The Perseid Collapse (The Perseid Collapse Series 1)

by Konkoly, Steven

  “Keep an eye on her,” he advised. “She’s frazzled.”

  Ethan lowered his bike to the gravel as Alex approached. A quick hug and a handshake. Kate had no doubt that their brief interaction had met both of their emotional needs. Men were so different. She nodded at Alex, who blew her a kiss and made his way to Charlie and Ed near the back of the jeep. Emily would need more than that. Kate wandered over to her daughter and sat next to her in the mowed grass beyond the gravel shoulder.

  “Your dad will be fine, sweetie. He’ll bring your brother home,” said Kate, putting her arm around Emily’s shoulders.

  Emily leaned in, sobbing. “What if he doesn’t come back with Ryan? What if none of them make it back?” Emily asked tearfully.

  Kate squeezed tighter. “They’re coming back—with your brother. I’m certain of it. Your dad can handle this.”

  “But they can’t,” she said. “He should go by himself.”

  Kate looked at her daughter, surprised by the realization that Emily had been paying far more attention to the situation than she had assumed. Acting aloof and oblivious to anything beyond her immediate sphere of influence had become her default mode of behavior over the past year, presumably attributable to her early teen years. Kate wondered if this wasn’t more of an act than her personality. Emily turned to face her, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. She wiped her face with her arm, smearing freshly moistened mud across her ear.

  Emily had Kate’s deep blue eyes and Alex’s darker skin. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that protruded from the back of her pink and gray Red Sox cap. She hadn’t been pleased with Alex’s insistence that she wear long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Emily had compromised with a pair of hiking pants made out of a quick-dry material and a light blue running shirt. Neither of them was about to argue with her. Comfort would trump tactical for the bicycle crew. They had a long, hot day ahead of them, and nobody had opted for long sleeves.

  “He can’t do this alone,” said Kate, glancing over her shoulder at the men.

  “They’ll get him killed. I know it.”

  “Emily, I don’t want to hear you say that again. You’re going to see your dad again—and your brother.”

  “If he’s still alive,” said Emily, standing up and grabbing her backpack.

  “Emily,” she hissed, “what’s going on?”

  “I’m just being realistic, Mom.”

  Her daughter lifted the green pack over her shoulders and tightened the straps.

  “I think it’s time to go,” said Emily.

  Kate stood speechless for a few moments as Emily picked up her bike and guided it toward the group forming behind the Jeep. She knew their world would never return to normal, and that the scars of leaving their life behind would run deep, but she didn’t want to lose her daughter to a fatalistic outlook that would permanently stain her future. Like Alex, she would have to keep a very close eye on Emily.

  “Hold on. Let me grab my stuff,” she said, relieved to see her daughter stop and force another smile.

  At least she was trying.

  Chapter 23

  EVENT +27:20 Hours

  York, Maine

  Alex felt the rumble strips pass under the Jeep’s tires, barely noticeable under a thin layer of sandy mud. Mud and debris had appeared on the turnpike a few miles past the abandoned Kennebunk rest stop, causing them to slow considerably and engage the Jeep’s four-wheel-drive system. Their planned forty-minute trip from the Maine Mall rally point had turned into an hour and a half. At one point Alex started to seriously doubt their ability to reach the York exit. The muck slowed them to ten miles per hour along the ten-mile stretch between Wells and York, where the turnpike passed a point two miles from the ocean.

  Beyond the nearly impassible sludge, most of their trip had proven uneventful, yielding little insight into what had transpired the day before. Traffic had been light at five in the morning when the suspected EMP hit, leaving a sparse number of stranded motorists on either side of the six-lane highway. Most of the cars had managed to safely find the emergency lane; however, the occasional mid-highway obstacle kept them vigilant. They passed two single-car wrecks, stopping at both to check for bodies. They found none, which gave them the impression that state police still patrolled the roads.

