The Perseid Collapse (The Perseid Collapse Series 1)

by Konkoly, Steven

  “How far?” asked Ed.

  “Not far,” said Alex. “Start to slow once we hit the bend. You ready back there, Charlie?”

  “Ready as ever.”

  “All right. Let’s go through it one more time. Ed stops the car roughly fifty feet from the roadblock, and I get out. I’ll talk to whoever is blocking the bridge and figure out what we’re up against. Ed watches me with the binoculars. If I give the thumbs-up, he drives forward, and all is good. If I rub the top of my head, it’s a no-go. I’ll return to the car, and we’ll figure out how to bust through. If I reach for the gun behind my back, get ready for a hot extract. Charlie?”

  “Suppressing fire. Over their heads,” said Charlie.

  “Way over their heads, and only if they fire first. There’s no reason for them to fire at me. Over their heads and keep the volume of fire high. Ed, you turn the car around and wait for me to come to you. Good?”

  “Got it,” responded Ed.

  “Your job is the most important, Ed. Charlie won’t be watching the roadblock. There’s a three-way intersection right before the bridge. I need him to observe the road parallel to the river. It leads north to the other crossing, where there will be more police. Shit. Here’s the bend—slow us down a little more.”

  The bend straightened, and the foliage cleared on the right to reveal a stretch of white picket fence along the road. A yellow bungalow-style house with a wide farmer’s porch sat back from the fence. A tall white church spire appeared above the trees beyond the house. Alex didn’t have time to assemble the bigger picture. The intersection was less than a hundred feet ahead.

  He raised the binoculars, immediately spotting the roadblock. They would have to rethink the plan. This wasn’t a police roadblock. The tight, two-lane asphalt road spanning the Salmon Falls River was blocked at both ends by single SUVs. He could see little more than a three-to five-foot gap between the front bumper of the nearest SUV and the metal guard railings. The gap on the far side appeared even smaller. He didn’t see any personnel in the open on either side. Alex handed the binoculars back to Charlie.

  “Stop us here,” said Alex.

  As soon as the Jeep stopped, the dark green Toyota Land Cruiser’s doors opened. Two men dressed in MultiCam fatigues and boonie hats stepped onto the rain-swept pavement. They wore a variety of mismatched tactical gear, which immediately pegged them as militia. The men carried AR-style rifles attached to one-point slings. Alex was beginning to piece things together. Part of him screamed “get out of here.” The other part put his hand on the door handle.

  “Make sure your rifle is ready for immediate action. I can almost guarantee this will be a no-go. If this goes bad, shoot for center mass. I’ll get out of your way. Three quick rounds at one target, then shift to the next. Keep shifting back and forth between targets until they are down,” said Alex, opening his door.

  “Militia?” asked Charlie.

  “Or locals. Nothing official, I can guarantee that.”

  He glanced back at Ed, who looked calm. “You good?”

  “Never been better,” said Ed. “Be careful with these guys.”

  “Careful would be backing up and trying to talk our way past the state police,” said Alex, eliciting a nervous laugh from Ed.

  He stepped onto the wet pavement and tucked the HK P30 into his waistband, pulling his shirt over the protruding handle. He had chosen not to wear his drop holster or any tactical gear for the drive, since he had anticipated having to possibly approach law enforcement officers at some point during their journey south. Even the presence of an empty tactical holster could end their trip prematurely.

  This decision was quickly validated. Both men shifted into alert carry stances when Alex started walking toward them, pointing their weapons in his direction. They were anxious. The question was whether they were anxious out of uncertainty, or anxious to score a kill. In the deafening rain on this abandoned stretch of road, virtually in the middle of nowhere, he began to seriously question his own decision to step out of the car. He kept moving toward them through the warm rain, with his hands raised over his head.

  One of them spoke into a handheld radio and waited for a reply, pressing the radio to his ear. A few seconds passed before he lowered the radio and hooked it onto his vest. Radioman assumed the ready carry position, with the butt stock jammed into his shoulder and the muzzle aimed at Alex. He thought of the pistol behind his back long enough to accept the fact that he’d be dead before he hit the ground if he tried to reach for it.

