Event Horizon (The Perseid Collapse Post Apocalyptic Series)

by Steven Konkoly

  “Liberty Mobile, this is Liberty Actual. It is imperative that the last vehicle in this convoy watches the road behind them. Report any and all vehicles spotted. I want the last car to respond, over.”

  “Liberty Actual, this is Jim Huxitt in the last car. I’m scanning the road with binoculars, over.”

  “Roger. Out,” said Eli, leaning into his seat and closing his eyes.

  McCulver looked over at Eli briefly. “Is this really all that made it out? Where’s the thirty-cal?”

  Eli breathed deeply and exhaled, feeling his heart pound at his chest. “Don’t remind me. Brown’s staying behind to gather intelligence. We’ll pick him up tomorrow, when this settles.”

  “Is it going to settle that quickly?”

  “What do you mean?” Eli barked.

  “We just attacked a high-value military target. No doubt about that now. If any one of our guys were captured, the feds will be at the Parsonsfield site pretty quickly.”

  Eli buried his face in his filthy black hands. With a thirty-caliber machine gun and nearly forty heavily armed militiamen assaulting the house, he hadn’t considered the possibility of failure, let alone that some of his men might be captured and tortured for information. Kevin was right.

  “When we reach headquarters, have the men pack up everything and hit the road. I want the place evacuated in less than an hour. If those two tactical vehicles show up before we’re gone, they’ll put an end to this show before it starts. I’ll head up 160 with Bertelson’s men and find a suitable location in the Brownfield or Denmark area. Made some deliveries up that way in the past. There are some real isolated places near the New Hampshire border. I’ll pick a spot north of Porter for a temporary rally point. School, campground, whatever. I’ll come get everyone once the new site is secure.”

  “I should make a second trip to my house,” said McCulver. “I have some bomb-making gear—old cell phones, wiring, detonators—some pipe bombs in the shed. It’ll save us from scrounging around while we need to keep our heads low.”

  “As soon as I return to guide our boys to the new HQ, I’ll cut you loose on that mission. You’ll need to approach your house carefully, and you’ll have to wait at the rally point for someone to contact you via radio, in case the feds follow you back.”

  “I don’t think anyone back there knows where I live.”

  “Probably not, but they know your name, and I God-guaran-damn-tee Homeland Security has a functioning database that could spit out your last five known addresses in a heartbeat,” said Eli.

  “Maybe I should forget about it.”

  “No. They’ll hit the Parsonsfield HQ first, then my house in Waterboro, working their way down the list. The biggest risk is running into them on the road. You can’t take the Bronco.”

  “What about splitting off from you guys when we hit Cramm Road?”

  “Negative. I need you organizing the pack up and withdrawal from Parsonsfield,” said Eli.

  “We have enough competent people to pull that off, Eli.”

  “I thought we had enough competent people to shoot a thirty-caliber machine gun, but apparently that wasn’t the case! No. I need you personally in charge of this. I can’t be there, and one of us has to be with the troops at all times until we get things back on track. They need leadership right now. Without leadership, they’ll drift away to the four winds.

  “I’ll put the guys left over from Bertelson’s squad directly under your charge, along with the guys that were part of Jimmy’s crew. Spread them out and use them to keep the troops in line. I don’t want one of the SUVs to slip out of the convoy with rations and ammunition. Reporting to the rally point isn’t optional.”

  “Got it. I still think it’s risky sending me south later in the day.”

  “The payoff is worth the risk. This’ll be your last trip to the house for a long time. Make sure your wife knows that,” said Eli.

  “She knows. I’m more worried about the kids.”

  “You tell them this is like a regular military deployment and that their dad is gonna be a hero, with his name all over the county.”

  “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Now I do. After what I saw at that house, there’s no doubt in my mind that York County is about to be invaded.”

  Chapter 44

  EVENT +75:52

  Limerick, Maine

  Alex helped the marines load the portable stretcher carrying Ed into the back of the Matvee. Samantha held his hand until she had to let go.