  The Jeep hit another set of rumble strips and slowed. Through binoculars, Alex saw a steeply curved wall of concrete barrier blocks diverting southbound traffic across the center divide, into the northbound lanes. A police cruiser sat at the end of the barrier. Two state troopers armed with shotguns stood on the driver side of the cruiser. Looking past the officers, Alex determined that concrete blocks were set between all of the northbound tollbooths, except for a single gap blocked by a state police cruiser. The purpose of the one gap became clear as the scene beyond the tollbooth unfolded.

  “Shit. We aren’t getting through this. The entire southern side of the tollbooth is a parking lot. I see a few large tents—like a military command post or something,” said Alex.

  “Both sides of the highway?” asked Charlie, from the back seat.

  “Both sides, but that’s not the real problem. State troopers have the entire southbound lane blocked. Shit, I see a JLTV on the other side of the tollbooth.”

  Charlie shot up in his seat, nearly knocking the binoculars out of Alex’s hands. Charlie was like an annoying child when anyone mentioned military hardware. His enthusiasm to share his vast knowledge often eclipsed any desire to hear what he had to say. Still, Alex would gladly take Charlie’s near encyclopedic recitation of information over Ed’s bare-bones knowledge of anything beyond the caliber and ammunition capacity of his Ruger 10/22 rifle.

  “What kind?” uttered Charlie.

  “Take a look,” he said, pushing Charlie’s face back with the binoculars.

  “I’m pulling a U-turn,” said Ed.

  “Hold on. Maybe there’s a way,” said Alex.

  “Why take the chance? What if they have a description of our Jeep from the Best Western? We should double back to the Wells exit and take the back roads.”

  “I’m with Ed on that,” said Charlie. “The less time they spend looking in our car, the better. I’m good with the back roads. By the way, that’s an AM General Bravo Blast Resistant Vehicle-Off road. Most likely Maine National Guard. Fifty cal mounted on top.”

  Alex hadn’t considered the possibility that the police might have driven by the hotel within the past hour and stopped in the parking lot to investigate the commotion. He was certain that the angry crowd wouldn’t fairly represent his side of the story. Would the police be able to assess the scene and determine what really happened? Would they care enough to issue an APB? Did any of their radios work? They hadn’t picked up any local chatter on Alex’s police scanner, but most of the police departments had converted to encrypted P25 digital radio communications systems. Too many questions unanswered to take the chance.

  If the troopers ordered them out of the Jeep, they’d have no choice but to disobey and speed north toward the Wells exit, praying that they weren’t worth the time and effort of a high-speed pursuit. Alex’s crew needed to do everything in their power to avoid a law enforcement confrontation. The Jeep couldn’t outrun the police, and they had hesitantly but unanimously agreed that harming police officers was out of the question. Alex wasn’t convinced that he could abide by that pact, especially if it jeopardized rescuing his son. Turning around before the tollbooth assured that he wouldn’t have to test these doubts.

  “All right, let’s get out of here,” he said.

  The rear passenger-side/center seat combination directly behind Alex had been folded forward to give Charlie quick access to their rifles and tactical vests, which were hidden underneath a thick plaid comforter. Three black school-sized backpacks lay over the comforter next to Charlie, camouflaging its purpose. The lighter, off-the-shelf daypacks had been stuffed with food, water, medical supplies and emergency basics to last twenty-four hours. Suf
ficient for their excursion into Boston, but not enough to weigh them down like the heavier packs.

  They would hide the sixty-pound, long-term endurance rucksacks in the forest, wherever they decided to leave the Jeep. If the Jeep disappeared while they were in the city, the success of their return voyage to Maine would depend on the rucksacks, especially if the kids were in bad shape. The larger packs were stuffed behind Charlie’s seat, on top of a few duffel bags filled with each family’s memorabilia. Gas containers, several two-gallon jugs of water and a box of MREs filled the remaining gaps in the rear compartment.

