THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  “Seems kind of odd that the state police would forget this spot,” said Karen.

  “York County Sheriff’s Department and the state police alternate duty days out here. It’s possible, but unlikely,” said Littner.

  He drove past French Street, which connected the two bridge crossings on the Maine side, and rolled his window down to address the closest cyclist. The group slowed, eyeing each other.

  “Did you see any police on the other side?” he asked.

  “Something happened at the other bridge, but I didn’t see any police,” said one of the men toward the front.

  “They kind of looked military to me,” said the woman next to him.

  “Who looked military?” asked Littner.

  “The dead guys on the bridge.”

  “They weren’t military,” said one of the guys at the back of the group. “Hair was all fucked up, and none of them wore the same gear. They all had those stupid boonie hats on too. Every unit we’ve seen coming up through New Hampshire is geared up for heavy combat. Helmets, body armor—everything.”

  Heavy combat? Littner didn’t like the sound of that.

  “How many are on the bridge?” he asked.

  “I saw maybe six or seven of them. Three on the New Hampshire side. More in the middle. Not sure what was on this side. We didn’t stick around very long,” said the woman.

  “Thanks, everyone. I don’t want to hold you up any further. Looks like you have a little break in the weather. You guys headed anywhere in particular?”

  “Probably try to make it to the Bridgton area. My family used to rent a house on Long Lake every other summer. There’s a private school up there. Should be empty.”

  “Bridgton Academy. It’s in North Bridgton, about five miles past town. When you get to the intersection in Bridgton, across from the Food City, keep going straight. You’ll see the signs. Good luck,” said Littner.

  “You too,” said the cyclist, fixing his eyes on Littner’s hat.

  The cyclists had cleared the intersection by the time he turned around and took a right onto French Street, speeding toward the southern bridge. The first thing he saw beyond the white Baptist church was a blue Volvo SUV parked in the middle of French Street near the bridge. The driver’s-side doors had been left open.

  The scene unfolded slowly as their car crept past the SUV. Several members of Eli’s Maine Liberty Militia, easily recognizable by their boonie caps, lay in a grotesque pile at the foot of the bridge. Two more men lay dead toward the middle of the bridge against the left guardrail. He didn’t see any weapons on the ground, which didn’t surprise him. Whoever had done this would have stripped Eli’s men of anything useful. He parked the car next to the mound of bodies.

  “Shit,” he said, “I guess we better take a closer look.”

  “I don’t see the point. Someone shot up Eli’s people. Probably the bikers we saw,” said Goodsby.

  “Just a quick look and we’re out of here.”

  He pulled the first body halfway out of the pile, disturbing hundreds of flies that had gathered. He turned the corpse on its back.

  “Wounds look fresh. I’ve seen my share of traffic accidents to know that,” she said.

  Karen Goodsby had worked as a part-time Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) out of Gorham before taking a full-time position at Waterboro Elementary School a few years ago. He didn’t know much more than that, but Harrison Campbell constantly sang her praises.

  “Two to the chest, one to the head. Mozambique Drill. Looks like the work of a professional,” said Littner.

  “There’s a lot of blood on the Land Cruiser’s windows. Maybe an ambush?” Goodsby surmised, pointing at the bullet-riddled SUV backed into the bushes across the road.

  “Could be. I’m counting five guys here. Three with headshots. Looks like two more dead on the bridge. A ton of brass on the ground. Whatever happened here was quick and vicious. Probably a coordinated strike against both sides. This is part of something bigger,” he said, raising his head to scan the other side of the bridge.

  “Think we’ll find more on the other side?”

  “I don’t plan on staying around long enough to find out. I’m going to pull a few more off the pile and take pictures for Harrison.”

  He gripped another body from the bloody mound and pulled it free of the mess.

  “Holy shit,” hissed Littner, the body’s torso and head thunking against the pavement.

