Martial Law

by Bobby Akart

  “Oh no, you can have it,” she replied. “Just drop me off in Auburndale near Woodland Road overpass. My parents live right down the street. I can easily walk from there.”

  “Let’s roll, then,” said Steven.

  The trio made their way onto the Massachusetts Turnpike and into the city without incident. They dropped off Valerie as requested and exchanged hugs. Steven sensed that the young girl was grateful for her rescue, but still hadn’t grasped the magnitude of the mess her country was in. He hesitated to leave her on the side of the turnpike, but she appeared to feel safe in familiar surroundings. As did he.

  “Do we take the turnpike all the way into downtown and double back?” asked Katie.

  “I say we get off sooner, before Prudential Center,” replied Steven. “I don’t want to go through the tunnel, and I’d like to avoid the toll booth at Storrow.”

  “That’s understandable, but we have to go through a toll somewhere.”

  “Let’s just do it here in Newton,” said Steven. “I can catch Commonwealth and drive this big boy right up to Sarge’s front door.”

  As they drove through Boston University and into Back Bay West, visual evidence of looting and collapse became more prevalent. Stalled cars were the norm, parked in all directions when they had run out of fuel. Storefront windows were broken more often than not. Even the historic Harvard Club was not immune, as smoke billowed out of its upper windows.

  “What will be left of Boston when, or if, this ends?” asked Katie. Steven attempted to turn down Berkeley Street, but the road was blocked. He would have to go up to Boston Common and loop through.

  “Sadly, I haven’t thought about it. It’s all about survival right now. I’ve already had my share of excitement.”

  He steered the truck out of Boston Common and westbound on Beacon. He encountered two stalled vehicles that created a tight squeeze as they drove through. Steven rose up in his seat to look at the abandoned cars on the sidewalk and in the turn lane. People were running and screaming near the entrance of 100 Beacon. He pulled to a stop in the crosswalk.

  The sounds of gunshots reverberated off the buildings.

  “Steven, they’re shooting in front of our building!”

  He inched the FedEx truck closer. “Looks like four to six hostiles behind those parked cars, shooting toward the entrance,” said Steven.

  “Is anybody returning fire?” asked Katie.

  “I can’t tell,” he replied. “We’ve gotta do something.”

  “How many rounds do you have left?”

  “A full mag in each. You?”

  “Same here. I emptied the last of my backup mag in that fat ass who tackled you,” said Katie.

  Steven sat there for a moment as the gunfight continued.

  “Why waste bullets when you have a tank?” Steven hit the gas and roared down Beacon Street. The attackers didn’t notice him until the FedEx truck was on top of their position. Only the last two managed to jump over the vehicles out of harm’s way. The other three were not quick enough as the front of the truck ran over them one by one—crushing them under the weight of the twin rear axles.

  Steven screeched to a halt. Both he and Katie piled out of the driver’s side door, keeping the truck between them and the surviving attackers. The two remaining shooters were caught in the crossfire. A rifle peeked out of the front entrance to the building and fired wildly in their direction, managing to shoot holes in the FedEx truck. Steven reflexively dove behind the wheel wells. Katie waited a moment for the gunfire to subside and then quickly joined him.

  They crouched behind the wheels while several more shots flew in their direction.

  “I know that isn’t Sarge shooting from the building. That’s pathetic.”

  “No doubt. What’s the plan?” asked Katie.

  “You take the back side, and I’ll take the front of the truck. My first shot will be your signal to join in. I’m worried less about the two hostiles than I am the dumbass behind the front door. That fuck might get lucky and shoot one of us.”

  “Got it. But you’re bleeding again.”

  “Yeah, I hit my shoulder diving for cover. Maybe I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  “Nah. You love it. And I love you. Let’s not get killed when we’re thirty feet from the house, okay?”

  “Yeah, ready?”

  Steven ran towards the front of the truck and gave Katie a moment to get in position. The shooters were hunched together between an SUV and a Mercedes. Katie would not have a clear shot because of the SUV. Steven walked in a crouch along the side of the FedEx truck. He couldn’t get too close to the shooters because Katie might open fire and shoot him by mistake.