  They could have fit twice as much gear into the Jeep, but for tactical reasons, they packed lightly. Alex wanted clear fields of vision in every direction and quick access to their equipment, which prevented them from filling every conceivable nook throughout the Jeep with repetitive gear. He also wanted to configure the Jeep’s load-out for the possibility of an immediate and irreversible abandonment of the vehicle while under fire. If an overwhelming threat engaged their vehicle, they needed to be in the forest or bushes with their weapons, tactical gear and MOLLE packs in less than fifteen seconds. His combat experience had irrevocably proven that quickly abandoning your vehicle and finding suitable cover, when the situation dictated, bettered your chance of survival. The Iraqi Fedayeen he’d encountered on the way to Bagdad in 2003 never adequately grasped that concept. They’d died in droves, clustered around their disabled vehicles. He had no intention of letting that happen to them.

  Ed slowly turned the Jeep left and guided the vehicle through the orange traffic drums separating the two sides of the highway on the approach to the tollbooth. Alex watched the police vehicles with anticipation as they entered the northbound lanes and accelerated away from the massive roadblock. The only vehicle that followed them was a maroon pickup truck released through the checkpoint, which passed them at high speed less than a minute into their detour and disappeared ahead of them. Alex wondered if the pickup could navigate through the mud ahead.

  “I don’t see anything following us,” said Charlie.

  “Good. Let’s try to sort out a route to the border before we hit the Wells exit,” said Alex, reaching between the front seats to open a spiraled map book.

  “We’ll have plenty of time with the fucking mud,” muttered Ed.

  “Route 9 to Route 4 takes us through North and South Berwick to the border—then to Dover, New Hampshire,” said Charlie.

  “I’m worried that we’ll be driving into the same situation we saw at the York tollbooth,” Alex said. “There’s only one other crossing between that one and the turnpike. My guess is that either the state police or locals will have them sealed up—possibly both ways.”

  “There are plenty of places to cross further west. We can keep driving until we find one,” said Charlie.

  “How far do you want to drive? They could have the entire border sealed up.”

  Alex shrugged. “We have all day to figure this out. It’s not even nine yet.”

  “And this little setback will end up costing us another hour, if we don’t get stranded in the mud. The clock is ticking. Did you see the rain clouds in the distance? The ground can’t take any more water. We’re fucked if this is a big storm,” said Ed.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not a major system. Looked like a chance of showers on the forecast” said Alex.

  “When did you check last?” asked Ed.

  “Saturday.”

  “A lot can change in a few days.”

  “We’ll start with the Berwicks and see what happens,” Alex said. “We might be able to talk our way across.”

  Ed was right about the potential storm on the horizon. Alex had seen a chance of rain on the extended forecast when he checked on the weather for their sailing trip. He vaguely remembered seeing a chance of thunderstorms for today and clear weather for the rest of the week. Kate had eyeballed the distant clouds when they parted ways earlier, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.

  She wasn’t a big fan of rain-soaked sailboat trips, and he had purposely glossed over that part of the week’s weather report right before packing up the car and heading over to the yacht club. The sailboat’s interior space shrank quickly when foul weather trapped them below with the kids for any length of time. Ironically, the decision to withhold part of the forecast from Kate probably had saved both of their lives. Kate liked to walk in the morning, and Alex invariably ran every other day. He usually skipped Sundays, which meant that he would have very likely found himself somewhere between his house and Higgins Beach when the tsunami swept inland.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea, guys,” Charlie said. “Dover is a decent-sized city. We need to avoid high-population centers until we have no choice.”

  “Dover’s not exactly teeming with people,” countered Ed.

  “I’d prefer to avoid places like Dover,” Alex told them, “but we should still be all right in New Hampshire. I’m mostly worried about the outskirts of Boston.”

  “I don’t agree, guys,” Charlie insisted. “If you live between Boston and Maine, you’re gonna want to get the fuck out of there. Dover and Portsmouth were ransacked by the kind citizens of Massachusetts and Connecticut during the pandemic. I’m just saying we can’t let our guard down.”

  “We shouldn’t let our guard down at any time, but we can’t take every dirt road from here to Medford in an attempt to slip past any town with more than one traffic light. We need to reach the kids by tonight at the latest,” said Ed.

