The Perseid Collapse (The Perseid Collapse Series 1)

by Konkoly, Steven

  “Snipers don’t typically fire through closed windows,” countered Charlie.

  “You guys are out of your minds. Can we get on with this?” Kate snapped, descending the stairs into the water. “Warm water, my ass,” she added.

  “What a lovely couple. We’ll start making our way over to Ed’s in about thirty minutes,” Charlie said and disappeared.

  “Ready?” Alex asked.

  “Play it smart. I won’t be able to see you very well in the bunker,” she said, illuminating her own waterproof flashlight.

  Alex sank into the water and swam toward the bunker door. He arrived several seconds later and questioned why he had been so worried. He had two locks to open, which shouldn’t take much time. He considered trying to open the door before his next oxygen break, but decided against it. Before committing to any kind of task, he needed to verify that another pocket of air existed above him. He’d do the same when he reached the gun safe.

  Repeating the process used near the stairs, he relaxed and breathed through the snorkel, flooding his system with oxygen. Kate floated lazily underwater near the bottom of the staircase, pointing her flashlight in his direction. He smiled with the snorkel in his mouth and gave her another thumbs-up sign. She broke for the surface and returned several seconds later. When she returned, Alex used one hand to retrieve the keys from the zippered pocket on his right thigh. He had removed the keys from his larger key chain and put them on a separate ring, wrapping duct tape around the base of the deadbolt key for quick identification. The third key on the ring was the circular gun safe key, which was easily distinguished from the traditional flat keys used to lock the bunker door. With the duct-taped key in hand, he descended a few feet and unlocked the deadbolt. A few seconds later, he had opened the doorknob lock and gained entry to the bunker, which was pitch black as expected.

  The sole window to the backyard was blocked by mud, and the light from the bulkhead door barely penetrated more than a foot or two into the abyss. His flashlight cast a bluish-gray beam across the room, spotlighting the oil tanks, which he suddenly suspected were leaking. Another thing he hadn’t anticipated. He swept the beam over the room, taking in the eerily monochromatic scene. Unlike the first floor, the water must have filled the basement slowly through the single one-foot-tall by two-feet-wide window in front of him. Aside from the packages of dehydrated food, MREs, and medical supplies bobbing between the joists in the far northwest corner of the bunker, very little had been disturbed by the tsunami.

  He turned to his right to face the gun safe and nearly bit his tongue. All of his air vacated in an attempt to scream, and he bolted out of the dark chamber, swimming as fast as possible toward Kate. He scrambled past her and surfaced, grabbing hold of the handrail and ripping the mask off. He coughed violently as the mask drifted away toward the bottom of the stairs. Kate enveloped him, turning his face toward her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked urgently.

  He coughed a few more times to clear his airway. “There’s a body down there. I wasn’t expecting it, and I panicked. It was a little girl, or boy—I couldn’t tell. Ripped apart pretty bad—fuck.” He exhaled.

  “You don’t have to go back down there.”

  “I’m going back down. That won’t be the last body any of us sees close up. It was just bad timing. Like a horror movie. One second I was surveying the room, the next I’m staring into a dead child’s eyes. It’s all good. At least I didn’t drop the keys,” he said, showing them to her. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “I’m good. Seriously. Seeing that body gives me all the more reason to get the shit I need out of there. Ryan needs me to have every advantage possible entering Boston. That’s what I’m doing down there,” he said, glad that the salt water gave him an excuse to continuously wipe his eyes.

  “All right. I think you should move the body to the bulkhead. Get it out of your way and up so the authorities can find it. Someone will be looking for that kid,” said Kate.

  He didn’t want to break the bad news that nobody would be looking for the kid floating around in their basement. At least nobody in her immediate family.

  “Back down. You don’t have to keep an eye on me. I think I’ve got the technique mastered at this point,” Alex said.

  “I can handle seeing a dead body,” Kate said, “and you missed hitting your head on the doorframe by about a centimeter. I can’t rescue Ryan, Alex. You’re the only option we have.”