  “I should go. I can leave the kids with—”

  “I’ll be fine, Sam,” Ed groaned, partially smiling.

  “You don’t sound or look like you’ll be fine. Why are you smiling?”

  “Morphine,” said one of the marines from the front seat.

  “Why didn’t I get any morphine?” Charlie griped from the passenger seat.

  “Because one of us needs to stay coherent,” grumbled Linda from the seat next to him.

  Corporal Lianez raised his eyebrows and whispered, “You put two Thorntons in the same vehicle with me, sir?”

  Samantha started laughing.

  “The kids need you here,” said Ed. “I need you to be with the kids. The corporal said I’d be fine.”

  “No offense to the corporal, but it’s not like he put you through an MRI,” Samantha snapped.

  “None taken, ma’am,” said Corporal Lianez. “Best I can tell, the bullet entered his hip high on the outside, skipped off his pelvic bone and exited through his buttocks. Bleeding is normal, so I don’t think it took a deeper route through. I’ve seen enough bullet and frag wounds to tell. We’ll keep the bleeding to a minimum until we get to the hospital.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “Ma’am, there’s no need to apologize. I wouldn’t trust me either.” The corporal winked. “You’re welcome to come, but I’d want my wife to stay with the kids too. Captain, if you’ll close the hatch when they’re ready?”

  “Thank you,” Samantha said, hesitating to say any more.

  “This is what we do—but you’re welcome,” said Lianez, climbing into the troop compartment.

  “Tell the kids I love them and I’ll be back soon,” said Ed.

  “I will. I love you.”

  “Love you too, honey.”

  “You ready?” asked Alex.

  When Samantha nodded, Alex pulled Samantha to the side of the tactical vehicle. They hadn’t swept the forest for hostiles, and he didn’t want to expose her to the eastern tree line when the door swung shut.

  “Be good, my friend. The marines will stay with you at the hospital and push for priority treatment. I can’t imagine they have too many gunshot wounds, so it won’t be a problem. If it is, I’ll have the battalion commander press down on the hospital. Probably see you tomorrow.”

  “Watch over the kids for me,” said Ed.

  “Like a hawk,” said Alex.

  “Like your own.”

  Alex nodded. “I think you pulled off number three in there today.”

  “Number three?”

  “Three times you’ve saved my ass.”

  “That didn’t count,” said Ed.

  “No?”

  “Everyone racked up at least ten ass-savings in there. We’ll keep the tally at two.”

  “Fair enough. I still owe you. Keep those two from killing each other,” he said and shut the rear hatch.

  Alex opened the left passenger door, figuring he had to say something to the Thorntons. He knew he’d probably regret it.

  “Why do I have to go to the hospital? I’m fine,” Charlie insisted. “You need help here, and I can still get around.”

  Alex looked at Linda, who shook her head and mumbled, “Idiot.”

  “You have a bullet hole in your leg, Charlie,” said Alex.

  “So what?”

  “Morphine kicked in, Linda?”

  “Something kicked in. Feels like a bad ankle sprain,” she said, wincing when she
accidentally moved her foot.

  “Better than before?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Lianez, you should probably figure out a way to suspend her leg.”

  “I can do that, sir.”

  “Don’t bother. We’re not that far away,” Linda said.

  “It’s her call, Lianez,” said Alex.

  “It’s always her call,” grumbled Charlie.

  Alex met the corporal’s stare through the rear passenger seats. He didn’t look happy.

  “We’ll watch over your flock. You did good in there,” said Alex, closing the door before they could respond.

  Alex pounded on the hood and gave the driver a thumbs-up before running into the house, keeping himself between the woods and Samantha. Once inside, they found the adults in the kitchen with two of the marines. His mother stood at the basement door with her shotgun.

  “Where’s Ryan?” he asked.

  “He won’t leave his post until the forest is cleared. Alyssa and Sydney are watching the east.”

  “The rest of the kids?”

  “In the basement, under lock and key until the farm is safe,” said Amy.