  “That’s far enough!” yelled Radioman. “State your business.”

  “I need to cross over into New Hampshire. My son is trapped in Boston. He’s a college student, and he has no way to get back home!” Alex yelled over the downpour.

  “Nothing gets across in either direction! Those are my orders.”

  “Look, all I want is to get my son. I’ll find a different way back,” said Alex.

  “Orders,” said Radioman, shrugging his shoulders.

  “State police are allowing Maine residents to cross the border in both directions,” said Alex.

  “Then I suggest you take your car to one of their checkpoints. Nobody’s crossing here.”

  “I just saw a car headed south on the road behind me. Looked like one of your guys in it. Massachusetts plates,” said Alex.

  “They volunteered to give up their car. That’s the only way anyone gets across. We’re not having a repeat of 2013, with people driving around looting and pillaging our homes,” said Radioman.

  “You’re making them walk?”

  “We take them to Sanford or Springvale. Their choice. They have plenty of options there.”

  “So there’s no way we get across here?”

  “We’ll make an exception if you’re willing to give up your vehicle and everything inside. That’s the only way anyone gets across.”

  With that statement, it all snapped into place for Alex. The men with rifles at the church. The car with Massachusetts plates turning into the church. Nobody was getting a lift to Sanford or Springvale.

  He forced a smile. “I guess we’ll have to find another way across,” said Alex, lowering his right hand enough to scratch his head.

  “You don’t sound so eager to cross at one of the state police checkpoints. How come?”

  “I don’t trust cops. Are you guys part of the York County Readiness Brigade?”

  “Maine Liberty Militia. The real militia. Not that horseshit bean-supper brigade,” said Radioman, causing his sidekick to snicker.

  “Never heard of it,” said Alex.

  “Now you have,” said Radioman.

  “You guys have a good day,” said Alex, half-expecting to take a bullet in the back.

  Alex hopped into the Jeep and closed the door, surprised to find the barrel of Charlie’s rifle protruding a few inches past the headrest. Careful not to disturb his aim, Alex examined his firing position. Charlie had raised the front passenger seat headrest to its highest point and had braced his rifle in the gap between the seat and headrest. He had propped the three assault backpacks next to him to support the right side of his body, providing a stable platform to aim his rifle through the gap and beyond the windshield. He was relieved to see that Charlie had taken the initiative to cover him, and that he’d chosen a method not easily detectable. He was little disturbed that nobody was watching the road leading to the other bridge.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t like the way they looked. Ed was watching you and the road, and I had my eye on those two. I think they’re running some kind of racket here. That was one of their guys in the car back there,” said Charlie, engaging the rifle’s safety before setting it across his lap.

  “Maine Liberty Militia. Ever heard of them?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Probably one of those offshoot groups. A dozen sprung up after 2013.”

  “Whoever they are, I think they’re running more than just a racket. Let’s go back down Foxes Ridge Road.
”

  Ed put the Jeep into reverse and executed a two-point turn. When they passed the industrial site, Ed broke the silence.

  “Now where are we supposed to cross? If we keep following the border hoping for the best, we’ll end up driving to the goddamned Canadian border!”

  “We’re crossing in Milton Mills,” said Alex.

  “How? This isn’t SEAL Team Six, Alex. You saw the guys down there. We don’t even know how many we’re dealing with.”

  “Probably twelve,” said Charlie. “I saw three guys on the other side through my scope, talking to a bunch of bikers. Weapons aimed right at them. Looked like a heated debate going on. We have to assume the same setup on the other bridge. Two cars of three.”

  “Twelve at the border and more at the church,” said Alex.

  “That’s too many,” said Ed.

  “We only have to get past six of them,” said Alex.

  “With the rest of the Maine whatever-the-fuck Liberty gang coming to the rescue? What about the church? How many reinforcements do they have waiting over there?”

