Martial Law

by Bobby Akart

  Steven looked at Katie and nodded. They both exited the truck with their hands held away from their bodies.

  “We don’t want any trouble,” started Steven. “Please look at the letter, Deputy. It’s there by the gearshift.”

  A few cars were lined up behind the Range Rover but were keeping their distance. The deputy visually confirmed that the other officers were in position, and he found the letter.

  “Do you have some identification?”

  “I do, it’s in the console. But just be aware, my Glock is in there as well.”

  “Understood.” Deputy Mullinax looked at Steven’s identification and reread the letter. He walked away for a moment and called someone on his two-way radio. After a moment, he returned the letter and Steven’s driver’s license. “Weapons down.”

  “My apologies, sir,” said Deputy Mullinax. “You can relax now. We’re trying to avoid the types of incidents that have plagued other small towns.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you related to Professor Henry Sargent?”

  “I am. He’s my older brother.”

  “My brother, Michael Mullinax, is the county executive and a fan of your brother’s writing. Apparently they met in Orlando last summer at a libertarian conference.”

  “Apparently, Sarge has made a lot of friends this year,” said Steven. He adjusted his arm sling, where his Glock 26 subcompact was hidden. No need for this yet.

  “His book made a big impression on a lot of us, which is part of the reason we’re guarding this bridge. After the power went down, our world became a lot smaller. As odd as it may sound, the City of Poughkeepsie must maintain its borders first, and then we’ll concern ourselves with the rest of New York and America. As my brother says, sovereignty starts at home.”

  “He’s right,” said Steven. “Thank you for letting us cross.” Steven was ready to continue.

  “Yes, sir. You’re welcome. Another patrol car will escort you across the bridge and to the east side of town. From there Route 44, or the Dutchess Turnpike, as it’s also known, will take you directly to Hartford. It’s about a hundred miles from here.”

  “Thank you, Deputy Mullinax.” Steven and Katie got into the truck, and Deputy Mullinax leaned into the window and quietly said, “Choose freedom.”

  Chapter 45

  Monday, September 5, 2016

  11:21 p.m.

  Sturbridge, MA

  Katie and Steven continued their trek across the northern route of Connecticut. They didn’t encounter any violence, but several of the towns they approached were establishing security checkpoints. Hector’s passport helped most of the time. On other occasions, Steven and Katie were forced to detour. With his injury, they were not interested in conflict with local law enforcement or the ragtag militias that protected these small townships.

  The extended amount of time necessary to travel across the state was not an issue except evidence of looting became more frequent, especially north of Hartford. More disabled vehicles were seen on the roadways, and travelers were seen walking or riding bicycles to reach their destinations.

  “Mass-a-two-shits dead ahead.” Katie laughed.

  “Home sweet home,” joined in Steven. “Home of the baked bean.”

  “All hail to Mass-a-two-shits!” exclaimed Katie as they crossed the state line on Interstate 84.

  “I think we’re getting slaphappy,” said Steven. “As much as I’d like to coast right into Beantown tonight, it’s not gonna happen.” Steve tapped the fuel gauge for Katie to see the red low fuel indicator.

  “We’ll be lucky to make it to Sturbridge.”

  “Twenty miles?”

  “Yep.” They passed the rest area and welcome center as they approached Exit 1. “Let’s sleep for the night so we’ll be fresh when we hit Boston tomorrow. If things have deteriorated, we may have to fight our way to 100 Beacon.”

  “What about fuel?”

  “I have a plan,” replied Steven. “Hector gave me a siphon hose and taught me which vehicles are easiest to pull from. This Mobil truck stop might give us some options.”

  “What are we looking for?” asked Katie.

  “Most vehicles from the nineties forward have anti-siphon devices that prevent you from inserting the rubber hose all the way to the fuel. You just end up sucking air. Older models are easier to work with, especially pickup trucks if you have a long siphon hose.”

  “Do we?”

  “Yes—courtesy of Hector’s Passport and Gas Theft, LLC.” Steven laughed.

