feet ahead of them, squirming through rain-soaked underbrush. He wasn’t worried about noise. Cover and concealment was his primary goal for the moment.

  Alex stared over the holographic sight on Charlie’s AR, dismayed by the scene. Six people walked across the asphalt parking lot toward the tree line at the rear of the parking lot. Two men wearing MultiCam uniforms and boonie hats nudged the family forward with their rifles.

  Not on my watch.

  He leaned back. “Change of plans. We drop both of the militia guys and rush the corner of the building. You’ll suppress the gazebo, and I’ll clear the building. Once the building is clear, I’ll help you with the gazebo.”

  “If there’s anyone left,” said Charlie.

  “Start taking them down. I’ll meet you at the corner of the building,” said Alex, rising to a low crouch.

  “I got this,” said Charlie, settling in behind the scope.

  “Take your shots quickly. If they reach the trees, the family is dead,” he said, grabbing his pistol off the ground and sprinting to the next tree.

  Alex stopped behind the next tree and holstered the pistol. The suppressed rifle barked twice in rapid succession. One gunman lay on the pavement. The other teetered on his feet for a moment. A third shot passed through the man’s neck, showering the pavement with blood and dropping him instantly. The family ran for the tree line, screaming.

  The heavy rain may have drowned out the suppressed rifle shots, but a quick look at the angles ahead told Alex that the men in the gazebo had a direct line of sight to their downed comrades. Even if they hadn’t noticed the men fall to the ground, there was no way they could miss an entire family scrambling across the parking lot. He just hoped that the security team didn’t decide to gun down the family from the gazebo.

  He was still a few seconds away from the corner when he caught a glimpse of movement and raised Charlie’s rifle, snapping two shots at the figure that appeared in the EOTech sight’s illuminated reticle. A storm of splinters and supersonic cracks forced him flat against the side of the building. Dropping to the blacktop, he reacquired both targets with deadly precision.

  The first shooter was down on both knees, clutching his chest blood pumping through his fingers. The second man kneeled next to him, yanking medical supplies out of his vest. Alex fired a single .223-caliber projectile through the second man’s head, knocking him over. The next bullet struck the wounded man in the forehead. With the only two visible targets down, he turned to Charlie.

  “Don’t let anyone through that door! I’m going through the front,” he said, waiting for Charlie’s acknowledgement.

  Satisfied with a thumbs-up and Charlie’s choice of position on the right side of the concrete stoop, he quick-peeked around the corner, verifying that the parking lot was still devoid of militia. He shuffled down the side of the building, crouching at each of the evenly spaced windows imbedded into the white vinyl siding.

  The sound of a revving vehicle engine stopped him from opening the door, and he slid between the two closest cars. Staying below window level, he moved to the rear of a Honda Pilot. Charlie’s shots echoed through the parking lot.

  We’re now on the verge of a complete disaster.

  He stayed concealed, watching the visible portion of the driveway through the cargo compartment window. With Charlie blasting away into the building, the militia members inside might attempt to flank him. Their most logical path to Charlie came through the door he had almost opened.

  When the vehicle appeared, Alex waved frantically, trying to get Ed to stop the Jeep before it became visible to the shooters in the building. Ed turned the Jeep off the driveway, screeching to a halt just past the corner. Alex heard the front door open and stayed low.

  The first figure appeared above the hood of the Pilot, and Alex pulled the trigger twice, adjusting his aim for the head. The hollow-point bullets penetrated the man’s skull, plastering the white siding beyond him with a mosaic of dark and bright red clumps. Alex pressed forward, firing repeatedly over the hood at the second man barreling through the opening. The 9mm bullets struck hard, knocking the second man against the gore-stained cedar siding with a grunt.

  A third figure emerged from the doorway and locked eyes with Alex. Before Alex could line him up in the P30’s sights, the militiaman lurched forward, firing his AR-15 wildly over the hood. Bullets snapped overhead as Alex crouched low behind the engine block, windows exploding in a pattern toward the rear of the vehicle. Alex slid in front of the Pilot and fired three shots through the windshield toward the back of the SUV. His pistol volley was met by several .223 projectiles, which showered Alex and the hood with hundreds of milky blue safety glass particles and splintered the cedar siding behind him.

  Alex was effectively wedged between two threat vectors, unable to simultaneously watch and engage targets coming from both directions. He quickly peeked above the hood, spotting the familiar boonie hat through the punctured windshield. Bullets snapped past Alex’s head, forcing him down. He detected movement behind him. One of the men he had shot groaned, desperately trying to reach the rifle lying next to him. Alex fired a single bullet through the man’s face.

  The shooting stopped for a moment, and all Alex could hear above ringing in his ears was the low din of heavy rainfall beating against sheet metal. He needed to reload the pistol. Dropping to the asphalt he searched his vest for a spare pistol magazine, while scanning the space under the vehicle. He could see the man’s boots shifting on the pavement beyond the protruding axles.

