The Perseid Collapse (The Perseid Collapse Series 1)

by Konkoly, Steven

  He moved swiftly between the Pilot and the silver four-door sedan, staying low with both hands extended forward in an isosceles triangle. The first figure appeared above the hood of the Pilot, and Alex pulled the trigger twice, adjusting his aim for the head. The hollow-point bullets penetrated his skull, plastering the white siding beyond him with a mosaic of dark and bright red clumps. Alex pressed forward, firing repeatedly over the hood at the second man barreling through the opening. The 9mm bullets struck hard, knocking him against the gore-stained cedar siding with a grunt.

  A third figure emerged from the doorway and locked eyes with Alex. Before Alex could line him up in the P30’s sights, the militiaman lurched forward, firing his AR-15 wildly over the hood. Bullets snapped overhead as Alex crouched low behind the engine block, windows exploding in a pattern toward the rear of the vehicle. Alex slid in front of the Pilot and fired three shots through the windshield toward the back of the SUV. His pistol volley was met by several .223 projectiles, which showered Alex and the hood with hundreds of milky blue safety glass particles and splintered the cedar siding behind him.

  He was effectively wedged between two threat vectors, unable to simultaneously watch and engage targets coming from both directions. He quickly peeked above the hood, spotting the familiar boonie hat through the punctured windshield. Bullets snapped past Alex’s head, forcing him down. He detected movement behind him and turned halfway to the left, switching pistol hands. The second man he had shot with the pistol groaned, desperately trying to reach the rifle lying next to him. Alex extended his left hand and fired a single bullet through his face, slamming the man’s head into the side of the building.

  The shooting stopped for a moment, and all Alex could hear above ringing in his ears was the low din of heavy rainfall beating against sheet metal. He needed to reload the pistol. He dropped to the asphalt and reached along the left side of his vest, searching for a spare pistol magazine, while scanning the space under the vehicle. He could see the man’s boots shifting on the pavement beyond the protruding axles.

  The sound of fast-moving footsteps drew his attention to the front door. Alex propelled himself forward, slamming into the bloody wall just as a man dressed in MultiCam utilities stepped onto the porch, firing wildly into the cars. Sliding down the wall into a shallow puddle, Alex slammed the fifteen-round magazine tightly into place, depressing the slide-stop to chamber a round. Three 9mm hollow-point projectiles struck the man in a tight pattern under his exposed armpit, knocking him out of the doorway.

  By hastily moving against the wall, he had put too much distance between himself and the front bumper, giving the shooter behind the SUV a clear line of fire. If he had more time to consider his next move, he would have been better off dropping out of sight—hoping that he could beat the rounds that would soon be headed in his direction at three thousand feet per second. Instead, he did what most people trained to defend themselves with firearms would do. He shifted and fired—at nothing.

  “He’s down!” yelled Ed, the barrel of his Ruger 10/22 protruding beyond the edge of the church corner.

  Saved again by Ed.

  Alex gave him a thumbs-up and raised himself out of the crimson puddle, focused on killing the rest of the militia. Four men had rushed out, bringing the total confirmed enemy casualty count to eight. He had no idea if Charlie had added to that number, or if he’d simply kept them from reaching the back door. A volley of three suppressed rifle shots and a scream from inside the building answered his question.

  Not wanting to give away his position by yelling, Alex tried to communicate with Ed using basic hand signals. He pointed at Ed with his index finger, then pointed at his own eyes, following this with a quick hatchet hand in the direction of the road. He wanted Ed to cover the road in case the gunfire attracted attention. Ed nodded and disappeared, leaving Alex to wonder if the message had been received. He transitioned back to Charlie’s rifle and slowly sidestepped into the open doorway, staring over his sights for any threats.

  The door opened into a large vestibule with several rows of coat hooks, all of them empty except for a light blue child’s windbreaker. Beyond the vestibule, a tight hallway crossed the building’s central passageway and dead-ended at a window on the far wall. A fusillade of rifle fire erupted from the central hallway, causing him to tighten his grip and focus on the right side opening. Clearing the rest of the building would be tricky.