  Katie was still perplexed. “Do you know the model years of pickup trucks?”

  “Look for the most busted-up vehicles you can.”

  Steven and Katie drove through and caught the attention of a couple of truckers standing by their rigs. After another pass through, they realized there were too many eyes upon them.

  “Too hot, Bonnie,” said Steven. “Let’s work our way up US 20, Worcester Road. Surely something will catch our eye.”

  “It needs to be soon, Clyde. We’re on fumes.”

  They drove several miles along US 20 and then hit the crest of a hill. “Katie, this is our last chance. We can coast down this hill, but then we look for another car or walk the last seventy miles.” Steven let off the gas and put the car in neutral. As they began to coast, Katie yelled for him to stop.

  “Back there, a driveway up into the woods. There was a sign with orange lettering that read Landscape Supply.”

  Steven pulled over to the side of the road and shut off the engine. He didn’t want the fuel lines to run completely dry.

  “How did you see that in the dark?” he asked.

  “They probably have solar landscape lighting. You know, as a sales tool.”

  Steven shrugged. Made sense. “I’ll check it out. Wait here.”

  “No, Steven.”

  “What?”

  “I won’t wait here. This is not a job for a one-armed bandit. We’ll go together.” Katie jumped out of the truck, and Steven followed suit. They hopped over the concrete highway barriers and crossed the remaining two lanes of the road.

  They circled around the back of the greenhouse and immediately found an empty gas can.

  “Shit,” said Steven. Katie crouched behind a hedgerow and pulled her weapon. She was looking in all directions.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I forgot the siphon hose.”

  “You dumbass,” said Katie jokingly. “You suck at burglary. I’ll be right back.”

  While Katie retrieved the siphon hose, Steven looked through the greenhouses and found nothing. There was a large shed with a roll-up door that was padlocked. He quietly tried a side door, and it was unlocked.

  Katie returned. “Any luck?”

  “Yeah. This door is unlocked. Let’s be smart and clear the building.”

  “It’ll be easier with this,” said Katie, holding up one of the solar-powered landscape lights.

  “God, I love you, Katie O’Shea.”

  “I know. Me first.” Katie led the way in and swung left, and Steven took the right side. There was no other room inside, and they quickly determined it was unoccupied. But there were also no filled gas cans.

  “Nothin’ runs like a Deere, unless it’s empty,” said Steven as he siphoned the gas out of two John Deere lawn tractors and a push mower.

  “It’s not quite five gallons, but it should get us home,” he said.

  “Good. I picked up a few burglary tools in case we need them.” She showed Steven a pry bar, a long screwdriver, and another set of bolt cutters. “You never know.”

  Chapter 46

  Tuesday, September 6, 2016

  9:13 a.m.

  Framingham, MA

  The decision to drive into Boston on the Massachusetts Turnpike was not an easy one. They could have easily turned north and sought the comfort and safety of Prescott Peninsula. But in their last communication with Sarge and Julia yesterday morning, they’d confirmed their plans were to return to 100 B
eacon. Traffic came to a standstill as they approached the intersection with the Boston-Worcester Turnpike.

  “They’re diverting traffic off the Mass Turnpike for some reason,” said Steven.

  Katie studied the map. “We’ll have to go through a toll booth.”

  “No fuckin’ way. Not in my lifetime.” Steven pulled onto the shoulder and began driving through the grass along a utility easement.

  Katie grabbed the dashboard. “Steven, the fence!” Steven revved the engine and drove through the chain-link fence—bouncing both of their heads off the ceiling.

  “What fence?” he asked as he gunned the engine and the back of the Range Rover fishtailed through the pine needles. He bounced them along under the high-voltage lines—which no longer carried any voltage—until they came out on Oak Hill Road. “Which way?”

  “Are you asking me?” asked Katie, rubbing the newly formed knot on her head.

  “You’re the navigator. Do you want me to ask Siri?”

