by Mic Roland
The parking lot did loop back to North Street, but the westbound lane was no more cooperative than before. Having already embraced “alternative routes”, Isabel bumped up onto the sidewalk to create her own lane. A fire hydrant, some pedestrians, and a parked car were some of the challenges Isabel encountered. She usually found “green lanes” to get around them.
“It’s just as well that Isabel keeps finding ways to keep going on this side,” Martin noted. “The way traffic is on North Street, I doubt we could ever get back across. We’d have to turn left again.”
“She keeps asking if this is the right way to get to Lawrence,” Susan said. “I keep telling her yes. We are going the right way, right?””
“Yes.” Martin studied the GPS and his paper map. “Tell her our road is coming up soon on the left. Turn left.”
Several cars were peeling off the North Street west-bound traffic to take the narrow suburban side street. The gaps between cars were car-length or better. Isabel merged into the line with only a little tire squeal.
Few cars were coming the opposite way. Compared to the vigorous off-road experience of getting there, on-roading the winding suburban street felt as smooth as glass. The line of cars moved along at a jogger’s pace, but began to slow.
“Ha! The road does connect!” Martin pointed. “There’s a bridge up ahead.”
He stared closely at the GPS. “Hehe. Check it out. Her GPS thinks we’re off-roading now, or flying, maybe.”
“Why is everyone going so slow here?” Susan asked.
As they inched across the bridge, Martin could see below them that 128 was empty except for a dozen or so abandoned cars scattered randomly across the six lanes. It had a ghost town feel to it.
Near the end of the bridge, the line of cars had slowed and snaked to the right. A very young policeman was trying to set up a second blue sawhorse with “Reading PD” stenciled on it. He was trying to erect a simple barricade in the middle of the road, but the line of cars was not giving him enough room. He got the fallen sawhorse set up, and stood behind it with his arm outstretched in a “halt” gesture.
* * *
Chapter 9: Evasion and camping in the rain
The driver of the little Ford Focus in front of Isabel was not inclined to halt at the sawhorse roadblock. Instead, she veered sharply left, bumped one wheel up on the sidewalk and drove around the blue sawhorses. Almost. Her fender pushed one of the sawhorses over, unleashing a flurry of shouts from the upset young officer. Isabel and the cars behind her, quickly followed the Focus.
“What is he trying to do?” Susan looked back.
“They must not have enough cruisers to block off all the streets,” Martin guessed. “So this poor rookie was dropped off out here with a couple sawhorses. Still, I bet he will eventually get it blocked. All he needs is one overly-obedient citizen to stop on the bridge and it’s all clogged up.”
“Yeah, but why block the streets?” Susan persisted. “That makes no sense.”
“I don’t get it either. That trooper back there said only people who lived in Reading could come in. Maybe there’s some sort of order about local traffic only? I don’t know. That doesn’t make any sense to me either. But I am glad we got past him.”
“Tell Isabel that we’re almost back to Route 28,” said Martin. “Right turn.”
The line of traffic traveling north on 28 was moving slowly, with little space between cars. “Isabel says she knows this road now,” said Susan. “She knows which way to go now.”
With no hesitation, Isabel pushed out, inserting the corner of her hood between a minivan and a pale yellow pickup. The pickup driver honked long and loudly, but made the tactical error of braking slightly too. That was all Isabel needed to enlarge her foothold and enter the stream.
“We’re not going much faster than a walk,” said Martin. “But I’m glad we’re riding instead of walking it. My knee is enjoying the break.”
“Isabel has been thanking us profusely for helping her past that roadblock. She is one happy momma,” said Susan.
“I’m glad she’s happy, but we’re not there yet,” said Martin. “I’m still wondering what’s up with these roadblocks. Hey. Maybe there’s some news on that’ll make some sense of all this. Ask her if she’ll turn on her radio.”
Susan relayed the request. Isabel popped the radio on. The announcer rattled off Spanish commentary at warp speed. Martin felt naive for expecting the announcer to be speaking English. It was a ‘duh’ moment he kept to himself.