  Goodsby raised her rifle and crouched, scanning the open sectors around them.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “We have a big problem,” he said, nodding at the body.

  She glanced down at the man’s face and shrugged her shoulders.

  “That’s Eli’s little brother,” he said, staring at the red hole drilled between Jimmy Russell’s lifeless eyes.

  He pushed the head to one side with his boot, stopping at the exit wound.

  “What’s the big deal? I thought he was a dirt bag,” said Goodsby.

  “The big deal is that Eli will go ballistic. We need to get a hold of Harrison immediately. All hell’s about to break loose.”

  “Looks like it already did.”

  Chapter 24

  EVENT +32:10 Hours

  East Waterboro, Maine

  Kate Fletcher leaned into the mountain bike and pedaled up the long hill leading into East Waterboro. She glanced behind to check on her group, which rode in a loose formation stretching fifty feet back.

  We’re too far apart.

  Linda Thornton brought up the rear, keeping watch over the floundering flock. The group moved along at a painful crawl, everyone pedaling lethargically after the rainstorm. The intense cloudburst had shattered what little motivation the group managed to salvage from their extended journey throughout the morning.

  Best guess, they had travelled twice the distance originally calculated to reach East Waterboro. Avoiding police checkpoints around the Maine Mall had taken them several miles in the opposite direction, forcing them to use neighborhood roads and business parks to reach Western Avenue near the eerily silent Portland Jetport.

  The gradual hills and awkward backpacks started to take a serious toll within the first few miles. Touted by Alex as an easy four-hour ride through the countryside, the trek had morphed into a grueling seven-hour battle. A battle to keep the group moving forward and delay the next break. She wanted to push them straight through to Limerick, fifteen miles away, but her crew wasn’t going to last another mile without a long break—and lunch. She’d start looking for a place to stop after East Waterboro.

  Kate swatted her neck. Not a good sign for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing sucked the life out of you faster than a steamy August afternoon with Maine’s biting flies. Her mind drifted to Alex riding in Ed’s air-conditioned Jeep.

  Must be nice.

  Mercifully, the road sloped downward, allowing them to glide several hundred feet through East Waterboro’s only intersection.

  ***

  Nathan Russell took a long swig of cold beer and crumpled the can, whipping it at a nearby light post. He missed, and the flattened can skittered on the pavement to join a dozen empties already scattered beyond the post.

  “I’ll take another,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to the intersection adjacent to the empty Hannigans parking lot.

  “Here you go, Nate,” he heard, as another sweaty can of Budweiser appeared within reach.

  He popped the tab and took a long pull, lightening the can significantly. Now he felt it. He was getting there. Getting into the zone, where he was unstoppable.

  “What do you make of that?” he asked.

  David Mullins raised his hand over his eyes and peered at the procession of bicycles streaming through the intersection.

  “Looks like a bunch of bitches out for a ride,” said Mullins.

  Not through my town, they ain’t.

  Nathan slid off the hood of the silver BMW SUV and reached through the window to grab a p
air of binoculars. He scanned the group, starting at the front and working his way back.

  What the fuck?

  He drained the beer can and took another failed shot at hitting the light post.

  “You see this shit? Two of those bitches are carrying assault rifles. Looks like they’re escorting a bunch of teenagers. Hot ones too. The bitch in the front ain’t half bad either,” said Nathan.

  “Gimme that,” said Mullins, attempting to grab the binoculars.

  Nathan snatched them away and glared at Mullins. “You do not fucking grab shit from me. Understand?”

  “Sorry, Nate. I got excited,” said Mullins, retracting his hand.

  “I hate that grabbing shit. You’re like a two-year-old. Grab my shit again, and I’ll bash your teeth in.”

  “It won’t happen again, Nate.”

  Nathan stared at his friend, wanting to smash his face in anyway. “Get in the car. We need to have a chat with these ladies about the new firearms ordinance in town.”

  “We have a new ordinance?”