  “No, wiseguy. Hold on.” Katie studied the map for a moment. “Turn right. We’ll pick up Highway 20 again.”

  Katie directed Steven through the neighborhoods until they came out on Turnpike Road at an industrial park.

  “Steven, look!” Katie pointed to their left, where three men were chasing a young woman dressed in a FedEx uniform. “We have to help her!”

  “Katie,” started Steven, “this could be a really bad idea.”

  “Yeah, for her! Stop. Turn here!”

  Steven slid the Range Rover into a turn—barely avoiding a curb and hopping into a cluster of trees. The men were gaining on the woman as she ran through the Penske Truck Rental parking lot.

  “She’s headed for the FedEx building on the right. Fire a warning shot to slow them down.”

  Instead of a warning shot, Katie shot one in the back of the leg, bringing him down in a heap.

  “Katie!” screamed Steven.

  “No rules, remember?” she fired again, missing the other two men, who continued their pursuit. While their attention was directed at the assailants, a BMW sedan crashed into their rear bumper, sending the Range Rover into a spin. Steven overcorrected in an attempt to gain control and skidded to a stop. They were sideways in the middle of the road with the BMW barreling toward them. Katie calmly shot the driver and braced for the impact.

  The BMW struck the right front quarter panel of the Range Rover. The truck did a complete revolution, and the BMW went airborne before hitting a telephone pole that almost split the car in two. Smoke and fluids poured out of their engine.

  “Are you okay?” asked Steven. But Katie was halfway out of the truck before he got a response.

  “Let’s go!” Katie shouted, after confirming the driver of the BMW was dead. Again, without waiting for Steven, she began running towards the FedEx building.

  “Fuck me,” muttered Steven as he grabbed his handguns and ran after Katie, who had disappeared through some trees in front of the building.

  He caught up with her at the front entrance. The plate-glass window was broken open with a trash can. She held up one finger to her lips—to indicate quiet.

  Steven whispered, “Katie, this is not our fight.”

  “Yes, it is, Steven. I’m not gonna let that girl get raped or murdered. What if that was me in there?” Of course, she had a point. His shoulder was throbbing, and all of the bandages had fallen off his face at this point. I could scare them away.

  With a deep breath and an exaggerated wince, Steven removed his sling.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “We’ll fix it later.” He holstered the subcompact Glock and carried the other 9mm in his left hand. He was ambidextrous and very comfortable shooting with either hand. “Follow me and listen for sounds. They won’t be able to stay quiet.”

  “I think they’re more interested in their prey than their hunters,” said Katie.

  They entered the lobby of the FedEx facility. Behind the counter, there were two swinging doors. Steven surmised the woman would run into the larger space—the warehouse—which might provide more places to hide. He nodded toward the set of doors on the left and Katie followed. They both crouched as they entered the massive sixty-thousand-square-foot building.

  “Damn,” whispered Steven. “Needle in a haystack.” It was pitch black inside.

  “It’s dark. It benefits someone who is familiar with the building.”

  “Let’s wait here a moment until our eyes adjust to the darkness. We can use the slivers of light coming through the top of the steel roll-up doors as our guide.”

  A crash to their right caught their attention. Then they heard the metallic sound of wheels spinning.

  “The package conveyor belt,” said Steven.

  “Come out, come out wherever you are!” shouted one of the men.

  “Yeah, we just want to play,” said the other.

  Steven worked his way along the wall behind the offices. Katie was right behind him, constantly looking forward and then back, to ensure no one caught them off guard.

  “Come on, girlfriend. We’ll have a good time. You know you want some of this!” The men continued to taunt the woman while allowing Steven and Katie to draw a bead on their voices.

  Steven found the conveyer belt that was the source of the earlier noise and decided to follow it into the center of the building. The FedEx panel trucks obscured any light emitting from the exterior doors. He moved quietly to the tailgate of each truck as they followed the presumed path of the two men.

  “Maybe she went through the other doors, man,” said one of the men, his voice up ahead of Steven and Katie’s position.