  Alex sprinted down the hallway, keeping his rifle pointed toward the right, in the most likely threat direction. He hit the intersection, spotting at least two hostiles crouched in open doorways down the center hallway. Three crumpled bodies lay beyond them. He glanced in the opposite direction and scanned the doors and floor leading toward the church. The doors on the left side were closed, and the shiny linoleum floor was clear of spent brass. He felt confident that the hallway behind him was clear of threats. Now he just needed to figure out a way to keep Charlie from popping him with his own rifle.

  He stepped back from the corner and edged toward the hallway until the first occupied doorway appeared in his rifle’s holographic sight. The figure in the doorway leaned out and fired two rapid shots in Charlie’s direction. Alex fired, spilling the man into the hallway. Alex pulled himself swiftly back from the corner as a single round skipped off the linoleum floor in front of him and buried itself in the drywall behind him. The sound of three suppressed shots echoed through the hallways.

  Alex eased himself toward the corner again, angling the rifle to expose as little of his body as possible to the remaining shooter. He waited a few seconds and dashed across to the other side of the hallway, continuing well past the corner. Several rifle bullets followed him, exploding the drywall on both sides of the vestibule hallway, as the shooter tried to follow the arc of his movement beyond the walls. He heard the sound of his suppressed rifle amidst the chaos.

  “I got him!” yelled Charlie.

  “I’m coming out slowly. Same plan as before, except you stay in place, centered on the stairs. Got it!” said Alex.

  “You’re clear to move!” said Charlie.

  Alex took a deep breath and moved to the corner, peeking into the hallway. Charlie had moved to the middle of the doorway, aiming Alex’s rifle down the long hallway. Alex had four rooms to clear. Two sets of two doors, located next to each other on both sides of the hallway. He stepped into the hall and noted a long, mottled red streak on the gray wall next to the first doorway on the left. A mangled head protruded several inches beyond the bottom of the doorframe, anchored by a thick pool of spreading blood. Alex slithered along the right wall, keeping his rifle focused on the left side doorways. He stopped and listened for movement within the rooms, hearing nothing.

  He spun to the right and entered the first room on the right side, immediately determining that it was devoid of threats. The classroom had been stuffed with gear belonging to the owners of the vehicles parked outside. He faced the doorway and quickly slipped into the room next door, finding the same thing. Another classroom stuffed with suitcases, oversized duffel bags, coolers, hiking backpacks, tents and sleeping bags.

  There was far too much stuff in these rooms to fit into the assortment of vehicles he’d seen in the church parking lot. These fucks had been at this for a long time. He spotted a light pink child’s backpack with the initials LAH sewn in white thread on the outer pouch. He didn’t want to think about what they would find if they took a walk into the forest behind the parking lot.

  Alex cleared the two remaining rooms, one of which was empty, waiting ominously for more refugees to take the devil’s bargain being offered at the Milton Mills crossing. The other room contained several cots and a large wooden table. Two car batteries connected in parallel sat against the far wall of the room, attached by black and red wires to a power inverter on the right side of the table. Several handheld radio charging stations lined the back of the table, plugged into a surge protector powered by the inverter. All but one of the charging stations was e
mpty. He swiped the radio from its cradle and turned to the doorway.

  “All clear!” he said, peeking into the hallway.

  “All clear!” repeated Charlie.

  When he saw Charlie start to rise, with his rifle pointed downward, he stepped into the blood-slicked corridor, checking the three bodies slumped against the walls for signs of life.

  “They kept coming,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Never saw anything like it.”

  “Just like Khe Sanh?” Alex asked.

  “Very funny,” Charlie said.

  “You did good, my friend. Really good—and you’re not even wearing your squirrel cap,” said Alex, patting his shoulder.

  Charlie stuffed his hand into the left cargo pocket of this pants. “I have it right here!”

  “Not now,” said Alex, yanking Charlie down from the top of the stoop.

  Charlie absorbed the drop with stiff legs and teetered for a moment. Alex noticed that Charlie’s breathing was labored, as if he had just run up several flights of stairs. He’d be willing to write this off as expected stress-induced excitability if Charlie’s face wasn’t beet red.