  Alex glanced at Charlie. “We’re headed there next.”

  “Recon?” asked Charlie.

  “If my suspicions are correct? Direct action. No survivors.”

  “Wait. Hold on. You’re going into the church? You’re out of your mind. These guys are fucking crazy!”

  “Which is why it’ll work. I saw two of them up close. They’ll never expect this. When the bullets start connecting, they’ll break.”

  “You can’t guarantee that. If something goes wrong, our kids are screwed. I’d rather walk to Boston to—”

  “Ed! Walking to Boston is not an option! We need to be in Boston tonight. I can get us over this bridge.”

  Ed shook his head and muttered obscenities for a few seconds before turning to Alex. “If this is too much for you and Charlie to handle, we find another way. I’m trusting you to make that call. Why is the church so important, again?” he asked.

  “The guy at the roadblock said the only way to get across was to voluntarily give up your vehicle. They take your car and supposedly drop you in Sanford,” said Alex.

  “The last car turned into the church,” said Ed.

  “Exactly,” Alex stated. “I want to know what they’re doing with the families. They’re sure as shit not driving them to Sanford. I saw kids in that SUV.”

  “They definitely didn’t take the family to Sanford,” said Ed.

  “I’m shutting this operation down effective immediately,” said Alex.

  Ed sighed. “This is going to get us all killed.”

  Chapter 27

  EVENT +30:59 Hours

  Acton, Maine

  Alex approached the next tree trunk, careful not to snap any of the larger dogwood branches. Charlie trailed one tree behind, following his path through the dense forest growth. They had established an effective pattern in which one of them rushed forward while the other watched for threats.

  Charlie crashed down next to him, pointing his rifle across the parking lot. Alex covered the northern door and the pavement area visible beyond the corner of the building. The two men he’d seen when they passed the church on the way to Milton Mills had been headed in the direction of the gazebo. Alex had taken precautions during their approach, stopping and observing for long periods of time. He detected no signs of an organized, defensive surveillance effort.

  “I think we’re clear to approach the back door. Careful with that corner. I’m pretty sure the gazebo is on the other side,” he whispered.

  Charlie nodded, watching his sector. Alex had been impressed with his neighbor’s ability to move quietly through the forest and follow simple hand signals. Charlie’s years of experience stalking animals had paid dividends, and he walked quieter than Alex, when he didn’t stumble. He hadn’t completely mastered the “ready carry” technique, which required him to aim over his rifle’s sights and maneuver without looking at the ground. The last hundred yards had shown a marked improvement since they left the Jeep, with Charlie effectively shifting lines of sight without tripping.

  Alex drew his pistol and retrieved a dark cylindrical object, screwing it onto the pistol barrel.

  “Jesus Harold Christmas! Is that legal?” Charlie exclaimed.

  “What do you think? Swap rifles with me.”

  “Why?” whispered Charlie.

  “Because there’s gonna be some shooting, and we need it to be as quiet as possible,” said Alex.

  “This is crazy,” muttered Charlie. He unclipped the rifle from his one-point sling and handed it to Alex, casting a doubtful look.

  “We’ll be fine, Charlie, as long as you stay close to me and remember what I tell you. We clear one room at a time. I enter the room first, staying low and sweeping from left to right. You’ll lean in aiming high, sweeping from right to left. When the room is clear, you enter the room and transition to cover the hallway or whatever open space we just used. We’ll clear the building room by room until we find what we’re looking for. Clear?”

  “Clear. What are we looking for?”

  “The families they brought here. Ready?”

  “Not really,” said Charlie.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  Alex rose to his feet and clipped Charlie’s rifle into his own sling harness, shifting the rifle and sling behind his back. Charlie raised Alex’s rifle to his shoulder and stared through the ACOG scope, shifting his aim a few times. He nodded at Alex, and they started forward. The back door burst open. Alex pushed Charlie down and furiously low-crawled to the next tree trunk several feet ahead of them, squirming through rain-soaked underbrush. He wasn’t worried about noise. Cover and concealment was his primary goal for the moment.

