“I thought this was about fishing,” said Alex, laughing.
“It’s about both. The beers give you something to do when the fish aren’t biting,” said Ken.
“Sounds like a win-win scenario,” said Alex.
“Never had a bad day fishing.”
“Sounds like fun to me,” said Ryan. “Though we’re missing the beers.”
“I might have smuggled a few out of my secret stash for the occasion,” said Ken.
“You’re kidding, right?” said Alex.
“I never joke about beer or fishing,” said Ken. “We’d have to let them sit in the water for a while.”
“We’ll see about the fishing,” said Alex. “It all depends on what we find at Johnny’s Seeds.”
Chapter 21
Albion, Maine
“The farm should be coming up on the right,” said Ken.
Ryan focused his binoculars on the road ahead. His dad expected to find some form of barricade on the road, to keep people from approaching the farm. A few homes peeked through the trees on the left side, but the road looked clear.
“I’m not seeing a barricade,” said Ryan.
“Keep looking,” said his dad. “If they’re in business, I don’t think they’ll be too keen on letting anyone get too close.”
“Maybe they’re out of business,” said Ryan.
“If anything, they’ll plant the fields,” said Ken. “I expect to find some folks out here. Figured it was better than driving up to the seed warehouse. That’s the obvious place to start. Most folks don’t know about the research farm.”
“I’m willing to bet that has something to do with its location,” Alex replied.
“It’s a little hard to find,” said Ken. “Even for Maine.”
“Hard to find in Maine is a few steps away from fucking invisible,” said his dad.
Ryan chuckled, staring through the binoculars. His dad could be pretty funny, even under the worst circumstances. He’d noticed this with some of the Marines around the house. Jokes and well-timed comical observations seemed to be the norm, often at the expense of fellow Marines. Some of the humor was pretty brutal, but they all shrugged it off like it was normal. It reminded him of the way his high school cross-country team acted on the bus to meets—except about ten times worse. He figured you had to go through some serious shit as a crew to get to the point where your friends could make a joke about screwing your girlfriend or sister. Running several miles a day around a quiet Maine town didn’t qualify. If anyone on his team ever said something that disrespectful about Emily or Chloe, he would have pounded some sense into them.
The telephone line running parallel to the road crossed over the street in front of one of the houses, disappearing into the trees on the other side.
“Dad, I think we’re coming up on—there it is,” he said, spotting a large white sign with black letters reading Johnny’s Selected Seeds. “There’s nothing blocking the entry.”
“I’m surprised,” said Alex, slowing for the turnoff.
As the SUV eased into the gravel driveway, the reason became apparent. A tan-colored Humvee sat in the middle of the car parking lot, next to an olive drab, canvas-backed utility truck with military insignia. The vehicles blocked their approach to a white, one-story building, which Ryan assumed was the research lab. Several plastic-covered greenhouses appeared in the empty fields beyond the building, no doubt protecting thousands of healthy seedlings.
Alex slammed on the brakes when the turret housing an M240 machine gun swiveled in their direction. Two soldiers dressed in Army ACUs started walking toward them with their M-4 rifles slung across their body armor. Neither had his rifle pointed at the SUV, but Ryan had seen his dad quickly transition to a firing position from “sling ready.” Within a fraction of the second, these soldiers could riddle the SUV with .223-caliber projectiles. One of the soldiers lowered the barrel of his rifle when the SUV started to back into the road. Ryan shoved his rifle under the front passenger seat, sliding his jacket off to cover the buttstock protruding into his foot well. His dad’s rifle was still in the cargo compartment.
“Shit. I think we should take our business elsewhere. Keep your rifle really low, Ryan,” said his dad, putting the SUV into reverse.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Captain,” said Ken.
“Fuck. This could get ugly. They’ll confiscate our weapons on sight, and we’ll be lucky if they don’t take the vehicle,” Alex said, putting the SUV in park. “Plus, the circumstances leading to a shortened stint as Captain Fletcher might bite me in the ass here.”
“Let’s not make any assumptions. And maybe I should do all of the talking,” said Ken.
“Good idea. Ryan, can you—” His dad scanned the backseat. “What did you do with the rifle?”
“It’s under Mr. Woods’ seat,” said Ryan.
“I’m covering the barrel with my foot,” said Ken.
“Works for me,” said Alex as the two soldiers approached the driver’s side window. “Looks like we have a sergeant and a specialist.”
“This is a restricted area, sir,” said the sergeant, while the other soldier walked along the driver’s side of the vehicle.
“Sorry. We had no idea. Our seedlings died in the freak snowstorm a few days ago, and we thought Johnny’s might be able to sell us some seeds to replace the ones we lost,” said Ken. “Looks like they’re open for business.”
“They’re open, but not for public business,” said the sergeant.
The younger soldier circled around the back of the SUV, peering inside the cargo compartment.
“Is there any way we can talk with someone working here? I’ve been a customer of theirs for nearly forty years,” pleaded Ken.
“Sorry, gentlemen. Johnny’s is part of the Maine Independence Initiative. They’ve allocated every batch of seeds to farms participating in the Initiative recovery effort,” said the sergeant.
