by Bobby Akart
After turning onto Hammond, he noticed a CVS Pharmacy being guarded by a private security team. No surprise there. He always thought the first business to be looted after the shit hit the fan would be the drug store. The addicts would be looking for drugs, and the preppers would be looking for antibiotics. None of the security guards were armed. Sarge was sure that whoever hired them insisted they not scare the residents or patrons. He doubted they would feel the same way tomorrow, if they even showed up.
Sarge finally reached the Beaver Country Day school that Julia said was across from the entrance to the Peabodys’ home. He resisted the urge to drive the wrong way on the one-way street, opting instead to follow the rules. When did the rule of law get thrown out the window? There was a lot to contemplate, but for now, Sarge was ready for his first pickup.
Art Peabody was waiting for him alone in the driveway. He was wearing khakis, a black polo shirt, and tennis shoes. Should he call him Uncle Art? Maybe it was too early for that. Sarge cranked down the window and smiled.
“Hi, Dr. Peabody, I see you’re ready.” Sarge pulled to a stop and shut off the engine. Dr. Peabody opened the door for him.
“Henry Sargent. It has been a long time, but not so long that you shouldn’t remember to call me Art.” He extended his soft surgeon’s hand, and the men shook heartily. He seemed to be in good spirits. From around the hedgerow came Julia’s aunt Stella. She was wearing golf attire.
“Hello, Mrs. Peabody,” greeted Sarge. He attempted to shake her hand but was treated to a hug instead.
“Now listen,” she started. “You will call me Stella, just as Art and I will call you Sarge. We are practically family, you know.” Sarge had to think through the Sargent family tree quickly to see if the Peabodys, Hawthornes, and Sargents ever crossed paths.
“She’s right, Sarge,” interjected Dr. Peabody. “Our Julia is very fond of you. You are practically family.” Sarge got it. Family—used in the practically-our-son-in-law sense of the word. Sarge tried not to seem uncomfortable. Maybe Uncle Art was appropriate after all.
“Thank you both, very much. Have you packed a few things?” Sarge didn’t see any luggage or bags.
“Well, we weren’t sure how long we’d be when you called last night, Sarge,” said Mrs. Peabody. She looked down at the ground, appearing to gather courage for the statement. “But then Art received a few random text messages from colleagues around the country who believe this may take months or even years to resolve.”
“Information was spotty last night, Mrs.—Stella,” said Sarge, catching himself. “Julia will know a lot more when we get back to 100 Beacon. If necessary, we might be able to come back and get more things for you.”
“Sarge, thank you,” said Dr. Peabody. “But we are under no illusions here. John has told us repeatedly that you have prepared for this scenario, and we trust you to have our best interests at heart. We will follow your instructions.”
“Thank you, Art,” replied Sarge. Sarge steered them back toward the entrance. “Please, lead the way.”
They each had two Louis Vuitton duffels that Sarge loaded through the back hatch of his truck. Dr. Peabody went in to retrieve one more item. He closed the front door and locked the bolt lock. Was this habit, or hoping for the best?
“Whatcha got there, Art?” asked Sarge. He was carrying a gun case.
“We might need these,” he replied. “I have two Browning AB3 hunting rifles in .308. We each have one, plus compact nines in our bags.”
“Stella, do you like to hunt?” asked Sarge. He was impressed.
“I prefer target practice,” she replied. “I was born on a farm, you know.”
Dr. Peabody laughed. “Farm, my ass, Stella. The Hawthorne Vineyards hardly qualified as a farm. Over a thousand acres, Sarge.” Dr. Peabody gave his wife a hug and a squeeze. “Don’t let her modesty fool you. If necessary, we’ll put her on the roof of your building. Trust me. She doesn’t miss.”
“Good to know,” said Sarge. “Well, let’s go, troops. We need to pick up the Winthrops.”
Chapter 25
September 4, 2016
8:08 a.m.