  “No, dude, I saw those doors swingin’. She’s in here somewhere and I ain’t leavin’ ’til I get me some.”

  Steven was almost upon them when some boxes fell behind him. The men suddenly turned and ran through the darkness, crashing Steven into the wheels of a truck.

  “Mutherfucker!” screamed one of the men as he jumped on Steven and started swinging at his face. The other man jumped to his feet just in time to be killed by Katie with two shots to the chest. The woman’s shriek from their left provided the distraction Steven needed to roll the heavier man off of him. Before he could pull his backup weapon, Katie put two rounds in the remaining man’s chest. They were both dead.

  Steven groaned. In the darkness, Katie leaned down to see if he was hurt. She could feel the blood seeping into his shirt.

  “Are you okay?” asked Katie.

  “Yeah. The bastard was heavy. He ran over me like he didn’t know I was standing there.”

  “Can you stand?”

  Steven lifted himself up, but his knees gave way as he fell against the conveyor.

  “Stay here,” said Katie. She turned her attention to the woman with the hope of getting Steven help. “Hello, ma’am, my name is Katie O’Shea. Are you okay?”

  Silence. Katie tried again.

  “Ma’am, we’re not here to hurt you. We just wanted to protect you from those men. Could you please let me know you’re okay so I can take my friend outside and get him some help? He’s badly hurt.”

  After a moment of brief silence, she replied, “I’m okay. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Do you have a flashlight? It’s dark, and I need to get some medical supplies for Steven.”

  “Hold on.” A door to one of the trucks opened and a light faintly illuminated an area near the office entrance. Then headlights from the vehicle turned on, making it much brighter. One by one, the woman walked down the row of FedEx vans waiting to be filled with packages and turned on their headlights. In just a few moments, it was bright as day inside.

  She peered around the last van and looked at Steven and then Katie.

  “Was he shot?”

  “Yes, but not here. I have to get my bag from the truck. It was crashed by another man that I assume was with these two.” Katie kicked the legs of the dead men. The girl put her hands to her mouth and began to cry.

&nb
sp; “They were going to rape me,” she sobbed. She sat on the sidestep of a truck.

  “Not anymore,” said Katie. “What’s your name?”

  “Valerie.”

  “Valerie, will you stay here with Steven while I get my medical supplies?” Steven’s leg began to buckle, and he landed on the floor with his back to the conveyor.

  “Yes.”

  Katie turned to Steven and checked his eyes and pulse. “Keep him awake.”

  Chapter 47

  Wednesday, September 7, 2016

  10:51 a.m.

  Boston, MA

  “I vote the bigger, the better,” said Steven as he surveyed the FedEx fleet. His body had suffered a lot of trauma in the last forty-eight hours, but he was clearly rejuvenated by the night’s rest. At this pace, he wondered if they would ever make it to Boston—in one piece.

  Valerie, the young FedEx employee, had been waiting for her boyfriend to return. He was a FedEx supervisor, and they were the only two employees working at the facility on Saturday night when the power went off. He was going home to grab his guns and some supplies for the trip into Auburndale and her parents’ home. She dutifully waited for three days and, out of boredom, left the confines of the FedEx facility to look around. That was when her troubles began.

  “I agree,” said Katie. “That crappy Range Rover got pushed around by a Beemer—literally.”

  Steven stopped in front of a twenty-four-foot panel truck. “How about this one?” he asked. “It’s as big as a U-Haul.”

  “I don’t care,” replied Valerie. “I quit as of yesterday. I’ll probably never see my last check.”

  Steven stifled a laugh and then realized the girl was serious. All she could think about was her last paycheck. There were two crashed cars and four dead bodies lying around and nobody gave a damn. Day four after the collapse and nobody was surprised at the carnage he and Katie left behind. Imagine what Day 44 will be like.

  “Come on, guys, let’s go,” said Katie. “Valerie, will you be able to drive this thing after you drop us off?”