Dispatches

by Steven Konkoly

  “How did he get stuck in Searsport?”

  “Luck of the draw,” said Alex. “Plus he’s one of the best staff NCOs in the battalion.”

  “Why can’t they make the trip? Never mind. Tracking devices. Big brother again.”

  Big brother. Huh. She started to form a thought; then Amy stood up from her seat.

  “What else?” asked Amy. “I’m starving.”

  “What are you cooking up?” Tim asked.

  “Everyone’s favorite. Savory stroganoff and barbeque beans with natural bacon flavor.”

  “Yeah, everyone’s favorite,” Alex repeated flatly.

  Kate stifled a laugh. “I sure as hell hope you find something other than freeze-dried food in one of those warehouses.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” said Alex. “We’re looking at Brations and MREs. After about twenty days of those, you’ll be begging for savory stroganoff.”

  They all laughed, except for Kate. Something bugged her about the whole deal, though it did seem to be pretty straightforward. Not a lot of “moving parts,” as Alex would say.

  “When will you leave?” she asked.

  “As soon as Grady sends me the location and the codes to access the facility.”

  “I don’t like the fact that he’s doing this on the sly. Something doesn’t add up.”

  “It’s funny you say that,” said Alex. “I kind of had the same feeling when I was talking to him.”

  “Maybe you need to trust your instincts.”

  “My instincts say we have to take the chance,” said Alex. “Otherwise, we’ll have to think seriously about taking Grady up on his offer to station Marines here. We know that’s not a good option.”

  “If this trip doesn’t pan out, we’ll have to consider it.”

  Chapter 27

  Belgrade, Maine

  Alex and Ryan looked ready for a small war—in stark contrast to Ed’s interpretation of their “road trip” north. He’d anticipated the rifles, but not the full military load out. Tactical vests, thigh holsters, dozens of extra magazines, night vision. Not at all what he expected. Certainly not what he had been led to believe, or he wouldn’t have been so quick to approve of the trip. He gave the trailer hitch coupler lever a tug to make sure it was secure before stepping away from the Jeep.

  “Did I miss the war declaration?” Ed asked wryly, shrugging his shoulders.

  “You’re still funny,” said Alex, smiling as he patted the hand guard of his rifle. “Just a precaution. I really don’t expect a problem, but I’m not taking any chances. Not with something this important.”

  Ed shook his head, breaking a grin. “Charlie’s gonna throw a fit. I told him civilian clothes and a stripped-down rifle. This could add an hour to our departure.”

  “Mr. Walker, is Chloe inside?” Ryan inquired.

  “She’s out back, but I don’t want…I think you might scare her looking like that,” said Ed. “Can it wait until we get back?”

  Ryan’s eyes darted between the house and Ed. “Sure, Mr. Walker. Sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

  He looked genuinely apologetic and extremely disappointed.

  “No worries, Ryan. I didn’t expect your dad to show up dressed like a Navy SEAL,” said Ed, winking.

  The front door of his cottage slammed with a sharp crack, announcing Charlie’s arrival. Without looking in Charlie’s direction, he patted Alex’s shoulder.

  “Don’t antagonize him, please,” said Ed, getting the words in before Charlie started his diatribe.

  “What the hell? Why do I look like I’m going to church, and the Fletchers are dressed for prolonged combat operations?” said Charlie, jogging up to them.

  “We took a vote and decided to suit up the most capable in the group,” said Alex.

  “What?” Charlie stomped.

  “Alex,” Ed warned. “Don’t.”

  “Just kidding, my friend. I made a last minute decision to enhance the group’s security posture,” said Alex, checking his watch. “We have time if you want to bump it up a few notches.”

  “I told you,” said Charlie, pointing at Ed. “Be back in a few minutes.”

  “Before you go, let’s take a quick look at the map. I just got the coordinates and access codes from Grady. Looks even easier than I originally thought,” said Alex. “Closer at least. Grab your map, Ed.”