  He kissed her forehead and dove into the water to retrieve the mask. Ten minutes later, he had returned with four sealed ammunition cans, an M4 carbine and a 9mm HK USP pistol. One of the cans contained a pair of generation two, head-mountable dual night vision goggles, a small, rifle-mountable generation two, night vision monocular, and a dual-beam IR aiming laser. The other cans contained ammunition and magazines compatible with his rifle and pistols.

  He was surprisingly tired from the brief underwater foray. “This should do it.”

  “I’ll start hauling this stuff up,” Kate said.

  “I’ll get the body out of there. I think it might be better to leave it inside the bulkhead doors. Tie it to the stairs or something. I don’t like the idea of it sitting in the sun where the animals can get to it.”

  “I’m not sleeping in a house with a dead body in it. I’ll help you drag it to wherever they’re putting the rest of the bodies.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll get it out of the house and have Charlie help me move it. You don’t want to see this one, Kate. It’s someone’s baby.”

  Kate’s face softened, and she held him for a minute. “They’re all someone’s baby,” she whispered.

  Chapter 18

  EVENT +10:47 Hours

  Scarborough, Maine

  Alex sat in the empty seat left for him at the head of the kitchen table. Ed sat directly across from him, in front of the missing slider door. He was slightly concerned with privacy, since all of the windows had been blown out, but none of their options were optimal. He needed a table to lay out a few maps, which limited them to the dining room or kitchen. The dining room faced the street, exposing their conversation to anyone passing in front of the house.

  He took a sip of ice-cold beer and observed his team. This wasn’t going to be an easy journey. They were probably thinking the same thing about him. He knew he looked worse than all of them combined. The slash across his forehead was held together by a butterfly bandage and slathered with antibiotic ointment. The cut wasn’t deep, but it was surrounded by a mean-looking bruise and could easily become infected if ignored. Several smaller, less urgent looking bruises had developed on his arms, face and neck, giving the impression that he had been worked over by a bar mob.

  The bruise on his right tricep muscle was by far the worst. Partially hidden by his gray T-shirt, the deep purplish-red contusion drew stares from everyone. His arm had felt markedly better since taking ibuprofen and applying ice, but he strongly suspected that tomorrow would be a rough day. He could shoot right handed or left handed, but there was no comparison between what he could do with the right versus the left. He’d have to deal with it the best he could. That’s all he could ask of himself and the ragtag group sitting around Ed’s kitchen table.

  He glanced at Kate and winked. Her normally lustrous black hair, now matted and dull, was hidden under a light blue ball cap. Despite the added trials of the Fletchers’ day, she exuded a confidence that he didn’t see in Linda or Samantha. She’d changed since the pandemic. The Sig Sauer P228 seated in the drop holster on her right thigh was one of many testaments to her sharply honed commitment to the Fletcher way of life. She would lead the women and children to his parents’ farm. God help anything that got in their way.

  The Thorntons and Walkers had readily accepted his offer to weather the storm in Limerick. Charlie and Linda owned a fully stocked camp on the Great Pond near Belgrade, Maine, but didn’t have any way to get there. With Charlie accompanying Alex and Ed to Boston,
it made sense for Linda and their twin seventeen-year-old daughters to travel with Kate. Running water would fail shortly, and electrical power wouldn’t be restored for months, turning their homes into little more than three-thousand-square-foot tents.

  Once power returned, a multitude of complicated challenges would surface. They would have to replace all of the electrical components in their furnace, if the furnace was even salvageable after sitting in salt water for several days. Not to mention the fact that they would be competing for parts and service with millions of other households. They all had wood-burning stoves, which could carry them through the winter if they could scrounge enough wood. Most of Alex’s wood stack had been washed away by the tsunami. The cord he kept in the garage wouldn’t last him through December.