Newton, Massachusetts
Sarge hoped all the stops would go this smoothly. He had not visited the Winthrops since Thanksgiving last year. He was sure he would catch an earful from Mrs. Winthrop. She had been his mother’s best friend. In fact, the Winthrops and Sargents were inseparable—frequently traveling together and sharing other common interests. Descendants of John Winthrop, one of the leading figures in the founding of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, their family became synonymous with the state’s politics and philanthropy. The two families became close when Sarge’s grandfather was governor of Massachusetts and his lieutenant governor was R. C. Winthrop. The families remained close friends and became a valuable political force on behalf of the Boston Brahmin. Sarge’s parents would have been glad their safety was placed in his hands.
“Here we are,” said Sarge as he pulled into the circle driveway of the Winthrops’ home that was modest by Boston Brahmin standards. Julia’s aunt and uncle exited the truck to assist with the bags. The Winthrops were in their late seventies, and Millicent Winthrop had been in ill health. Her husband, Paul, expressed these health concerns to Sarge, who assured him her medical problems would not be an issue.
After some pleasantries were exchanged, Sarge filled the truck to capacity. Like Art Peabody, Paul returned with one last addition to be loaded—Winnie the Frenchie. The Winthrops brought along their French bulldog. Sarge had not contemplated pets as part of the plan, and he chastised himself for not taking this into consideration. Pets were an integral part of most families, as important as children to some. Winnie the Frenchie would have everyday needs like shelter, food, water, and medical attention.
“I hope she’s okay, Sarge?” asked Mr. Winthrop as he easily scooped up the twenty pounder. “Winnie is a part of our family, and Millie gets very depressed without her. Winnie will not be a bother, I promise.”
Sarge could not object, especially under the circumstances. But he had not planned for the addition of pets in their preparedness plans. Several things came to mind, including how to dispose of a dog’s waste.
“Well, my concern is that it’s unsafe to walk pets now,” started Sarge. “We will be confined to the building.”
Mr. Winthrop, anticipating the objection, interrupted Sarge. “We have pet piddle pads, Sarge. Winnie is house trained too. She conducts her business on the piddle pad. We seal it up using the leak-proof backing and into the garbage it goes.”
Garbage. How could he forget? How would they dispose of their trash? The waste chute at 100 Beacon would quickly overflow from the lack of city services. Winnie the Frenchie’s piddle pads would be the least of their concerns.
“So, are we good to go, Sarge?” asked Mr. Winthrop, snapping Sarge’s attention back to the task at hand.
“Of course,” said Sarge. He glanced at his watch. It was after nine now, and the city of Boston would be awake in earnest, for better or worse.
Chapter 26
September 4, 2016
9:15 a.m.
100 Beacon
Boston, Massachusetts
Sarge took the same route back to 100 Beacon but was amazed at the difference in activity in just two hours. The rumored details of the grid collapse must have been spreading, because large groups of people were gathering on streets and at the front of closed businesses. People were shocked and in a state of panic. A large contingent pushed their way towards the front door of the CVS Pharmacy.
“Look, everyone,” said Dr. Peabody, pointing at the dozen or so customers who demanded access to the CVS building. “They just knocked one of the guards down, and they’re trying to break in. Should we help him? He looks injured.”
“This is going to get worse,” said Sarge as he continued past the store. “As people gather information, whether accurate or misinformed, their shock will turn to fear. The elderly, including some of our f
riends, will not have sufficient medications to last more than a month or two. As this becomes reality, then panic will set in. Looting and violence will increase, resulting in a state of mayhem. I suspect what we just observed at CVS is tame compared to what the coming days and weeks will produce.”
Sarge worked his way toward Storrow. “Look at all of the cars leaving town on the Mass Turnpike!” exclaimed Mr. Winthrop. “Where are they going?”
“They’re fleeing the city already,” replied Sarge. “As each day passes, this urban environment will become far more dangerous. We have to move quickly to gather our friends and make arrangements to move you guys to a safer place.”
“Prescott?” asked Mrs. Peabody. Two police cars roared past them towards the city. Very few cars were traveling in this direction.