  Alex pulled a folded map out of one of the pouches on his vest and expanded it on the hood of the Jeep. When everyone was situated around the map, he pointed to an area northwest of Bangor International Airport. A pencil mark was visible near the end of a road that appeared to stop at the western boundary of the airport.

  “Mark this on your map, Ed,” said Alex.

  Ed reached into the front seat and grabbed his map, refolding it so the airport was centered in the middle of the compact map area. He laid it on top of Alex’s and copied the location with a pen from his pocket. Alex watched him with a pained look.

  “What?” said Ed.

  “Using a pen on a map—ughh,” said Alex.

  “Marine Corps no-no? Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to run to Staples to buy office supplies,” said Ed, finishing his sacred transgression against the map. “Runway Road looks like a dead end.”

  “It’d be easy to box us in there,” said Charlie.

  “Yeah. We’ll have to make an assessment when we turn off New Boston Road. It’s a quarter of a mile from the turnoff to the point where Grady said we should find the first gate leading to the facility on the left side of the road,” said Alex, shifting his finger to an area north of the road. “The storage depot is up here somewhere.”

  “You sure you want to do this during daylight hours?” said Charlie.

  “I don’t want to be dicking around in the dark—especially on unfamiliar ground. We’ll push our arrival as close to sunset as possible, so we don’t have to use our lights going in. I presume we’ll be coming out of there after dark. Is everyone good with that?”

  Nobody had a problem with the plan, which didn’t surprise Ed. The drive from the interstate to the storage site looked easy enough. Maybe five to six miles tops, depending on which interstate exit they used. Keeping the lights off on the way in was important. Few things would draw more attention than a pair of headlights, and the last thing they wanted to do was attract any local attention. Alex had no idea how long it might take them to locate the food once they reached the warehouse depot. If people from one of the nearby neighborhoods decided to investigate, they’d have an audience on their hands at the facility. The less distance between the interstate and the storage site, the better.

  “Which exit do you anticipate taking?” asked Ed.

  “Probably the Cold Brook Road exit. I don’t want to jump off the interstate any sooner than necessary. The exit before Cold Brook will require us to snake through a handful of rural roads to find Route 2,” said Alex.

  “I was just going to say that we should keep this as simple as possible,” said Ed.

  Alex nodded. “I agree. It’s a fairly straight shot to New Boston Road from Cold Brook. Three turns in total. Easy deal if we get separated.”

  “We don’t separate,” said Ed, wondering why he would say something like that.

  “Not on purpose, but we need to consider every possibility. If we find ourselves separated and unable to communicate via radio, I say we get on the interstate and head south to the Hampden Road exit. Go a little past the exit and pull to the side of the interstate,” said Alex.

  “What if one of us is forced to take Route 2 past that exit?”

  “Then you keep going and head home,” Alex replied. “Whoever makes it to the exit waits an hour and returns to base.”

  “This group doesn’t separate,” said Ed. “Under any circumstances.”

  Alex shook his head.

  “Now what?” said Ed. “Did I violate another sacred Marine Corps rule?”

  Alex grinned. “No. You just reminded that I almost forgot the most impor
tant rule. Never leave a Marine behind, or in this case, never leave a friend behind. We stay together no matter what.”

  Chapter 28

  Hermon, Maine

  Interstate 95 had been empty…and not in a two o’clock in the morning, sparse traffic kind of way. They’d seen nothing. Not a single car, stopped or moving, on either side of the four-lane highway for fifty-three miles. It was the loneliest feeling Alex could recall—ever. For the first time since waking up on his sailboat to a bizarre purplish-red glowing sky, he felt pangs of hopelessness.

  The rapidly approaching green sign read Exit 180 Cold Brook Rd. Hermon. Hampden. They were less than fifteen minutes from the moment of truth. Alex glanced at his watch. 7:08 PM. They were cutting it close. Sunset was in thirty-four minutes.

  “Radio Charlie and let him know this is the exit,” said Alex.