Ryan fidgeted when the specialist peered inside his window, eyes settling on the black backpack next to him. The backpack contained several magazines for the automatic rifle stuffed under the seat. Ryan forced a smile and nodded at the serious-looking soldier.
“You guys going fishing?” asked the specialist.
“We were hoping to drive up to the Sebasticook from here,” said Alex, turning his head to address the soldier at Ryan’s window.
“Better get your fishing done while you can,” said the sergeant. “I’ve heard them talking about plans to fish the rivers on an industrial scale. Won’t be much left to catch if they put that plan into action.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” asked Alex. “The state government?”
Ryan detected an angry tone, which wouldn’t help their situation. He hoped Ken intervened before his dad’s tone became overtly hostile.
“Technically the Maine Independence Initiative,” said the sergeant. “It’s being led by the governor’s office.”
“Independence from what?” asked Alex in an increasingly exasperated tone.
Ken’s hand slowly reached out to touch his shoulder.
“We’ve been cut off from any communications for most of the winter,” explained Ken.
“The state has declared independence from the RRZ. The governor issued a formal declaration several days ago,” said the sergeant.
“Secession from the United States?”
“I didn’t hear the specifics of the declaration, but I’m pretty sure it was aimed specifically at the RRZ, not the U.S. government,” said the sergeant.
“There’s no difference at this point,” Alex said, rubbing his face with his hands before continuing. “What is your chain of command now?”
“It hasn’t changed. We take orders from the governor,” said the sergeant.
“Dad, maybe we should get going. Fishing might take up most of the day,” said Ryan, hoping his dad didn’t take the discussion where he thought it might go.
“Hold on, Ryan,” said his dad. “But your unit was
given specific Category Five Response tasking, right? That put you under federal control from the beginning.”
He sounded genuinely curious asking the question, the confrontational tone gone.
“I’ve never heard of this Category Five response,” said the sergeant. “We got our orders from the governor.”
“Your commanding officer never mentioned the battalion’s assignment under the National Recovery Plan? Which battalion are you with?”
“3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment. National Guard,” answered the sergeant. “The battalion CO was on vacation out west when the EMP hit.”
“What about the XO?”
“The XO is presumed dead based on confirmed reports.”
Alex shook his head slowly, muttering under his breath for a moment.
“Did anyone issue new equipment to the battalion after the EMP? Weapons, vehicles, communications gear?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“No problem. Ex-military?”
“Marine Corps. Many years ago.”
“Thought you might have served. We’re recruiting ex-military folks for a new battalion. Governor Dague authorized the formation of a second battalion based out of Augusta.”
“I’m getting a little old for that kind of work, but I appreciate the offer.”
“If you change your mind, we’ll have a recruiting station set up in Waterville,” said the sergeant.
“Well, good luck,” Alex said, backing the rest of the way into the road. “Sergeant?” he yelled through Ken’s window.
“Yeah?”
“What caused the governor to make the declaration now? She resisted the RRZ from the very start.”
The soldier stared at the car quizzically.
Shit. Dad blew it.
“I don’t understand,” said the sergeant, snaking his right hand toward the rifle’s pistol grip.
“We left the Portland area to stay with friends near Waterville because we heard rumors on the HAM radio about disagreements between the state and the RRZ. We didn’t want to get caught in the middle of it. Sounds like something happened?”
The soldier’s hand stopped moving. “Everything was stable until the RRZ sent a convoy of Marines to take the marine terminal in Searsport,” said the sergeant. “No offense to your Marines. They were probably just following orders.”
“They took over the terminal?”
“Not really. They reached a joint security arrangement with my battalion. Governor Dague wasn’t happy. She’s not waiting for the rest of the RRZ’s security forces to show up and secure the rest of the state.”
“Do you know how many soldiers and Marines the RRZ has in southern Maine?”
“Negative. We let the officers and the governor’s people worry about that,” joked the sergeant. “Right?”
The specialist nodded. “We just do what we’re told. Keeps us fed and out of trouble.”
“They have a battalion of Marines and a full brigade of soldiers from the 10th Mountain Division. They’re driving around in the latest generation Strykers and JLTVs, not to mention Black Hawk helicopters and Little Birds,” Alex told them. “I’m extremely worried about the governor’s declaration. If she escalates this, trouble will find all of us. Take care, gentlemen.”
The SUV accelerated down the middle of the two-lane road before the soldiers could respond. Ryan watched the soldiers walk toward the road, half expecting them to step into the road and fire at them. He reached into the foot well and yanked on the rifle butt to loosen it from its hiding place under Ken’s seat.
“Careful with that thing. I don’t want you blowing my foot off,” said Ken. “And what was that about, Captain? You trying to get us detained?”
Alex stared straight ahead.
“Earth to the captain,” said Ken.
“Dad,” added Ryan.
Alex swung his head toward Ryan, a distant, worried look on his face. “Sorry, I was thinking,” he muttered, adding words Ryan couldn’t hear before turning back to the road.
Ken looked back at Ryan, raising an eyebrow. Ryan shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, “It’s okay,” which seemed to ease Mr. Woods’ concerns, because he faced forward. A few moments of silence passed before his dad spoke.