  “Barring some unforeseen disaster, we’ll be in position to enter Medford around dusk.”

  “Why can’t we just hide the car and go straight to the kids?” asked Ed.

  “Because we’ll be wearing tactical gear and carrying military-style rifles through a heavily populated, urban setting. If we do this during broad daylight, we’ll attract a shit ton of attention. The wrong kind of attention. The only thing more valuable than a car right now is a military-grade weapon. Anyone with a little foresight knows that the situation in these high-population-density areas will implode. Even a rifle like yours will replace the dog as man’s best friend,” said Alex.

  “Easy on the rifle,” said Ed.

  “I’ll have to apologize to her later,” Alex said, winking at Charlie. “She did save my ass.”

  “The rifle didn’t save your ass,” said Charlie.

  “Thank you, Charlie,” said Ed.

  “Will you sit back in your seat?” Alex grumped. “You’re like one of the kids.”

  “I’m not giving up this front-row seat for anything. The only thing missing is a bag of popcorn. The two of you should keep me entertained all the way to Boston,” said Charlie.

  “Wonderful. Can you at least breathe on Ed?” Alex complained. “I can smell the beef jerky stuck between your teeth.”

  “See that, Charlie?” asked Ed.

  “See what?”

  “Alex goes right to the vegetarian digs when he feels threatened by you,” said Ed, grinning widely.

  “I always suspected he was a foodist.”

  “Two against one?” Alex said. “This is going to be a long ride.”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Ed, the smile suddenly gone from his face.

  Prior to the brief exchange seconds ago, Ed hadn’t spontaneously smiled since yesterday afternoon. Unlike Alex, who leaned on humor to mask and cope with stress, Ed became stolid and serious, creating an impenetrable brick wall to hide his emotions. The tactic didn’t work very well for Ed, because the impassive facade didn’t match his usual range of expressions. Alex could read him like a book, and right now, Ed was close to having a nervous breakdown.

  “We’ll get the kids back, Ed.”

  Ed nodded his head and looked like he wanted to say something. Alex didn’t push it. He glanced quickly at Charlie, who met his eyes and imperceptibly raised his eyebrows, acknowledging Alex’s silent message: We need to keep an eye on him.

  A few minutes later, they exited the turnpike
at Wells and decelerated along the winding off ramp. They found the two-lane road blocked at the tollbooth station by a Wells Police cruiser and several orange traffic drums. A police officer and three armed men stood in front of the drums, signaling for them to pull into the right lane, directly perpendicular to the side of the cruiser. Alex examined the situation and made a quick decision to proceed.

  “Get your Maine driver’s licenses out for the officer. Registration too. Make sure nothing has shifted back there. All windows down,” said Alex.

  They had placed the licenses and registration in the front breast pockets of their shirts for quick access and to avoid reaching out of a police officer’s sight in case they were stopped. While Ed pulled the Jeep into an area of pavement designated by traffic cones, Alex and Ed unbuttoned their pockets and removed their identification. Alex kept his eye on the civilians that accompanied the officer, noting their weapons. One of them held a semiautomatic shotgun and the two others carried AR-style rifles without optics.

  They wore a variety of commercial tactical equipment and pistol holsters, which told Alex that they were most likely volunteers from town. Only the police officer wore body armor, obvious underneath his gray uniform. He tipped his campaign hat and approached the driver’s-side window. One of the men with an AR walked across the front of their Jeep and took up a position on the passenger side. None of the men at the checkpoint pointed their weapons at the vehicle. He felt comfortable with the faces he saw. Serious. Solemn. Slightly nervous. If anyone had smiled or grinned at him, he would have felt threatened.

  “Keep an eye on the guy to our right,” he said out of the side of his mouth to Charlie.

  “Got it,” whispered Charlie.

  The police officer stopped a few feet from Ed’s door and examined the interior of the cabin, sweeping his eyes over Ed and Alex.