  He knew they were scared. He played on their apprehension. Once in position, he rose up with his gun trained on their location.

  “Pssst, hey!” The two men instinctively stood to see who was summoning them, and each received a shot to the chest. Steven shouted, “Hold your fire,” as he ran forward and put a round in each of their heads.

  Katie moved to join him with her weapon drawn.

  “Just like Duck Hunt on Nintendo. Their heads popped up and down they went.”

  “Great job, thanks for waiting for me.”

  “The SUV blocked your line of fire. It was the best—” Suddenly a bullet flew over their head and impacted in the truck. Steven and Katie hit the pavement and crawled behind the SUV.

  “Hostiles?” whispered Katie.

  “No, it’s the dumbass behind door number one.” Steven rose and walked to the back of the bullet-ridden SUV.

  “Hey, be careful!” exclaimed Katie.

  “Fuck this,” said Steven. “I could walk right up the sidewalk and that dumbass couldn’t hit me!”

  “Wait for me.” Katie ran up behind him. Steven walked into the open with his hands up.

  “Hey, dumbass!” he shouted at the entrance. “We just saved your collective asses. How about not shooting us as your way of saying thanks?”

  “I don’t know you,” shouted someone from behind the door. Steven saw movement in the windows to the left of the gate. He passed through the iron gates.

  “I’m here to see my brother on the top floor. His name is Sargent. Now lower your weapons so nobody gets hurt. Fair enough?”

  “How do we know you’re not lying?” said an older man’s voice from inside the lobby.

  Steven was losing his patience. “Because there are five dead bodies out here and none of them have your name on it.”

  After a moment, Steven was told to come inside. Katie walked in but with her hands on her weapon.

  The man inside the building used the barrel of the rifle to wave Steven inside, which was a mistake. The moment the barrel moved away from his body, Steven grabbed it from the man with his left hand and kicked his legs out from under him. Katie immediately covered the rest of the room.

  “Hey, what did you do that for?” asked the man as he sat up against the wall.

  “Because you shot at me, dumbass.” Steven emptied the ammunition from the M1 onto the marble floor with a clink. Then he removed the magazine before handing the vintage gun back to the man on the floor. “Nice gun, though. It’s older than me.”

  “Do you know why those men were attacking you?” asked Katie. An elderly woman came into the lobby from the stairwell and Katie wheeled to cover her.

  “They were upset with the man on the top floor.”

  “Did the men say why?” asked Steven.

  “No,” replied the man on the floor. “They were furious. They just cursed at us and started shooting because we wouldn’t open the door.”

  “Let’s go,” said Steven. “You people are going to have to learn to defend yourselves better. You can’t stick your gun around the door like those fools in the Middle East and hope to hit anything.” Steven led Katie up the stairwell. Halfway up the stairs he had to catch his breath. He looked down and saw that he was leaving a trail of blood.

  “You need some stitches.
”

  “I do, and beer too.” Steven laughed, but it hurt his shoulder too much.

  Katie went ahead to open the door and found Sarge and Julia waiting. Julia immediately hugged her, and Katie began to cry. Sarge pushed his way onto the landing.

  “Katie, where’s Steven? Where’s my brother?”

  Steven rounded the stairs, his shirt covered in blood.

  “Did you miss me?”

  PART FOUR

  Bug Out

  Chapter 48

  Saturday, September 3, 2016

  9:11 p.m.

  Triple Q Ranch, Prescott Peninsula

  Quabbin Reservoir, Massachusetts

  The Quinns, J.J. and Sabs settled back into their chairs—relaxed after a fun evening of burgers and beer. The conversation, as it so often did, centered on prepping and the threats America faced. The two couples were not into the arts or the latest news from Hollywood. The home opener for the New England Patriots wasn’t even a passing thought. They enjoyed their family, the Quinn girls, and their friends. Overall, they shared an interest in preparedness.

