“Fuck,” muttered the mayor.
“Greg, I didn’t take you for a cussing man,” said Harrison.
“I’m not a drinking man either, but I could use a little pick-me-up right about now. Can this mystical RRZ hold the line at the border?”
“I don’t know, and frankly, that’s pretty much out of our hands. My direct concern is the state of affairs inside the RRZ,” said Alex, leaning back and taking a long sip of his dark roast.
“Oh boy, here comes the pitch,” said the mayor. “And I thought I was going to work you guys over.”
“We’re not here to work you over. Quite the opposite. Harrison suggested we run something by you, as a professional courtesy, which may or may not be how the RRZ runs business around here in the future.”
“You make it sound like they’re taking over,” said the mayor.
“According to the Federal Recovery Plan, the RRZ is under federal jurisdiction. All part of the 2015 Defense Authorization Bill,” said Alex.
“Just the airport.”
Alex shook his head, glancing at Harrison.
“Southern Maine?”
“Everything. Everywhere,” said Alex.
“The people won’t stand for it,” said the mayor.
“The people have to stand for it, at least until the government figures out the refugee situation.”
“Harrison, I can’t believe you’re still seated. This goes against everything you’ve preached for as long as I remember.”
“I tried to warn people,” said Campbell.
“To be fair, nobody could have predicted that the East Coast would get hit by an asteroid,” said the mayor.
“Somebody figured it out,” said Alex. “EMPs are a man-made phenomenon.”
The table became uncomfortably silent, each mind likely racing with a different conspiracy theory. Alex knew he was walking on thin ice at this point, especially with Staff Sergeant Evans. Even a vague hint that the United States might have played a part in the catastrophe might be too much for him. Alex broke the quiet with his final pitch.
“Here’s the deal, Mayor Hoode. If the internal security situation goes sideways in southern Maine, the government will move the MOB out of the southern zone to—”
“MOB?” said the mayor.
“Main Operating Base. Sanford Airport. Right now, everyone in Maine is classified RRZ Internal. Everyone outside is classified RRZ External. External gets you a cot in a FEMA tent—if you’re lucky. Not a great prospect with winter a few months away. If the RRZ relocates the MOB to a northern location, everyone south of the new boundary will be redesignated external. Southern Maine will be thrown to the wolves, as millions stream north to the new border somewhere north of here. Can I count on you to remain neutral, at a minimum, while you’re making rounds through the community? I’m not asking you to promote the RRZ; I just don’t see a point to encouraging peoples’ fear of the unknown. Especially right now.”
The mayor furrowed his brow and ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. After a theatrical exhale, he forced a smile.
“All right. I’m on board. I have to do what’s best for the people, and I don’t see a better option. The town has been lucky so far. We’ve had some petty theft and a few fights related to the crisis, but beyond that, it’s been quiet,” he said, standing and shaking their hands.
“The quieter the better, for all of us,” Alex said.
They all thanked the shopkeeper, insisting on leaving money, which she refused. Once outside, the mayor turned to Harrison.
“What we’re you going to ask me when we first sat down?”
“I almost forgot. Captain Fletcher and I plan to run a joint recruiting station out of the storefront next door. Anyone interested can join the Marines as a provisional recruit or join my brigade. No pressure, just options,” said Harrison.
“Volunteers will train together at the airport, forming a joint platoon, maybe a full company, if we can drum up enough business,” Alex explained. “They’d be trained for basic military police duties and based at the airport or Forward Operating Bases within the southern zone. Ideally, units like these would constitute the bulk of forces visible within the RRZ.”
“The rest would be invisible?” the mayor asked.
“That’s the idea.”
“Can I join the provisional Marines? Sounds like the best deal in town,” he said, and they all laughed.
“You’d have to resign as mayor,” said Alex.
“Well, I guess that’s off the table.”
“If you happened to mention the recruiting station during your rounds today, we’d be eternally grateful,” said Harrison.
“How grateful?”
Another round of laughter ensued.
“I could improve the supply situation at the storefront, but I think you should focus your goodwill efforts on Sanford. A countywide effort is too broad,” said Alex.
“Damn, gentlemen. I feel like I’m out of my league here. Now Harrison’s working me through you. I’m sure as hell glad this isn’t an election year. I’d be afraid for my job,” he said, chuckling for a moment before settling his gaze on Alex.
“Sounds like a deal. We’ll focus on the town.”