  Windows were another issue. How long would it take for them to get replacement windows? Two years ago, Alex had accidentally cracked one of their family room windows with the back of a shovel while digging in a flowerbed. The replacement window arrived two weeks later. With several million windows shattered in New England alone, it could take over a year. Most people would be forced to contend with plywood, plastic sheeting and duct tape, which would be no match for a Maine winter.

  Households would compress their lives into one or two rooms and cannibalize unbroken windows from unused spaces. Depending upon the orientation of the house, this could work. For the three families gathered here, it would be a less than optimal experience. They all lost large sliding glass doors, which opened directly into large, combined kitchen and family areas. No amount of makeshift shuttering could keep the cold out, even with a wood-burning stove blazing at full strength.

  Mold was another issue, but now he was just pig-piling the list of reasons why their friends should join them at the farm. Especially since everyone agreed with Alex’s assessment that the situation on the “outside” would explode within the next seventy-two hours, once again sending the hordes north from Connecticut and Massachusetts to pillage the less populated, resource-rich suburbs.

  By the time Boston reached critical mass, they would be securely hidden on a picturesque farm, with most of the comforts and amenities of modern life to which they had grown accustomed. Most importantly, they would be together with their families. Space might become an issue, but they’d make it work for as long as anyone cared to stay, even if that meant permanently.

  “First, we’ve all made it this far—and we’re going to make it the rest of the way. We’ve come together before to save each other’s asses. Here we are again,” he said, raising his beer.

  They all clinked bottles and glasses.

  “Second, this isn’t my operation. It may be my suggested plan, but we all have just as much at stake here, so the plan is open to input,” Alex continued. “Lastly, you’re all welcome to stay out at the farm indefinitely. That’s an unconditional offer, and I don’t expect anyone to ever feel like they owe us anything—now or down the line.”

  “We appreciate that, Alex, Kate,” said Samantha. “I don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

  “Exactly. This is incredible. Thank you,” said Charlie, followed by Linda.

  “And thank you for letting us use the Jeep,” Kate said to Ed and Samantha.

  “And to Linda for allowing Charlie to join Ed and I in Boston, although I’d really feel better if he was escorting the group to Limerick,” said Alex.

  “I ain’t going on a bike ride with the women,” said Charlie. “I’m more use on the high-speed team.”

  “He’s going to get himself killed,” said Linda.

  Ed snorted. “If Kate doesn’t kill him first.”

  “Hey, hey. I didn’t mean any offense to the women. I just. I just—”

  “You should quit while you’re ahead, Charlie,” said Alex.

  Charlie nodded. “Good idea.”

  “All right. That does it for the thank yous,” said Alex. “Now we get down to business.”

  Alex took several sheets of paper and three maps from a small green backpack he’d carried into the house. “I have a few checklists that each family will need to follow,” he said. He handed a sheet of paper to each family, giving theirs to Kate. “The first sheet is for the bicycle group. This is a watered-down bug-out or BOLT kit. The focus is on mobility and balance while riding, so anything not directly related to hydration, nutrition, and short-term survival has been scratched from the list. Under ideal, casual cycling conditions, the trip should take no more than four to five hours. You’re looking at thirty-five miles taking the shortest route. Given the circumstances, I think you should plan for the possibility of an overnight. Thirty-six hours at the outside, accounting for detours, roadblocks, hiding out—whatever. I can’t imagine any scenario other than capture that would keep you from reaching your destination within that timeframe, and I highly doubt anyone will get close enough to you to do that. Everything on this list will fit into a medium-sized rucksack with room to spare.”

  “No sleeping bags?” said Samantha. “We don’t have Gore-Tex shells.”

  “If you have some highly compressible bags, that should be fine. I was just trying to keep the weight to a minimum. Water, MREs, first aid and tents are the highest priority,” said Alex.

  “And weapons,” added Kate.

  “Recommended weapons and ammunition are listed at the bottom. I’d arm the kids if practical,” said Alex.

  “What about the Homeland Security mandate?” Linda asked. “I can’t exactly conceal an AR-15.”