  He reached the tree without the hissing of bullets through foliage, confident that they hadn’t been spotted. He laid the pistol on the damp ground and twisted onto his left side to wrestle Charlie’s rifle forward. Charlie rustled through the bushes a few seconds later, settling somewhere behind him.

  Alex stared over the holographic sight on Charlie’s AR, dismayed by the scene. Six people walked across the asphalt parking lot toward the tree line at the rear of the parking lot. Two men wearing MultiCam uniforms and boonie hats nudged the family forward with their rifles.

  Not on my watch.

  He leaned back. “Change of plans. We drop both of the militia guys and rush the corner of the building. You’ll suppress the gazebo, and I’ll clear the building. Once the building is clear, I’ll help you with the gazebo.”

  “If there’s anyone left,” said Charlie.

  “No adjustment necessary on the ACOG. Start taking them down. I’ll meet you at the corner of the building,” said Alex, rising to a low crouch.

  “I got this,” said Charlie, settling in behind the scope.

  “Take your shots quickly. If they reach the trees, the family is dead,” he said, grabbing his pistol off the ground and sprinting to the next tree.

  Alex stopped behind the next tree and holstered the pistol. The suppressed rifle barked twice in rapid succession. Alex dropped to one knee and leaned around the backside of the tree. One gunman lay on the pavement. The other teetered on his feet for a moment. A third shot passed through the man’s neck, showering the pavement with blood and dropping him instantly. The family ran for the tree line, screaming.

  Alex sprinted for the corner of the building. The heavy rain may have drowned out the suppressed rifle shots, but a quick look at the angles ahead told Alex that the men in the gazebo had a direct line of sight to their downed comrades. Even if they hadn’t noticed the men fall to the ground, there was no way they could miss an entire family scrambling across the parking lot. He just hoped that the security team didn’t decide to gun down the family from the gazebo.

  He was still a few seconds away from the corner when he caught a glimpse of movement and raised Charlie’s rifle, snapping two shots at the figure that appeared in the EOTech sight’s illuminated reticle. He mov
ed the rifle to the right, finding his second target, but a storm of splinters and supersonic cracks forced him flat against the side of the building. He shifted the rifle to a left-handed shooting position and backed up a few more feet, dropping to the blacktop. Leaning the rifle out at a forty-five-degree angle, he reacquired the target. Both targets.

  The first shooter was down on both knees, clutching his neck, blood pumping through his fingers. The second man kneeled next to him, yanking medical supplies out of his vest. Alex fired a single .223-caliber projectile through his head, knocking him over. The next bullet struck the wounded man in the forehead. With the only two visible targets down, he turned to Charlie.

  “Don’t let anyone through that door! I’m going through the front,” he said, waiting for Charlie’s acknowledgement.

  Satisfied with a thumbs-up and Charlie’s choice of position on the right side of the concrete stoop, he quick-peeked around the corner, verifying that the parking lot was still devoid of militia. He assumed the ready carry position and shuffled down the side of the building, crouching at each of the evenly spaced windows imbedded into the white vinyl siding. He passed nine cars, all with out-of-state license plates, before he reached the door and drew his pistol.

  The sound of a revving vehicle engine stopped him from opening the door, and he slid between the two closest cars. Staying below window level, he moved to the rear of a Honda Pilot and transitioned back to Charlie’s rifle. Shots from the suppressed rifle in Charlie’s hands echoed through the parking lot.

  We’re now on the verge of a complete disaster.

  He stayed concealed, watching the visible portion of the driveway through the cargo compartment window. He kept his peripheral vision attuned to the building’s front door. With Charlie blasting away into the building, the militia members inside might attempt to flank him. Their most logical path to Charlie came through the door he had almost opened.

  When the vehicle appeared, Alex waved frantically, trying to get Ed to stop the Jeep before it became visible to the shooters in the building. Ed turned the Jeep off the driveway, screeching to a halt just past the corner. Alex heard the front door open and stayed low, switching back to the suppressed pistol.