  Ryan grabbed the radio from the center console while Alex scanned the off-ramp ahead. They had heard reports over the HAM radio that some of the towns along the turnpike had erected barricades to dissuade travelers from exiting. Of course, they’d heard this during the late fall, when they could still power the radio with the deep cycle batteries they had brought from the Limerick compound.

  He doubted any of these blockades were still active at this point. There was nobody on the road to stop. Winter had effectively sealed everyone in place—permanently. For most civilians, where you stood today was most likely where you’d stand a year from now. Maybe longer.

  “They’re good, Dad,” said Ryan.

  Alex eased the car onto the ramp, glancing in his rearview mirror to confirm that Ed followed. The turn tightened after the shallow exit drive, bringing them several hundred feet away from the interstate and eventually winding left to reveal distant stop signs flanking the road. They arrived at Cold Brook Road, searching for signs of activity. Like the highway, the town of Hampden, Maine, appeared dormant.

  “Looks clear,” said Ryan, staring south with binoculars.

  “Fucking ghost town,” muttered Alex, staring at the empty gas station and variety store across the street. “Make sure they stay really close.” He accelerated north onto Cold Brook Road.

  When they crossed over the turnpike, Alex glanced out of the driver’s side window at the empty highway. Ahead of them, a sprawling complex of oversized gas stations and long, one-story garages appeared, surrounded by dozens of what he assumed were abandoned semitrailers. As they cruised past the once popular truck stop, Alex scanned for signs of recent activity. He noticed a few of the red gas tank covers next to one of the stations sat overturned on the asphalt, a clear indication that the underground tanks had been pumped dry.

  Smart. Without electricity, the station wouldn’t be able to pump the gas without an independent generator. Depending on when they were last filled before the event, the tanks represented a sizable cache of different fuels—from diesel to premium-unleaded gasoline. Most stations held up to 40,000 gallons of fuel, but an interstate stop like this might hold twice as much, the difference represented by the diesel fuel greedily consumed by semitrailers. He wondered who had arrived to pump the fuel. The state? Someone like Eli Russell?

  He kept the cars moving north toward Route 2, passing a tall, dark gray silo set amidst a sea of one-story warehouses, local businesses, and empty parking lots. The area looked untouched by time, which was mostly true. Few people had likely visited this road since winter arrived.

  By the time they reached Route 2, the businesses had given way to modest homes set back from the road. In another month or two, thick foliage from the trees and bushes would obscure most of the houses from the two-lane road.

  “Mr. Thornton says it’s creepy up here,” said Ryan.

  “He isn’t joking,” said Alex, keeping conversation to a minimum so his son could concentrate.

  Just above the horizon, the sun was a deep red globe surrounded by fiery orange clouds when they turned onto New Boston Road. The north-south orientation of the pine-tree-lined road yielded a deep canopy of shadows. If they had arrived fifteen minutes later, he might have reconsidered their headlights ban. Alex impatiently watched the digital odometer measure the mile and a half to Runway Road. He also counted about twenty driveways before they reached their final turn, surprised to find so many homes on a crumbling road near one of the business ends of the airport.

  He slowed at a stop sign next to a red, two-story barn, looking in each direction along Runway Road before turning right. They were on the final stretch. Alex’s stomach tightened as the car accelerated past several widely spaced mobile homes situated parallel to the road. The road deteriorated once they passed the last trailer home, bits of asphalt rattling around the SUV’s wheel wells. Tall pine trees flanked the road, followed on the right side by a string of worn electrical poles. Someone had decided to run electricity beyond the last cluster of houses on Runway Road.

  Using the same trick his son had used at Johnny’s Seeds, he watched for the point where the electrical lines crossed the road, figuring it would lead them to the storage site turnoff. Less than a minute later, despite the growing darkness, he spotted the lines.

  “I bet that’s it,” he said, slowing the SUV.

  The overhead lines approached, and he knew they were in the right place. The trees opened on the left side of the road, revealing a wide asphalt reinforced turnoff leading into the forest. The turnoff was clearly designed to accommodate large, multi-axle vehicles coming in or out of the hidden storage. Alex turned the SUV and pointed at the sturdy road penetrating the forest, activating his high beams. Roughly a hundred feet down the road, a chain-link cantilever gate shined in the darkness.