“So,” he asked. “What do they say?”
“Got me,” Susan said. “I thought Isabel spoke fast. I’ll see if she can summarize for me.”
The two women began a long string of back and forth exchanges. Martin used the time to survey the traffic. The north-bound lanes were moving slowly, but there was little coming southbound. Was this a general outward migration? There seemed to be few side streets. If traffic stopped, would they be stuck? The yellow pickup behind them was riding their bumper. He was obviously in a bigger hurry than traffic would allow.
“Isabel said the governor has declared a state of emergency. I guess there have been some violent protests in Dorchester and Roxbury. A food protest in Mattapan got bad and several policemen were injured. So, the governor has called up the National Guard to help keep the peace. She said they’re telling everyone to stay home and not be on the streets.”
“I’d love to comply,” said Martin.
“I sure wish I’d paid more attention in my Spanish classes,” said Susan.
“Heck,” said Martin. “I wish I would have paid more attention to Sesame Street when the kids were watching it. Besides the numbers, I think I only learned one other word.”
“What was that?”
“Oh sure. Now that I said that, I can’t think of it. Not like I ever used it.” Martin wracked his brain for the old memories. “There was this big bird — a flamingo. Yeah. That was it. Doing a play or a skit. No, it was an opera. The bird was called…Placio Flamingo. Yeah, yeah, and he was singing about danger as he wrecked the stage set.” Martin laughed. “I loved that bit. Now I remember. The word was Peligro!” Martin announced triumphantly.
“Peligro?” gasped Isabel. She slammed on her brakes. Martin was thrown against Susan’s seat back.
The yellow pickup squealed to a stop just inches behind Isabel’s Honda. The angry driver gunned his engine and veered around Isabel’s Honda. Out his window, he hurled insults, drowned out by the V8’s roar.
“Dondayestael Peligro?” she demanded, glancing around nervously.
“Danger?” said Susan, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “That’s your word?”
“Oh jeez,” Martin said. “Yeah. That had to be the only word I know.”
Susan tried to explain to Isabel about Martin’s Sesame Street memories, but Martin interrupted.
“Whoa. Hold on. What’s going on up there?”
He pointed ahead of them. A policeman in full riot gear was talking to a driver in a gray sedan. The yellow pickup tried to pass them on the right, which brought out a swam of other policemen in black gear, with ARs aimed at the driver. They ordered the yellow pickup driver to turn into the adjacent parking lot where many other detained drivers stood beside their cars, or sat inside them.
The gray sedan driver took advantage of the distraction to execute a hasty u-turn. He was temporarily blocked by another car making a sloppy three point turn.
Martin stepped out and waved down the gray sedan driver.
“Hey. What’s going on up there?” he asked.
“They’re checking ID. If you don’t live in Reading, you have to go to that lot over there.”
“Then what?”
“No idea, I ain’t gonna find out.” The gray sedan sped away.
Martin got back in Isabel’s Honda. “They’re stopping people without local ID.”
“Why?”
“No clue. That’s all the guy said. None of this makes any sense. But if they’re
using guns, it can’t be good. We need to turn back and find a way around this.”
More impatient drivers drove around Isabel’s stopped Honda. They, too, got pulled over by the SWAT team.
“Have her turn into this side lot here. I need a sec to look at my map.”
“Are there riots or something up ahead?” Susan asked. “Is that why they’re stopping non-locals?”
“Who knows. Have Isabel keep listening for news. We need to know what’s going on out there. We’ve had power outages before that lasted longer than two days without riots breaking out. Must be something else too.”
Martin’s finger traced along the map. “We need to take some side streets and get around the center of Reading. We passed a little side street back there.”
Susan relayed what Martin said. Isabel veered around a fence, into the next parking lot.
“This is good,” Martin said. “I think these parking lots connect. Keep going.”
They eventually bumped out onto a narrow side street. It ended in a T at another street.