  “I think you and Kate should plan to break down the rifles and stash them in your packs until you’ve cleared Scarborough. Shouldn’t take more than ten seconds to put one of the ARs into action from the pack if required. Once you hit the back roads near Gorham, you can reassemble and sling them. Everyone should stash their pistols in one of the easy-to-access pouches on your pack, just in case you run into any immediate trouble before clearing town. Holsters too. No reason to give them an excuse to search you. Make sure you wear long pants with cargo pockets for the spare mags,” said Alex.

  Kate asked, “What if we’re stopped and searched in Scarborough?”

  “The police will have too much on their plate to bother with that. As long as the weapons aren’t obvious, I can’t imagine they’ll bother,” said Alex.

  “What if they do?”

  “Then you turn over your weapons without incident. Not much you can do in that situation. The last thing we want is trouble with the police. That doesn’t go away,” said Alex, and Kate nodded agreement.

  Alex flattened one of the maps. “I’ve highlighted what I think is the best route out of town, with a few alternatives. For security reasons, I haven’t highlighted the entire route. This gets you to Route 5, in East Waterboro. From there it’s pretty much a straight shot to Limerick. Kate knows where to go from there.”

  Charlie examined the map and shook his head. “I don’t know if this route will be passable.”

  “The mud is going to be rough getting out of here,” Alex told him, “but here’s what I figured we’d do to make it easier for them, without making multiple trips back into the neighborhood.”

  “Not here. I mean along Route 1. The Nonesuch River crosses Route 1 just south of where Harrison Road intersects—”

  “It’s more of a creek,” interrupted Alex.

  “True, but water follows the path of least resistance, and the creek lies lower than the rest of the land. I guarantee the tsunami channeled up through the creek and over Route 1, dumping a ton of mud along the way. Hell, the marsh extending past Pine Point Beach extends into half of southern Scarborough—all less than a mile from Route 1. The whole marsh is at sea level. I wouldn’t count on them passing through much of downtown Scarborough.”

  “I think he’s right, Alex,” said Ed.

  “That would be a first,” added Linda Thornton, winking at her husband.

  “Always busting my chops,” said Charlie.

  “Good call, Charlie,” Alex admitted.
“I wanted to avoid routing them toward the Maine Mall, but we might not have a choice. At least the roads should be clear of mud and debris north of the Harrison intersection. Let’s rework the route while we’re here.”

  Samantha turned to Alex. “I want to hear more about your plan to get us past this mud.”

  “Here’s what I was thinking…we can’t make multiple trips back to the neighborhood with Ed’s Jeep. Once that engine roars to life, everyone in the neighborhood will be watching. If it returns multiple times, we’re going to have a crisis on our hands. It’ll be like the last helicopter out of Saigon.”

  Charlie chuckled. “That’s a great image, Alex.”

  “Which I don’t want to repeat here,” Alex went on. “So, the bicycle group will leave first and walk their bicycles to the fire station. Mountain bikes or hybrids only for this trip. Will that be a problem for any family? I have an extra mountain bike in my basement.”

  Everyone indicated that they could provide enough bikes.

  “We’ll have to inspect and lubricate each bike. I’ll leave it to the bike group to put together a repair kit,” said Alex.

  Kate nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”

  “Once you’ve all arrived at the station,” he said, nodding to Kate, “call us via handheld radio or satphone. We’ll start the Jeep and meet you there to transport the bikes and riders to a dry point along Route 1. You’ll have to deal with this nasty shit for about a quarter of a mile, but that’s it.”

  “I can live with that,” said Samantha.

  “We should all wear throwaway shoes and socks for this part,” Linda chimed in. “Have your real boots or whatever stuffed away in the backpacks.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” said Alex. “We’ll bring a few towels in the Jeep so everyone can wipe off their feet before the trip. You don’t want to start out with wet feet. Once we get everyone in place along Route 1, we’ll split up and stay in touch. I think we should check in via satphone every two hours.”