  “Are you extra stupid today? The new ordinance is what I say it is, and I say nobody rides around with assault rifles through my town. Weren’t you listening to a thing my dad said? We’re the law around here now, so start acting like it,” said Nathan.

  “How far is our jurisdiction?”

  “As far as we want it to be. When’s the last time you saw a county sheriff’s car or one of those punk-ass staties?”

  “I haven’t,” replied David.

  “Exactly. Dad says it’s up to us, so here we go. Get in the truck.”

  Nathan closed the door and started the engine, sensing that David’s line of questioning would continue. He leaned forward to draw the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans just as David opened his mouth.

  “I thought your dad was talking about the militia being in charge. I don’t think—”

  Nathan jammed the barrel of the semiautomatic pistol into David’s cheek. “You don’t think what?” he said, fixing a murderous stare.

  David shook his head, mumbling, “I’m sorry, man. I promise—”

  “This is your last warning, dude. Dad left me with full authority to do what needs to be done around here. He’s a full colonel in the militia, right under my granddad. Why the hell do you think he gave me this car? To run errands? Use your head, man—or lose it. I’m serious,” he said, easing the pressure on David’s cheek.

  “All right. Let’s do this,” said David.

  “I do all the talking. Play this right, and one of those bitches will be bobbing on your knob. Ain’t nothing free in this world anymore. Gotta pay a toll to use the roads around here,” said Nathan, grinning wickedly.

  “I can handle that. I’d love to work those twins over,” said David, touching the denim bulge forming in his pants.

  “Don’t get greedy. You keep fucking up and it’ll be one of the boys,” said Nathan.

  “I don’t care who it is,” said David. “Let’s get this on!”

  “That’s better,” said Nathan, shifting the car into drive.

  ***

  Shit. Kate glanced at the grocery store parking lot again. The sight of two men surveying their group with binoculars made her nervous. They could be waiting for someone to arrive via the same route, or they might be keeping an eye out for trouble. The mess of beer cans near the light post suggested otherwise.

  Keep pedaling. The parking lot would be out of view within a few minutes.

  “Kate! They’re coming!” yelled Samantha.

  Of course they were. She slowed her bike and watched the black SUV speed across the parking lot toward the shopping center exit fifty feet ahead of her group.

  “Linda?” said Kate.

  “Got it covered,” replied Linda.

  Kate cruised half of the distance to the exit and stopped, dismounting her bike. She swung her rifle forward on its two-point sling, and tried to remember how Linda taught her to transition quickly to a forward position. She knew the strap would switch shoulders, but beyond that she didn’t have enough practice with the maneuver to do it correctly on the first try. The BMW SUV careened onto Route 5 and skidded to a halt twenty feet ahead.

  Screw this. She pushed her AR-15 back into position on her back and unsnapped her holster. At this range, she could probably do more damage with her Sig Sauer.

  She risked a quick glance back at the group. They looked more exhausted than alarmed by the sudden appearance of the SUV. Linda had already transitioned her rifle and was approaching swiftly along the center median line, keeping her distance from the kids. She knew what she was doing, which was more than Kate could say about the situation. She noticed Ethan fiddling with one of the side pockets on his rucksack. He had pulled the pack off one shoulder.

  “Ethan, leave it in the pack. Same for you, Emily,” said Kate.

  She heard Linda give the same warning to her daughters, whom Kate knew for a fact were armed. Even the Walker kids carried firearms, though they had never been trained to fire one. If things deteriorated into a gunfight, Kate and Linda would buy the group enough time to find cover, while Samantha helped the kids put the rest of the group’s weapons into action. She turned back to the SUV just as the front doors opened.

  Black motorcycle boots and shit-kicker jeans appeared to be the uniform of the day for their welcoming committee. She guessed early to mid twenties, but they both wore that hardened, “up to no good” expression that made it difficult to tell. The passenger swayed a bit after standing. He looked dumber than a rock garden. Drunk and dumb didn’t mix well in serious situations, and this was about as serious as any situation would ever get for these two.