“Yes,” replied Sarge. “As you know, Mr. Morgan has undertaken an incredible project with our assistance. You will meet my friends, Donald and Susan Quinn, together with Dr. J.J. Warren.”
“Everything has been arranged, dear,” said Dr. Peabody to his wife. Sarge tried not to show a reaction to this statement, but it struck him as odd. Arranged?
Sarge slowed the truck as the exit for 100 Beacon drew near. Next to the garage entrance, there was a group of young men looking through the dumpster. Sarge wasn’t comfortable entering the garage at this time but did not like the exposure of unloading his passengers at the front entrance of 100 Beacon either. He could have waited for the dumpster divers to leave, but he had another pickup to make today. As the afternoon progressed, these excursions into the city would grow perilous.
He decided to circle the block to assess the front-door option. He eased up to the stop sign at Beacon Street. Three calm-looking residents were standing at the wrought-iron fence. The lobby entrance might be more crowded, but for now, his neighbors’ twenty questions posed less of a threat than the dumpster divers to the rear.
Sarge pulled up to the curb and parked under the Evacuation Route sign. He doubted parking enforcement would be issuing tickets for a long time.
“Everybody, before we get out, I need you to listen up. The less said to my neighbors, or anybody for that matter, the better. No one needs to know about our plans or intentions. If you’re asked any questions, please do not answer. I am giving you carte blanche to be rude. From this point forward, remember the phrase from World War II—loose lips sink ships.”
“Okay, Henry.” Mrs. Winthrop spoke up. “We trust you.” Sarge looked in the back and smiled at her. For a moment, he saw his mom in her smile.
People were curious by nature. Some, in fact, felt they had an absolute right to know what you were doing. At times, when a person’s curious nature was not accommodated, they grew hostile at the perceived insult. The fact that your activities were none of their business was lost on them. They had a right to know.
Sarge stepped out of the car and opened the door for the Winthrops. Art Peabody followed suit and assisted his wife out of the backseat. As Sarge rounded the vehicle, he was immediately approached by the male resident whom he recognized as a local attorney.
“You’re Professor Sargent, the occupant of the top floor, are you not?” cross-examined his neighbor.
“Yes.”
“Do you know what the hell is going on?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Sarge. Laying luggage on the sidewalk at the inquisitor’s feet, he added, “Excuse me.”
“Well now, you’ve obviously been around town. What have you seen?”
“Sir, I’m sorry, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary,” started Sarge, standing up and looking the attorney directly in the eyes. “I would like to help my friends upstairs, if you don’t mind allowing us a little room to do so.” Sarge didn’t want to alienate the man, and he wasn’t happy with the crowd of five nosy neighbors that had gathered around. He just wanted to get off this sidewalk. He decided to give a little information to move this along.
“Well, excuse us for intruding,” said the man with disdain. “Like the rest of your neighbors, we are trying to ascertain a few facts.”
“I am so sorry,” said Sarge. “This is a stressful time for all of us as we cope with this situation. I probably know about as much as you do, and most of my information is based on rumor and conjecture. I believe the power grid is down across most of the nation, except for maybe Texas. I have no idea for how long. At this point, I’m trying to help some of my elderly friends by making them a little more comfortable.”
“That’s understandable, Professor,” said the attorney. “I’m sure if you learn anything, you will come downstairs to inform the rest of us.”
“Of course. We’ll be on our way.” Sarge led the Peabodys and Winthrops inside the lobby to the stairwell. It was a long walk up the eleven flights to the penthouse, requiring several rest stops. Sarge thought about the conversation on the sidewalk. As the realities set in for his neighbors, their curiosity would turn to demands. He would have to prepare for the consequences of their malevolence.
Chapter 27
September 4, 2016
12:15 p.m.
100 Beacon
Boston, Massachusetts
Sarge studied the laptop as Julia served their guests lunch. She focused on eating perishable food items first. Everyone understood and was delighted at the array of fruits and vegetables Julia displayed. As they talked around the dining table, this felt more like a Sunday family get-together than their first postapocalyptic meal. Sarge joined them with a look of concern on his face. Mrs. Winthrop noticed it first.