“She’s asking which way now?” Susan said.
“Give me a minute.” Martin studied his map. It was clear that all the main roads converged on Reading center. If the authorities were out to stop traffic, that would be the place to block.
“Wait. What’s that over there?” Martin pointed at a narrower road on the right. “It’s not on my map or her GPS, but it looks like it goes behind these commercial buildings. Tell her to try that way.”
Isabel kicked up a swirl of dry leaves as she sped down the narrow commercial driveway. Vast parking lots stretched out behind the low brick buildings.
Isabel drove around parked cars and concrete dividers. The last parking lot ended, however, at a landscaped berm. Separating the parking lots was a bark mulched ridge, perhaps three feet high with a line of yew bushes atop it.
“Shoot,” Martin said. “So close. That’s the road we need, right over there. It connects back to a main road.” He pointed between two of the ragged bushes.
Isabel sat up tall in her seat to see where Martin pointed. She said something to Susan, then backed up a few feet. She aimed her car’s nose at a wider gap between two of the bushes.
Susan braced herself. “Hang on back there. She’s going for it.”
Martin started to ask what she was going for, but grabbed the door handle and the seat back. The little Honda bounced up, then down the other side and onto the pavement. Martin’s head hit the headliner. Toys landed in his lap. Isabel quickly found the exit, crossed some railroad tracks and sped up the little side road.
“Ow man. She’s clearly not babying this car,” said Martin.
“Which way now?” asked Susan.
Martin uncrumpled his map. “Left at the next intersection, then another right. Tell her not to get too crazy. We don’t want to be attracting attention.”
After several turns and side roads, the three had found their way back to Route 28 north. Traffic was not as thick and moving at a better pace.
“Isabel said the radio reported that they’re calling for a curfew in lots of towns because of some riots. Something about some policemen killed by a mob. She didn’t hear where.”
“Things are getting nasty kinda fast,” said Martin. “Tell her to turn right up ahead here.”
The radio station had been fading out steadily. Isabel messed with the buttons, but there was mostly just dead air or static. She dialed past an english-speaking station. The signal was weak and scratchy, but at least Martin could understand what they said.
“Wait, wait. Tell her to go back to that one,” Martin said.
…reported a dozen people injured…I’ve been told that the protest started with a large crowd demanding that city officials seize…of the supermarket and distribute the food to hungry residents. Supposedly someone in the crowd fired upon the police, injuring two officers. I say ‘supposedly’ because when I traveled to Stoneham, to try and interview the injured, I was unable to locate any of them.
“Stoneham?” said Susan. “We were just there. Do you think he was talking about the Stop n’ Shop we were at?”
“I don’t know,” replied Martin. “Maybe there’s other supermarkets.”
…unable to reach the Stop n’ Shop building either …the area cordoned off and roadblocks set up…prevent more looters from…cannot confirm…but there are…fts…
The station finally faded out.
“Wow. It was the Stop n’ Shop we were at,” Susan exclaimed. “Sounds like we got out of there just in time, huh?”
Martin grunted an agreement, but his mind was already down a rabbit trail. The crowd around that Stop n’ Shop were not the least bit rowdy. Even the people who had to step out of line, for lack of a local ID, were well behaved. No one was shouting or chanting slogans. Had a fight broken out over the trash pile? Martin could not even recall seeing any police officers. Walgreens and CVS each had one, but none at Stop n’ Shop. Maybe things escalated very quickly after they left. Or maybe they had not.
This last thought was the edge of a black hole that Martin was reluctant to enter.
“Isabel is so grateful for us helping her,” said Susan. “She’s offering to drive us up into New Hampshire.”
“Oh, that would be great,” Martin said. “Tell her thanks. We might get home before dark after all!”
“That would be so nice,” Susan added. “I really didn’t want to sleep in the woods again.”
As they approached the interchange for 495, traffic grew thick and finally slowed to a crawl. When it stopped, Martin got out and looked up ahead with his little binoculars.