  “You all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little excited.”

  “Your face looks like it’s going to explode.”

  “And you look as white as a ghost. You want your rifle back?”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of getting attached to this one,” said Alex, eyeing him warily.

  “Well, too bad. This ACOG scope is useless for close-up shots, and I don’t like these angled thingies you put on this. So if you don’t mind,” said Charlie, holding out Alex’s rifle.

  “I didn’t see you having any problems,” said Alex, exchanging rifles.

  “I made it work.”

  Charlie changed magazines and snapped the rifle back into his one-point sling, hustling to catch up with Alex. “Hey, what about that family that took off?”

  Alex stopped for a moment and stared off into the forest beyond the parking lot, grimacing. “We don’t have time to chase them down—and I don’t expect them to come running to us with open arms,” he replied. “I wouldn’t.”

  “Hate to leave them out there like this…” said Charlie, hesitating.

  “They got their lucky break. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 28

  EVENT +31:18 Hours

  Milton Mills Crossing, Southern Bridge

  Ed’s hands trembled on the steering wheel. Alex’s plan for getting across the bridge was crazier than the raid on the church. His handheld radio crackled, filling the cabin with Alex’s voice.

  “I’m not seeing any indication that they are alerted or expecting us. Charlie, you see anything at the northern crossing?”

  “Negative,” Charlie replied. “The road is clear.”

  “Ed, how does the road look heading toward the church?” Alex inquired.

  “It’s clear. I don’t buy it, Alex. They’re waiting for us.”

  “We would have heard something on the radio. All we picked up was a report of agitated bikers at the far end of the south bridge. All three of the militiamen are positioned in the open, behind the SUV, aiming their rifles at a group of people assembled about twenty feet away. The guys in the closest vehicle are tucked away nice and dry. This is as good as it gets, Ed.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “I’m moving closer to the bridge, where I can fire at both vehicles. Charlie, I’m going to need your help with the nearest SUV. When I start shooting across the river, I want you to pump at least half of a magazine into the doors. If someone spills out onto the road, they’re yours. Once you see me on the bridge, reload and cover the road leading from the other checkpoint. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal clear, Alex. Give me a few minutes to crawl into position. I don’t have a clear line of sight to the vehicle,” said Charlie.

  Charlie even sounded like shit over the radio. His breathing hadn’t recovered from the first round of mayhem before Alex yanked him out of the Jeep for round two. He was pushing Charlie past his physical limits, and it was going to kill him, if it didn’t get them all killed first.

  “Ed, I’ll radio you when I have the first SUV cleared,” said Alex.

  “Roger. I have the Jeep running,” said Ed, shaking his head.

  “I’m moving into position. Out.”

  Out of your fucking mind is more like it.

  Ed put one of his shaky hands around the grip of the .45-caliber Glock 37 lying on the front passenger seat, not feeling any comfort in the cold, utilitarian shape. He turned his head and stared through the rear windshield, catching glimpses of the road beyond the rear wiper’s useless arc. The rain had intensified again, drumming the Jeep’s sheet metal roof with an incessant staccato. The oppressive sound gave him hope that Alex might be right, that the men at the bridge could hear nothing more than distant, muted gunfire in the rain. His radio burst to life.

  “I’m in position. What’s your status, Charlie?” asked Alex.

  “Give me thirty seconds. I’m almost at the edge of the brush,” Charlie huffed.

  Ed glanced at the wooden stock of his Ruger 10/22 rifle. Protruding through the space between the front seat backs, he could put it into action much faster than he had at the church. The rifle had been stuffed under the smaller backpacks, rendering it impossible to pull it free from the front driver’s seat. He’d hopped out and opened the rear passenger seat, yanking it free in a panic when the shooting broke out. He’d barely reached the corner of the church in time to save Alex—again.

  One .22LR (long rifle) Interceptor bullet to the back of the head had dropped the guy hiding behind the SUV. The forty-grain, hypervelocity, hollow-point cartridge didn’t pack the same punch as Alex or Charlie’s .223 rounds, as Ed was constantly reminded, but it did the job. Twice by his count.