  Alex nodded at his mom, who looked all business. “I guess we should take care of that sooner than later. Staff Sergeant?”

  “You sure you don’t want to sit this one out, sir? You look like you’re about to fall over,” said Evans.

  Alex knew he should take a seat and close his eyes, probably for the next twelve hours, but he couldn’t rest until he felt reasonably confident that their property was secure. Even then, they faced a full day of work just to put the house back into rough working order.

  “I’ve looked and felt like that for the better part of seventy-two hours. I’ll survive a few more,” he said.

  Tim Fletcher opened one of the pouches attached to his web belt, exposing two fully loaded magazines. “I’m ready when you are,” he said.

  “Tim, you’ve had enough. Let the marines handle this,” said Amy.

  Tim pulled the brim of his hat down, exposing the faded Eagle, Globe and Anchor symbol on its starched face.

  “Never mind,” Amy said.

  “Keep a watch in every direction,” said Alex.

  “Be careful. Don’t take any chances. Not after this,” she said, glancing around at the mess.

  “I’ll be good,” he said and kissed her dusty lips.

  “We’ll radio back with our locations. I want to test the motion detectors. Some of the transceivers were knocked onto the floor, but I didn’t see any bullet holes. Wish I could say the same for the monitors.”

  “We’ll check the transceivers and put them back in order,” said Kate.

  Alex nodded. “One last question. Did any of the toilets survive?”

  “The one in the master bedroom,” said Tim.

  Alex looked toward the stairs. “I guess I’ll take my chances out there.”

  Chapter 45

  EVENT+78:26

  Porter, Maine

  Eli adjusted the Bronco’s passenger-side vents to direct the cool air in his face. Nearly two hours later, he was still running hot from the half-mile dash through the forest in Limerick. He looked up from his GPS receiver and watched for the turnoff to Camp Hiawatha.

  “Turn up here at the camp,” said Eli, pointing to a rustic sign on the right side of the road.

  His driver eased the SUV off Route 160 and drove them through a worn flagstone entrance. The dirt road gently wove through the dense forest, until they arrived at a two-story post-and-beam structure, which he guessed to be the main activities lodge. The road looped in front of the lodge, designed as a drop-off area for campers. A pickup truck and a small bumper-sticker-covered sedan sat in the back of a shaded dirt parking lot situated across the road from the lodge. Beyond the presence of these two vehicles, the camp appeared deserted, which suited him fine.

  “No kids, huh?” he asked.

  The driver started to open his mouth, but thought better of it. An even more uncomfortable silence hung in the truck’s cabin. He’d made it clear to Bertelson’s men that if they didn’t have anything useful to say, they shouldn’t say anything at all. They were on probation simply by association with their fuck-up of a dead squad leader. The slightest infraction of discipline or demonstration of incompetence would put them in front of a firing squad. Throughout the trip north, the four men had remained silent, dutifully watching their surroundings. It was amazing what a little leadership and a healthy dose of fear could do for the troops.

  “Let me clarify something. If I ask a question, I expect an answer. As long as it’s an answer and not some excuse to run your suck. Now, does anyone know why this place is empty?”

  The driver, a serious-looking soldier type wearing thick-rimmed, corrective glasses, glanced at him and nodded. “I think most of these camps break up after the second week of August. The cars might belong to the camp director or something,” he said, slowing the vehicle as they entered the loop.

  “I want to see the whole place. That path looks wide enough,” Eli said, pointing to a gravel path flanked by brush and a “no vehicles past this point” sign.

  Several seconds on the camp’s central pedestrian thoroughfare yielded tennis courts and a cluster of six cabins nestled into the woods. Shimmering water peeked between the trees behind the bungalows. A few minutes later, they returned to the loop in front of the lodge. He liked what he saw. More than enough structures to house the militia—with room to grow with each batch of recruits. Fresh water on both sides of the camp. The place was located between two sizeable “ponds,” forming a land bridge between them. The idea of a ready-made barracks appealed to him the most, along with the lodge, which gave them a central meeting place. His biggest problem with Camp Hiawatha was its location.