  Donald once said being a prepper was not a hobby or an obsession. He believed they led a preparedness lifestyle. They were committed preppers. He and Susan hungered for more information on the subject. If they found a new survival tool or learned of an interesting food-storage item, they would incorporate it into their plan. They realized how fortunate they were to have the financial backing of the Boston Brahmin. Most in the preparedness community did not have the resources the Loyal Nine enjoyed. But the prepping principles were the same nonetheless—beans, bullets, and Band-Aids.

  Donald learned to ignore the media and their condemnation of preppers as the tinfoil-hat crowd, hoarders, and right-wing nutjobs. Prepping was like insurance, he had explained to J.J. that afternoon several years ago while they watched the girls play in the pool. A responsible family might carry home, auto, and life insurance. Fortunately, they might never experience an auto accident or devastating tornado damage to their home. But they carried insurance to protect against these calamities nonetheless. Some sensible families stored sufficient food, water, and supplies to deal with the inconveniences of natural disasters. They espoused the FEMA rule of three days’ stored supplies. Donald believed this level of preparedness, while prudent, was insufficient.

  Committed prepping was insurance against those potentially world-changing, catastrophic events resulting in TEOTWAWKI—the end of the world as we know it. He believed many threats were facing the world, and America in particular. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. As the world became more technologically advanced and more reliant on the power grid for survival, the likelihood that a catastrophic grid-down event could bring America to its knees increased exponentially. An EMP, a solar flare, a nuclear bomb, or cyber attacks had all occurred in the past. Any of these could bring America to its knees.

  For a moment, they enjoyed the silence of the Quabbin Reservoir. An occasional loon would make its presence known, but otherwise the Rheem air-conditioning unit behind One Prescott Peninsula was the only sound the two couples heard—until they didn’t.

  At first, what had happened didn’t register on them. Air-conditioning units turned on and off as a matter of course. But one didn’t realize the ambient sounds made by electrically powered appliances. Even sitting outside, in a place as remote and serene as Prescott Peninsula, the low hum from inside the building could be heard—until it wasn’t.

  “Hey, who turned off the lights inside?” asked Donald. He sat up on the edge of the Adirondack chair and looked around. “Do you think the girls are fooling around?”

  “It could be. I’ll check on them,” replied Susan. Susan slipped on her flip-flops and made her way around Sabs’s chair when she accidentally kicked over a beer.

  “Hey, party foul.” J.J. laughed.

  “I’m sorry, Sabs,” said Susan, looking at the dark sky and the new moon. “I can’t see. A little moonlight would be nice.”

  J.J. leaned down and picked up the now half-empty bottle. “It was full too.”

  “Can I get you another beer, Sabs?” asked Susan.

  “No, thanks,” she replied.

  Donald checked his watch. It was 9:13. “Maybe we should wind it up for the night. I’d like to go fishing in the morning. J.J., are you up for it?”

  “You know, I’m not much for fishing. I’m too impatient. But I’ll tag along and help you reel them in. I think the girls were going to explore the peninsula, so we can have some male bonding time.”

  Donald laughed. He was about to add something when Susan interrupted.

  “Hey, guys! The power is out.”

  Instinctively, Donald looked up and saw nothing but stars. The weather was supposed to be beautiful all weekend. “Did you pay the bill?”

  “Amusing,” said Susan. “It’s on autopay. The last thing I heard was the AC running. Maybe Holyoke Electric is having problems.”

  “Now we’re camping out,” Sabs laughed. She pushed herself out of the low-slung chair and began to pick up some dishes from the table. J.J. joined them.

  “I guess we’ll turn in early,” said Donald, turning to J.J. “You wanna start around six in the morning?”

  “Some vacation,” interjected Sabs. She hugged J.J. around the waist.

  “I’m used to oh-dark-thirty,” replied J.J. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen with coffee brewing.”

  As the three carried dishes and cooking utensils inside, a cell phone began to ring.