  The sound of fast-moving footsteps drew his attention to the front door. Alex propelled himself forward, slamming into the bloody wall just as a man dressed in MultiCam utilities stepped onto the porch, firing wildly into the cars. Sliding down the wall into a shallow puddle, Alex slammed the fifteen-round magazine tightly into place, depressing the slide-stop to chamber a round. Three 9mm hollow-point projectiles struck the man in a tight pattern under his exposed armpit, knocking him out of the doorway.

  By hastily moving against the wall, Alex had put too much distance between himself and the front bumper, giving the shooter behind the SUV a clear line of fire. If he had more time to consider his next move, he would have been better off dropping out of sight—hoping that he could beat the rounds that would soon be headed in his direction at three thousand feet per second. Instead, he did what most people trained to defend themselves with firearms would do. He shifted and fired—at nothing.

  “He’s down!” yelled Ed, the barrel of his Ruger 10/22 protruding beyond the edge of the church corner.

  Saved again by Ed.

  Alex gave him a thumbs-up and raised himself out of the crimson puddle, focused on killing the rest of the militia. Four men had rushed ou
t, bringing the total confirmed enemy casualty count to eight. He had no idea if Charlie had added to that number, or if he’d simply kept them from reaching the back door. A volley of three suppressed rifle shots and a scream from inside the building answered his question.

  Not wanting to give away his position by yelling, Alex tried to communicate with Ed using basic hand signals. He pointed at Ed with his index finger, then pointed at his own eyes, following this with a quick hatchet hand in the direction of the road. He wanted Ed to cover the road in case the gunfire attracted attention. Ed nodded and disappeared, leaving Alex to wonder if the message had been received. He transitioned back to Charlie’s rifle and slowly sidestepped into the open doorway, staring over his sights for any threats.

  The door opened into a large vestibule with several rows of coat hooks, all of them empty except for a light blue child’s windbreaker. Beyond the vestibule, a tight hallway crossed the building’s central passageway and dead-ended at a window on the far wall. A fusillade of rifle fire erupted from the central hallway, causing him to tighten his rifle grip. Clearing the rest of the building would be tricky.

  Alex sprinted down the hallway, keeping his rifle pointed toward the most likely threat direction. He spotted at least two hostiles crouched in open doorways down the center hallway. Three crumpled bodies lay beyond them. The doors on the far side were closed, and the shiny linoleum floor was clear of spent brass, building his confidence that the hallway behind him was clear of threats. Now he just needed to figure out a way to keep Charlie from popping him with his own rifle.

  The figure in the doorway leaned out and fired two rapid shots in Charlie’s direction. Alex fired, spilling the man into the hallway. Alex pulled himself swiftly back from the corner as a single round skipped off the linoleum floor in front of him and buried itself in the drywall behind him. The sound of three suppressed shots echoed through the hallways.

  Alex eased himself toward the corner again, angling the rifle to expose as little of his body as possible to the remaining shooter. He waited a few seconds and dashed across to the other side of the hallway. Several rifle bullets followed him, exploding the drywall on both sides of the vestibule hallway, as the shooter tried to follow the arc of his movement beyond the walls. He heard the sound of his suppressed rifle amidst the chaos.

  “I got him!” yelled Charlie.

  “I’m coming out slowly. Same plan as before, except you stay in place, centered on the stairs. Got it!” said Alex.

  “You’re clear to move!” said Charlie.

  Alex took a deep breath and moved to the corner, peeking into the hallway. Charlie had moved to the middle of the doorway, aiming Alex’s rifle down the long hallway. They had four rooms to clear. A long, mottled red streak covered the gray wall. A mangled head protruded several inches beyond the bottom of the doorframe, anchored by a thick pool of spreading blood. Alex slithered along the wall, keeping his rifle focused on the side doorways. He stopped and listened for movement within the rooms, hearing nothing.

  The first room, a classroom had been stuffed with gear belonging to the owners of the vehicles parked outside. Slipping into the next room, he found the same thing. Another classroom stuffed with suitcases, oversized duffel bags, coolers, hiking backpacks, tents and sleeping bags.

  There was far too much stuff in these rooms to fit into the assortment of vehicles he’d seen in the church parking lot. These fucks had been at this for a long time. He spotted a light pink child’s backpack with the initials LAH sewn in white thread on the outer pouch. He didn’t want to think about what they would find if they took a walk into the forest behind the parking lot.

  Alex cleared the two remaining rooms, one of which was empty, waiting ominously for more refugees to take the devil’s bargain being offered at the Milton Mills crossing. The other room contained several cots and a large wooden table. Two car batteries connected in parallel sat against the far wall of the room, attached by black and red wires to a power inverter on the right side of the table. Several handheld radio charging stations lined the back of the table, plugged into a surge protector powered by the inverter. All but one of the charging stations was empty. He swiped the radio from its cradle and turned to the doorway.

  “All clear!” he said, peeking into the hallway.

  “All clear!” repeated Charlie.

  When he saw Charlie start to rise, with his rifle pointed downward, he stepped into the blood-slicked corridor, checking the three bodies slumped against the walls for signs of life.

  “They kept coming,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Never saw anything like it.”