  ***

  Alex dragged himself through the dirt, squirming through a thick tangle of bushes less than forty feet from the first SUV. Through the driving rain and dense foliage, he caught glints of steel and glass. He could see enough of the SUV to confirm that they hadn’t activated the front windshield wipers since his previous visit. Their view of the trees and bushes beyond the guardrail would be a blur of cascading raindrops.

  He raised his head far enough off the ground to observe the SUV on the other side of the short bridge that spanned Salmon Falls River. He had a clear line of sight. All three men still stood behind the black SUV, pointing their rifles in the direction of a small crowd gathered in front of several motorcycles. Two of the militiamen stood near the front of the SUV, while the third man lingered near the tailgate, partially obscured from Alex’s sight.

  He’ll be the first to go.

  Alex spun his body and took a seat on the mud-soaked ground, splaying his legs and bending his knees. He rested his elbows on his knees to fully steady his rifle. Satisfied with the stability of his firing platform, he took his right hand off the rifle to grab his handheld radio. He hadn’t heard from Charlie, and it had been longer than thirty seconds.

  “Charlie, are you in position?” A few seconds passed without a response. “Charlie, what is your status?” Nothing.

  Damn it, where are you?

  “Ed, can you see Charlie?”

  “No. He disappeared in the trees. Do you want me to move the Jeep closer?”

  “Negative,” Alex replied. “Charlie, are you there?”

  “I’m here, I’m here,” Charlie finally responded. “Damn bushes knocked my fucking earpiece out. Sorry, guys. I’m at the edge of the road with a clear shot at the exposed side of the SUV. Ready to go.”

  “All right, this is it. Remember, Charlie, don’t start shooting until you hear my rounds headed down range,” Alex reminded him.

  “Got it, Alex. Ready to do this.”

  “Here we go,” said Alex, clipping the waterproof radio to his vest.

  He settled into the rifle, nestling the stock deep into his shoulder. Through the 4X ACOG scope, he l
ocated the partially obscured militiaman near the back of the vehicle and placed the tip of the red chevron reticle in the center of his head. There would be no need to compensate for bullet drop at this range. At an estimated range of roughly fifty yards, the .223 bullet would retain a flat trajectory, even in the pouring rain.

  He took his eye off the scope momentarily, feeling nauseous and warm. Maybe this was a mistake. The plan had just enough moving parts to descend into complete chaos. What if they couldn’t break through this side of the bridge quickly enough? They needed to be driving across the river, unopposed, when reinforcements arrived. Everything depended on his ability to accurately shoot three men within the span of seconds. If any of them survived to seek cover and return fire, they’d have to abandon the bridge attack and retreat. Alex didn’t have a plan for that.

  He put his eye to the scope and breathed slowly for several moments, easing the trigger back. Crack. The rifle bit into his shoulder, but he kept the scope’s field of view on the target. The man crouched and aimed toward the two-story buildings in Milton Mills, edging into full view. Alex spotted a small, paint-chipped hole at the edge of the SUV. His shot had been off by an inch.

  Not a good start.

  He sighted in on the confused militiaman and fired three rapid shots. The man clutched his neck and dropped to both knees, teetering forward to fall face first into a puddle.

  Unable to determine the source of the gunfire, the two remaining men darted for the edge of the bridge. Alex placed the red chevron on the lead runner and fired another tightly spaced three-round volley. He didn’t wait for the results, shifting immediately to the second target. Alex’s bullets arrived before the man reached the perceived safety of the metal guardrail, knocking him to the pavement as Charlie’s fusillade erupted.

  Alex changed magazines and slid down the riverbank to put some earth between Charlie’s gun and his approach. He scrambled across the slippery mud and climbed the jagged rocks set against the bridge. He slowly raised his body, aiming the rifle in the direction of the SUV. With both eyes open, he stared through the ACOG scope, processing the entire scene. Movement beside the SUV brought the rifle left, his eyes quickly finding a target. Two trigger pulls punched the militiaman over the far guardrail and out of sight. Alex crouched lower and scanned for additional movement. The gunfire had stopped.