“There’s a trooper up there. A black SUV with the blue lights. A couple lines of those orange barrels too.”
“Esayohtra Baracada?”
“Uh, a barricade?” Martin asked. “Yes. uh, Si. Baracada. This one is different, though. They’re turning some people away, but letting others through. Maybe it’s that residency thing.”
Susan spoke to Isabel, who then dug in her purse. She showed her driver’s license to Susan.
“Isabel has her ID,” Susan said. “It has a Lawrence address. That might get us through this roadblock, right?”
“Maybe.” Martin was hopeful.
“She asked if it would be okay if she checked on her boys before she drives us up into New Hampshire,” Susan relayed.
“Of course,” Martin said. “Even if she just drives us up into Salem or maybe Windham, it will save us hours of walking. Tell her thanks again.”
Martin peered at his map for the shortest route to his house from southern Windham. He imagined sitting in his own comfy chair again, in front of his warm wood stove, instead of sleeping in the cold woods. The mental images cheered him up. Walking home had been more tiring and spartan than he imagined.
The trooper waved Isabel ahead and motioned to her to roll down her window.
“License please,” the trooper said in weary monotone. Isabel just smiled.
“Lye-sens-ia Poor fuh-vor.” His spanish could not have been more gringo. He squinted at her driver’s license, as if trying to decide if it were counterfeit, but handed it back to her.
“Your license too, ma’am,” he said to Susan. “And yours too, sir.”
“But why?” Susan asked.
“We’re with her,” Martin said, pointing to Isabel.
“Doesn’t matter. I need to see your ID too.” The trooper recited a prepared statement that he was obviously tired of reciting. “As of this morning, Governor Baylach has officially declared a state of emergency for the entire Commonwealth of Massachusetts and ordered the implementation of Mass Emergency Situation Function Plans. Per MESF codes, only legal residents will be allowed to enter an emergency zone. This area has been declared an emergency zone. Lemme see your IDs.”
Martin fished for his wallet. Susan dug through her purse. “We’re not trying to stay in Lawrence, officer. We’re just trying to get up to New Hampshire.” He handed his drivers lice
nse to the trooper. Susan did too.
“Doesn’t matter,” said the trooper. “Only residents allowed past this point.”
“But…”
“Hey. Didn’t you hear me?” The trooper was losing his patience. “Only residents. Either all three of you turn this heap around, or you two get out of the car and she goes in. Make up your minds right now.”
Susan explained to Isabel what the trooper said. Isabel shook her head vehemently, speaking very fast.
“Look,” Martin said to Susan. “We should just get out. Better that she gets in to her kids than gets stuck out here because of us.”
“I agree,” said Susan. She told Isabel, who continued to protest. The trooper yelled at Isabel to get moving.
Susan waved as Isabel drove under the bridge. “Poor thing. She felt really bad. I told her we would be okay and to take good care of her boys.”
“This state of emergency thing is getting kinda nuts.” Martin wondered if there had been riots in Lawrence. Were they worried that car-loads of outside instigators would stream in and enflame things? Like local residents could not cause trouble?
Martin walked slowly ahead of Susan while he studied his map. “Thanks to Isabel, we got a lot farther than we would have on foot. Now we’ll have to see how far we can get before dark.”
He showed Susan the map. “If we back track to this road here, we can go up this way towards Haverhill. We need to get across the river somehow, and there aren’t all that many bridges.”
“Won’t they just be blocked off for residents only too?”
“Maybe, but I’m thinking this bridge here might be better.” He tapped the map with his finger. “495 crosses this loop in the river here, see? There’s an exit there, but it’s an industrial park.”
“So?”
“So there might not be a big line of traffic there. Maybe even light coverage with troopers or police, since it’s not a route to anyone’s home. I’m thinking that maybe we could cut through some woods and sneak across one of those bridges.”
“And then what?”
“Um. I’m not sure. That’s as much plan as I have right now. We’ll just have to see what our options are if and when we get there.”