  “That’s mine,” said Donald. “Susan, my phone is on the entry table. Do you see the display lit up? Can you see who it is?”

  “Darn it!” shouted Susan, with an accompanying thud as she hit a piece of furniture in the dark. “I’ve got the phone, but I was too late. It reads missed call.” Donald led the way into the large entry of the main building dubbed 1PP—One Prescott Peninsula.

  “I’ll get the lanterns and flashlights,” he said. He found his way to the kitchen and set his stack of dishes in the sink. The building was not equipped with emergency lighting like a commercial building might be. Like so many of the projects commissioned by John Morgan on behalf of the Boston Brahmin, the entirety of the 1PP compound was built without permits or the prying eyes of governmental entities. Publicly, the complex was known as a shelter for families fleeing abusive domestic partners. In reality, it was a state-of-the-art bug-out location developed without cost being a factor. Despite the opulence, one of Donald’s twenty-four-dollar Rayovac camping lanterns shed all the light he needed in the pantry. He grabbed a flashlight and another lantern.

  J.J. and Sabs joined him in the kitchen. He provided them a lantern and a flashlight. “You guys can find your way to your bungalow with these. Hopefully, the power will come back on soon enough. If we keep the refrigerators and freezers closed through the night, our food should be fine.”

  “I agree,” said J.J. “Tell Susan good night for us.”

  “I just got a text from Julia,” yelled Susan from the open living area.

  Donald led the way out of the kitchen and lit up Susan’s face with his flashlight. He saw the look on her face. “What?”

  “It reads—grid down, long-lasting, be ready.”

  Donald leaned against a foyer table and set down his lantern. No one spoke until he broke the silence. “Try to call her.”

  “I already did. All circuits are busy.”

  “System is overloaded,” Donald muttered. “Send back a text and ask her for details.”

  Susan began typing.

  He turned to J.J. “Guys, would you mind grabbing a couple of the weather radios out of the pantry,” asked Donald. “J.J., grab our two-way sets. We’ll need to be ready to advise our security after we gather a few more details.”

  “I’m on it, buddy,” replied J.J.

  “Sabs, would you mind going downstairs and grabbing one of the satphones out of the Faraday cages.”

  “No problem, Donald,” replied Sabs. “Weapons
?”

  Donald thought for a moment. Julia would not joke about something like this. The text message was cryptic, but they were in the city. She and Sarge had a lot of things to do to secure 100 Beacon.

  “I think so. Sidearms for us, but not Susan. No need to frighten the girls.”

  Susan walked up to Donald after J.J. and Sabs left on their errands. “The message finally went out after several tries. Donald, what does this mean?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s use every information-gathering tool available to us. Our cell phones are Verizon. We’ll have J.J. try his AT&T network. The portable radios might shed some light. Let’s give Julia and Sarge some time to get organized. I’m sure she’ll have her satphone up and running shortly.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?”

  “I need you to focus on the girls. As far as I’m concerned, let them sleep until morning. If the power is not back on, we’ll kick on the generators for short periods of time. They won’t even notice the change.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Anything else I can do?”

  J.J. returned from the kitchen with two radios. Donald took the Sony shortwave world band unit first.

  “Monitor the Sony shortwave for any station, both in the States and abroad. Make notes. We get clear reception out here.”

  J.J. handed Donald the Midland GMRS two-way crank unit out of its box. Donald gave it to Susan. “The Midland will be useful for local communications. You’ll be able to pick up radio stations, citizens band traffic, ham radio chatter, and local law enforcement.”

  “Do you want me to grab any of the computer equipment?” asked J.J.

  “Not yet,” replied Donald. “Let’s make sure this isn’t an EMP attack. There might be more incoming nukes. Let’s not jump the gun and fry our stuff. Susan has plenty to listen to.”

  “All right, I’ll go help Sabs,” said J.J.

  “Before you go, let me have your cell. Susan will continue to attempt contact with Sarge and Julia.”

  J.J. pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave it to an already overloaded Susan.