“Is everything okay, Henry?” she asked.
“There’s nothing new,” he replied. “It will take some time to gather details from the foreign news sources. I am sure their correspondents in the States have difficulty reporting and protecting themselves at the same time. Some cities are reporting that violence and looting are out of control already. New York, Chicago, LA, and Seattle are descending into anarchy.”
Julia studied Sarge and knew that he was holding something back. Thus far, he had remained calm during this process, but she sensed he was tense after reviewing the news.
“Is there any reporting on the situation here in Boston?” asked Mr. Winthrop.
“Fortunately, at least thus far, we haven’t seen any reports emanating from Boston,” replied Sarge. “I don’t think we’re immune from the violence. It’s just not widespread yet.” Sarge only ate a few apple and orange wedges. He was bothered by something.
“Well.” Julia spoke up, breaking the tension. “Who wants some sorbet?”
“What a fabulous treat, Julia,” said Mr. Winthrop. His heavy frame shook as he laughed. “Let me help you.”
“Oh no, you are our guests,” said Julia. “Sarge, would you mind?” He was staring out towards Cambridge.
“Sure.” Sarge gathered some dishes as the Winthrops and Peabodys engaged in small talk. Julia helped him set the dishes in the sink. Hand-washing the dishes would focus on eliminating bacteria with a minimal amount of water. Julia and Sarge agreed that using dishware was preferable to paper plates and cups as some had suggested. Trash disposal in an urban area was more difficult than the country.
“Sarge, what’s wrong?”
Sarge glanced over his shoulder toward the dining table and then leaned into Julia’s ear to whisper, “I was on the English-speaking website for the German newspaper Die Zeit. Chancellor Merkel has called an emergency meeting of the United Nations Security Council in Geneva. Several NATO members are pointing their fingers at Russia for attacking the United States. They’re concerned about a sudden increase in Russian military activity in North America.”
“Like what?” Julia asked.
“For months, Russian submarines have maintained a presence off our Gulf and Atlantic coastlines. It’s now being reported Russian ships armed with unmanned submersibles have been seen operating in a major corridor of undersea transmission cables between Washington and Europe. NATO analysts believe the cables are vulnerable to com
promise to further isolate America from communicating with the rest of the world.”
“The Russians taking an interest in our cables is not a new thing,” said Julia. “This potential was raised by Washington a few years ago.”
“That’s true, but we didn’t do anything about it. Just like we didn’t do anything about protecting our power grid from a cyber attack.”
“What does it all mean?” asked Julia.
“Well, there’s more. The Russians have established a major military presence at the abandoned NATO facility near the Arctic Circle. This base gives the Russians a clear shot to our Atlantic Seaboard.”
“They’re preparing for war. Would they kick us while we’re down?” asked Julia.
“The Russians may be the reason we’re down. This is their MO.”
“What do you mean?”
“If the collapse of our grid is the result of a cyber attack, there are several potential guilty parties. The Russians, Chinese, North Koreans, and Iranians constantly initiate cyber intrusions on the private and public sector in America. The Chinese use the cyber realm for espionage—military technology in particular. The North Korean and Iranian cyber capabilities are less sophisticated, but they would love nothing more than to cut off the evil Americans at their knees. But the Russians are different.”
“How?”
“In the past, the Russians used their cyber capabilities as a precursor to war.”
“Like Ukraine?” asked Julia.
“Ukraine is one example, although their cyber activities were not showcased like in previous conflicts,” replied Sarge.
Julia finished wiping down the dishes with a moistened bleach towelette. She leaned against the sink and listened as Sarge continued.
“A better example was the Russian invasion of Georgia in 2008. In preparation for the Russia-Georgia border war, Russian hackers covertly penetrated the Internet infrastructure of Georgia to deploy an array of cyber attacks, logic bombs, and other cyber tools. Once the hot war began, the cyber weapons disabled the Tbilisi government and paralyzed Georgia’s financial system. The resulting uncertainty lead to a de facto international banking quarantine, as international lenders and other payments processors feared infection from the cyber attack.”