  The driver stepped around the hood, staring her down with beady eyes and a twisted smirk. A black semiautomatic pistol grip protruded from his jeans. Beady Eyes was the dangerous one. He would be the first to die if this went badly—and she expected it to. She could think of no logical reason why these two dipshits would suddenly pull out in front of them. They wanted something, and five seconds of observation made it clear that they didn’t want the bicycles. Rock Garden hadn’t taken his eyes off Linda’s twins since he blundered out of the BMW. This would definitely end badly, especially if Linda figured out what Rock Garden had in mind.

  “Afternoon, ladies. Nathan Russell. Part of the militia in charge of the area,” he said, resting his hands on his hips—dangerously close to the pistol.

  “We’re gonna have to ask you to surrender those rifles and consent to a search. We can’t have people running around with weapons—uh—in the area.”

  “I’m pretty familiar with the state’s firearms laws, and there’s no problem here. If you don’t mind, we have a long day ahead of us,” said Kate.

  “But there is a problem. We’ve been given authority to make decisions about these kinds of things,” said Beady Eyes, drawing a quick look from Rock Garden.

  “Who gave you this authority?” said Linda, straining to keep her rifle barrel pointed down.

  “The local commander,” said Beady Eyes. “So I need you to clear those weapons, and we’ll get you on your way.”

  “Unless you want to pay the toll,” said Rock Garden with an eager look.

  Beady Eyes silenced him with a deadly glare.

  “We’re not travelling with any money,” said Kate.

  “There’s other ways to pay,” muttered Rock Garden.

  Mouth open, he glared at Linda’s twins. Kate slowly moved her hand back along her thigh, feeling the nylon holster and mentally picturing the draw. She’d give them one more chance.

  “We’re gonna get moving now. I think you should drive back to the parking lot and enjoy the rest of your beers. It’s a beautiful day. Be a real shame to ruin it,” she stated.

  Beady Eyes shifted his right hand toward the pistol. “Nobody’s going anywhere until I—”

  The blast from Linda’s rifle punched a small red dot through the center of his forehead. Kate drew her pistol and dropped to one
knee, firing rapidly at Rock Garden’s head and chest. His head snapped backward moments before blasts from Linda’s rifle punctured his torso and shattered the window behind him. She shifted her aim to Beady Eyes, who remained upright, staring blankly past her at the kids. His mouth mumbled something unintelligible as he slowly sank down the side of the vehicle and tumbled forward to the blistering pavement.

  Emily screamed, setting off a chain reaction of panic and hysteria among the teenagers. Kate’s vision narrowed to the tiny red hole in the front of his head. The hole was so perfect. The shrieking faded into a high-pitched ringing. Someone grabbed her arm.

  “You all right, Kate? We need to get out of here! Can you stand?” said a familiar voice.

  She broke her fixation on the trickle of blood flowing from the bullet entry wound, and turned her head to the sound. Linda stood over her, trying to pull her up. Everything snapped back into place. She thumbed the decocking lever on her pistol and holstered it.

  “We need to load up right now!” Linda ordered. “We’re taking the car!”

  “Everyone’s all right?” asked Kate.

  “Everyone except for those two. Find the keys. I’ll get the kids in the car,” she said.

  Linda glanced behind her and saw the kids cowering behind their bicycles. She pulled at her frantic daughters, urging them to get in the SUV.

  Emily threw her bike down and rushed forward, crying. “I want to go home, Mommy!”

  “We’ll be fine, sweetie,” Kate said to her. “We’ll be at Nana and Grandpa’s house in thirty minutes. I need you to get in the car now. Don’t look at anything but the car. Can you do that?”

  Emily nodded and buried her head in Kate’s right shoulder.

  “We need to get moving,” said Linda.

  Kate kissed her daughter. “I love you. Get your pack off, and get in the car.”