“Two things. 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment never received their Category Five Response plan load out, which means battalion leadership never saw the orders placing them under federal control.”
“All of the other Guard units would have opened their federal orders,” said Ryan. “They would have figured it out eventually.”
“Without specific orders putting them under federal control, they’d have to follow the governor’s orders. They’re the only battalion-sized combat unit stationed in Maine, so I wonder if the other units up here just fell in line with 3rd Battalion.”
“What does it matter?” Ken asked.
“It matters because the governor has control of an entire battalion of soldiers, which has probably emboldened her to make some dangerous decisions. Squaring off against the RRZ is at the top of the list. And now she’s trying to create another battalion? Nothing good will come from that.”
“It’ll probably end up looking like a civil defense group. More symbolic than anything,” said Ken.
“I hope so,” said Alex, glancing at Ryan in the rearview mirror.
He stared at Ryan and briefly shook his head. The topic was closed, and Ryan knew why. Elements of 3rd Battalion, 172nd Regiment never accessed their Cat Five load out. Somewhere near Brewer, Maine, a battalion-sized cache of weapons and equipment was waiting to be discovered.
“Mr. Woods, were you just making that up about the trout fishing?” Ryan asked.
“I never lie about fishing or beer, son,” replied Ken, causing them to laugh.
“What do you think, Dad?”
“About the beer or the fishing?”
“The fishing,” Ryan said, thinking more about the beer.
“Why don’t we find a nice quiet spot on the other side of the Kennebec. One of those smaller streams I was telling you about this morning. Even if we don’t catch anything, we’ll take care of those beers,” said Ken.
“Works for me,” said Alex.
“What about the police on the bridge?” Ryan questioned.
“We’ll tell them we got sent back by the National Guard.”
Ryan felt uneasy about his dad’s sudden shift in focus. He hadn’t said a word about the fact that they hadn’t acquired any additional seeds to expand the gardens. The seeds had been critical to their plan for staying on the lake with the Walkers and Thorntons. He’d overheard his parents arguing about the dangers of making the trip. His dad had been hell-bent on the idea that they needed more seeds to survive, gaining his mom’s reluctant approval. Now the seeds were forgotten, pushed aside by the news of the governor’s declaration and the revelation that a battalion-sized supply cache sat untouched—less than an hour away.
No way. His dad couldn’t possibly be thinking about—
Ryan looked at the rearview mirror and saw his dad watching him. They stared at each other, communicating without speaking for several moments, before his dad winked.
Shit. He was thinking about it.
Chapter 22
Belgrade, Maine
The muffled sound of a vehicle engine carried across the backyard, drawing Kate’s attention away from the task of filling the buckets. She walked to the shore and hopped off the dock onto the matted grass. A quick glimpse of the silver BMW confirmed that Alex had returned. The buckets could wait. She headed for the deck, expecting to catch him inside, but he appeared at the side of the house before she reached the stairs.
“Need some help?” he asked, a serious look indicating she should answer “yes.”
“I don’t need any help, but I’ll gladly take some,” she said, eliciting no grin or change to his solemn façade.
She grabbed his h
and and they strolled slowly across the backyard.
“What happened? No seeds?” she said.
“No seeds,” he said, squeezing her hand. “But that’s the least of our problems. I’ll check on the boat tomorrow—see if I can find a few clearly abandoned boats we can provision for anyone else that wants to leave.”
She stopped them. “Alex, you’re scaring me. What’s—”
“Let’s keep walking. I don’t want to alarm my parents or the kids,” said Alex.
“I’ll start walking when you start telling me what’s wrong,” said Kate.
“The governor of Maine essentially seceded from the United States,” he said, pulling her hand.
Kate let herself move forward, wondering how much of his statement was melodrama.
“I’m sure it’s just a symbolic protest,” she said. “It’s not like the state can untangle itself from the RRZ.”
“It’s trying. Johnny’s Seeds no longer sells seeds to the public. They joined the Maine Independence Initiative, which means everything they produce goes to the state—outside of the RRZ.”
“Sounds a little odd, but overall it should benefit the state,” she said.
“Johnny’s Seeds was guarded by soldiers from 3rd Battalion, 172nd Infantry Regiment, a National Guard unit under state control. I’m wondering if Johnny’s participation was voluntary,” said Alex.
“I thought the RRZ controlled all of the National Guard units?” said Kate, starting to understand why her husband looked despondent.
“So did I, until about two hours ago.”
“Where have you guys been for two hours?”
“Fishing and drinking,” Alex said.
“I thought I smelled stale beer,” Kate said, shaking her head. “Where’s Ryan?”
“Over at the Thorntons’,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Chloe.”
“That’s another issue,” she said.
Ryan and Chloe’s relationship had intensified during the fall, to the point where Alex and Kate decided they needed to revisit the topic of sex, focusing on the consequences of an unexpected pregnancy in their new surroundings. They had no confirmation of sexual contact, but the two of them frequently disappeared—last seen holding hands on one of the docks or walking into the forest next to their house. The absolute last thing they needed right now was a pregnancy.
Dispatches Page 10