  “This is it,” he said, shutting off the lights.

  He glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Ed had brought the Jeep to a stop at the edge of the turnoff, hopefully keeping an eye on the road they had just travelled.

  “I’m going to reposition Ed and Charlie. They’ll watch the entrance while we recon the site.”

  “Got it,” said Ryan, reaching between the front seats and lifting his rifle out of the rear passenger foot well. “Mind if I check out the gate?”

  “That’s fine. Bring the NVGs and scan as far forward as possible, but don’t go past the gate,” said Alex. “And watch yourself. We have no idea what we’re going to find here.”

  “Yep,” said Ryan, getting out of the car.

  Alex turned the car off and opened the door, standing outside for several moments, listening. Beyond the low rumble of the Jeep’s engine, all he detected was the light rustle of the pines in the breeze. He signaled for Ed to stop the Jeep’s engine. Moments later, the sound of the pine boughs intensified, no longer masked by the Jeep’s idling engine. He closed his eyes and listened. Absolutely nothing.

  Ryan appeared on the other side of the SUV’s hood, strapping a pair of NVGs over a backward-facing, olive green ball cap. He looked calm, but serious. The past nine months had prematurely stripped away the child, leaving an undeveloped adult behind. The transition had been too quick. Ryan filled the void by embracing the warrior culture, the only thing he knew since the event. The result had been chilling, more for Alex than Kate, because he recognized the façade Ryan wore, day in and day out.

  He’d seen it on the faces of the young Marines in Iraq, who had been completely unprepared for what they’d seen on the road to Baghdad. A disaffected mask of calm confidence and bravado. It wasn’t a bad thing. They’d all worn the mask at one point or another. None of them had been prepared for the horrors they’d experienced, just like his son couldn’t have known that he’d wake up in Boston one morning to a changed world. Ryan had responded better than Alex expected; he would have been a good Marine officer. He wore the mask better than most.

  “Careful, and use your radio headset,” said Alex.

  Ryan nodded enthusiastically, removing a wired earpiece from one of the pouches on his vest. Alex did the same, testing his radio. When they were on the same channel, Ryan walked down the access ro
ad, his rifle in the patrol carry position. Alex jogged over to the Jeep.

  “Where’s Ryan going?” Ed asked, glancing nervously around at the trees.

  “There’s a gate about a hundred feet down the road,” said Alex. “He’s going to check it out.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “He’s not going any farther than the gate,” said Alex.

  He glanced across the front seat at Charlie, who was watching the road behind them with binoculars.

  “How does it look back there?” Alex asked him.

  “Looks clear. We didn’t see a soul on the way in,” said Charlie. “It’s almost like they evacuated this part of the state.”

  “Looks can be deceiving. I’m sure there are plenty of folks around,” said Alex. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  “I’m almost wondering if we can’t make two trips.”

  “The thought crossed my mind,” said Alex. “We have enough gas, though it would pretty much exhaust our supply. Let’s see how the first trip goes before we start making plans for a second.”

  “I just want to get the hell out of here,” said Ed. “Can we move this along?”

  “Not a bad idea. I was thinking you should park facing the way we came, so you could keep an eye on the road while we make our way down to the site,” said Alex. “Just in case we attracted any unwanted attention on the drive in.”

  “Are you planning on driving the rest of the way in?” asked Charlie, eyes still peering through the binoculars.

  “I think we should be fine driving down. There’s nothing out here. We’ll talk on our primary channel,” said Alex, tapping the handheld radio clipped to his vest. “You still have the piece of paper with the gate codes?”

  “No, Alex. The paper flew out of my hands while we were speeding up the turnpike. I didn’t want to say anything,” said Charlie.

  Ed chuckled.

  “Sorry. Old habit, I guess,” said Alex, pausing for a second. “Not that I couldn’t picture you losing the codes.”