  “Just like Khe Sanh?” Alex asked.

  “Very funny,” Charlie said.

  “You did good, my friend. Really good—and you’re not even wearing your squirrel cap,” said Alex, patting his shoulder.

  Charlie stuffed his hand into the left cargo pocket of his pants. “I have it right here!”

  “Not now,” said Alex, yanking Charlie down from the top of the stoop.

  Charlie absorbed the drop with stiff legs and teetered for a moment. Alex noticed that Charlie’s breathing was labored, as if he had just run up several flights of stairs. He’d be willing to write this off as expected stress-induced excitability if Charlie’s face wasn’t beet red.

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little excited.”

  “Your face looks like it’s going to explode.”

  “And you look as white as a ghost. You want your rifle back?”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of getting attached to this one,” said Alex, eyeing him warily.

  “Well, too bad. This ACOG scope is useless for close-up shots, and I don’t like these angled thingies you put on this. So if you don’t mind,” said Charlie, holding out Alex’s rifle.

  “I didn’t see you having any problems,” said Alex, exchanging rifles.

  “I made it work.”

  Charlie changed magazines and snapped the rifle back into his one-point sling, hustling to catch up with Alex. “Hey, what about that family that took off?”

  Alex stopped for a moment and stared off into the forest beyond the parking lot, grimacing. “We don’t have time to chase them down—and I don’t expect them to come running to us with open arms,” he replied. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Hate to leave them out there like this…” said Charlie, hesitating.

  “They got their lucky break. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 22

  EVENT +31:18 Hours

  Milton Mills Crossing, Southern Bridge

  Ed’s hands trembled on the steering wheel. Alex’s plan for getting across the bridge was crazier than the raid on the church. His handheld radio crackled, filling the cabin with Alex’s voice.

  “I’m not seeing any indication that they are alerted or expecting us. Charlie, you see anything at the northern crossing?”

  “Negative,” Charlie replied. “The road is clear.”

  “Ed, how does the road look heading toward the church?” Alex inquired.

  “It’s clear. I don’t buy it, Alex. They’re waiting for us.”

  “We would have heard something on the radio. All we picked up was a report of agitated bikers at the far end of the south bridge. All three of the militiamen are positioned in the open, behind the SUV, aiming their rifles at a group of people assembled about twenty feet away. The guys in the closest vehicle are tucked away nice and dry. This is as good as it gets, Ed.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “I’m moving closer to the bridge, where I can fire at both vehicles. Charlie, I’m going to need your help with the nearest SUV. When I start shooting across the river, I want you to pump at least half of a magazine into the doors. If someone spills out onto the road, they’re yours. Once you see me on the bridge, reload and cover the road leading from the other checkpoint. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal clear, Alex. Give me a few minutes to crawl into position. I don’t have a clear line
of sight to the vehicle,” said Charlie.

  Charlie even sounded like shit over the radio. His breathing hadn’t recovered from the first round of mayhem before Alex yanked him out of the Jeep for round two. He was pushing Charlie past his physical limits, and it was going to kill him, if it didn’t get them all killed first.

  “Ed, I’ll radio you when I have the first SUV cleared,” said Alex.

  “Roger. I have the Jeep running,” said Ed, shaking his head.

  “I’m moving into position. Out.”

  Out of your fucking mind is more like it.

  Ed put one of his shaky hands around the grip of the .45-caliber Glock 37 lying on the front passenger seat, not feeling any comfort in the cold, utilitarian shape. He turned his head and stared through the rear windshield, catching glimpses of the road beyond the rear wiper’s useless arc. The rain had intensified again, drumming the Jeep’s sheet metal roof with an incessant staccato. The oppressive sound gave him hope that Alex might be right, that the men at the bridge could hear nothing more than distant, muted gunfire in the rain. His radio burst to life.

  “I’m in position. What’s your status, Charlie?” asked Alex.

  “Give me thirty seconds. I’m almost at the edge of the brush,” Charlie huffed.

  Ed glanced at the wooden stock of his Ruger 10/22 rifle. Protruding through the space between the front seat backs, he could put it into action much faster than he had at the church. The rifle had been stuffed under the smaller backpacks, rendering it impossible to pull it free from the front driver’s seat. He’d hopped out and opened the rear passenger seat, yanking it free in a panic when the shooting broke out. He’d barely reached the corner of the church in time to save Alex—again.

  One .22LR (long rifle) Interceptor bullet to the back of the head had dropped the guy hiding behind the SUV. The forty-grain, hypervelocity, hollow-point cartridge didn’t pack the same punch as Alex or Charlie’s .223 rounds, as Ed was constantly reminded, but it did the job. Twice by his count.

  ***

  Alex dragged himself through the dirt, squirming through a thick tangle of bushes less than forty feet from the first SUV. Through the driving rain and dense foliage, he caught glints of steel and glass. He could see enough of the SUV to confirm that they hadn’t activated the front windshield wipers since his previous visit. Their view of the trees and bushes beyond the guardrail would be a blur of cascading raindrops.