  First, it wasn’t set far enough back from Route 160. The area wasn’t exactly a high-population zone, but at the end of the road, near the lake, he could see several houses on the water. Located less than two miles from Porter, Maine, the high volume of vehicle traffic and activity generated by his militia would undoubtedly attract attention. The camp was an obvious choice for investigation if the government caught wind of them. He needed something more remote. Eli really wanted this place to work, but there was no point in forcing a round peg into a square hole, or whatever the stupid saying was.

  “Take us back onto 160. North. I have a better idea,” he said.

  Less than a minute later, he ordered the driver to turn left on Porterfield Road. GPS indicated that the road forked about a mile and a half away, Porterfield Road continuing north and Norton Hill Road heading east. He liked the idea of heading east toward the New Hampshire border. Eli also knew from experience that the areas east of 160 were mostly empty. He’d be shocked to find more than four or five homesteads on this road. Easy pickings out here, unless they stumbled onto another government safe house. Just the fleeting thought of his failed attack enraged him. The driver’s eyes darted nervously to his balled-up fists.

  Eli counted the turnoffs along the hard-packed dirt road, jotting notes into a sweat-stained pocket notebook with a stubby, dull pencil. Five so far, mostly mobile homes or dilapidated saltboxes set close to the road. One dirt driveway extended out of sight, but it was too close to Route 160. They passed a patchy field on the left, which gave Eli hope, but he didn’t see a driveway or a structure. It looked like someone had cleared the land and given up. A few minutes later, they approached a possible intersection.

  “Stop at that intersection. Windows down,” he said.

  The word “intersection” was a generous description for the accidental convergence of two rural dirt roads in the middle of nowhere. The path heading south looked more like a well-worn ATV trail, which could prove useful for winter movement. No way anyone was getting around southern Maine once the snow started falling. He had a feeling that plowing the roads to facilitate insurgent movement wouldn’t be high on Homeland’s priority list. The road north held promise. Pe
netrating a thick stand of trees along the road, he caught glimpses of open fields in the distance. Best of all, it wasn’t shown on GPS.

  “Let’s recon this road,” he said, pointing north.

  A rectangular field flanked the road once they broke through the trees. Measuring roughly two football fields long and one field wide, the grasses had been recently cut. Another tree break separated the field from a vast, open farm, easily stretching three times the length of the first field. Lush fields of late August produce bloomed on each side of the road, planted in organized rows that suggested the use of industrialized farm equipment. A house and barn stood amidst a clump of trees at the top of the road. Rows of corn baked under the sun in fields barely visible beyond the house.

  “Jackpot,” he said and removed the York County Sheriff’s badge from a pouch on his tactical vest.

  “Go slow when we get to the end of the road. No sense in scaring anyone.”

  The road emptied into the farm compound, which gave Eli goose bumps. This was more than a jackpot. It was the grand prize. Easily measuring fifty feet on all sides, a thriving vegetable garden greeted them on the left. The barn dwarfed the generous farmhouse, serving as a backdrop for three neatly parked green tractors. A few other well-maintained structures stood in the shadow of the barn. Chicken coop? The smell of livestock and hay washed through the Bronco’s windows, reminding him of the York County Fair. This was the place.

  “Why don’t you stop up here,” said Eli, pinning the badge to the left side of his vest while the car slowed to a stop.

  “Keep your weapons out of sight, and do not get out of this vehicle unless I tell you to—or if I’m shot dead. Understand?”

  A cacophony of “yes, sirs” reassured him that they got the message. He opened the door and stepped onto the dusty driveway, his sweat glands immediately responding to the direct sunlight. He pulled a black ball cap from the cargo pocket of his mud-crusted pants and pulled it tightly over his head, exposing the words “York County Sheriff.” Unsnapping his hip holster behind the car door, he glanced at the driver.

  “If you see something that ain’t right, honk the horn,” he said, shutting the door and walking toward the house.