Staff Sergeant Evans whispered into his tactical microphone, activating Lianez and Jackson, who were standing on the sidewalk near the corner of the building. The two Marines walked toward the Matvee, adjusting their rifles.
“Everything okay?” the mayor asked.
“Car inbound from the north,” Evans reported.
“Everything’s fine. We just haven’t seen many cars on the road,” said Alex. “Starting to become a rare sight.”
A gray hatchback slowed at the intersection across from the park, easing onto Washington Street. The vehicle carried two male passengers, who stared at Alex’s group for a moment before nodding uncomfortably. Once past the coffee shop, the car picked up speed, heading in the direction of the airport. Lianez walked onto the road and raised a pair of binoculars, passing the license plate information to Jackson. On any other day before the event, the car and its occupants wouldn’t have drawn any attention, but given that they’d seen a grand total of three other functioning automobiles this morning, its presence was notable.
“Recognize either of those men?” Alex asked.
“Can’t say I do, but we have more than twenty thousand citizens. Bound to be a few I don’t know,” the mayor said.
After another round of handshakes, the mayor crossed the road to mingle with the group that lingered at the edge of the park near the street. The mayor pointed back at them and patted a young man on the shoulder.
Hard at work already.
Alex wasn’t sure what to make of the mayor’s promise, but he couldn’t afford to have the man running around town repeating stories about secret warehouses and black helicopters, even if the stories proved to be true.
“What do you think?” Harrison asked him.
“I think we’re better off than before we walked into the coffee shop.”
“Let’s hope so. What’s the next step to getting this place up and running as a recruiting station?”
“We should take a trip to the airport. I need to issue your group several radios. Enough for you, the station and the Kleins. We’ll need to talk regularly once we start gathering recruits.”
“My men at the Milton Mills checkpoint could use one too so we can coordinate a rotation. They’ve been on their own for four days. I’ve been checking on them once a day, but they’re starting to wear thin,” said Harrison. “They could use that backup you promised.”
“I’ll dispatch a vehicle with some of the Marines that have trickled in from the Brunswick detachment. We’ll stock them up with MREs and anything else they might need. How many do you have assigned to the storefront?”
“Three at all times, mostly to safeguard the supplies. My plan is to set up a tent and a few tables outside the hospital, where we can assess need from a distance. Otherwise,
this will turn into a free-for-all.”
“Plan on that happening within a week. I’ll give you two Marines here, and we’ll adjust accordingly as the situation unfolds. If it starts getting hectic, we’ll send people out the back door, where they’ll get a quick pitch from our designated recruiters.”
“Sounds easy enough,” said Harrison.
“Don’t count on it.”
Chapter 14
EVENT +9 Days
Acton, Maine
“Slow down here, Gene. I want to see if the state police are still at the church,” said Harrison Campbell.
“How far up the road?” Gene McCall, the driver, asked.
“Should be coming up pretty fast. It’s a little white church buried in the trees,” Harrison said, picking up the olive green handheld ROTAC unit given to him by Alex Fletcher.
One of the Marines at the airport hangar had enabled two dedicated “call sign” channels on all of the radios assigned to Campbell’s group. The primary channel, designated “Patriot Five Bravo,” was structured for internal York County Readiness Brigade communications. He’d been instructed to use this for command and control with his militia units. Alex was upfront about the fact that Marines at the airport would monitor all internal transmissions.
The second channel, “Patriot Five Charlie,” was a blind-response link to the battalion’s broadcast ROTAC net, giving Harrison’s people the capability to carry on conversations over the battalion’s primary tactical ROTAC channel, but not listen to exchanges initiated outside of Patriot Five Charlie. They would use this radio net to report intelligence or request assistance when required. The ROTAC in the armored vehicle following them was directly monitoring both channels. He selected Patriot Five Bravo and pressed “lock,” waiting a few seconds before speaking, like he was instructed.
“Guardian One-Zero, I need to make a quick stop at a church up on our right to talk with state police investigators.”
“Roger. Do you want us to proceed to the checkpoint?”
“Negative. We should probably show our faces together until I get you settled in with my folks.”
“Copy. We’ll stay right behind you.”
The trees opened, exposing a weather-beaten, single-steeple church. A stark white van marked “MOBILE CRIME LAB” sat next to a dilapidated gazebo behind the neglected structure. Parked cars with cracked and shattered windows appeared beyond the church. Something had happened here.
“This is it.”
Gene took the turn carefully, easing the sedan over a partially exposed corrugated steel drainage pipe and onto a long gravel driveway. He had no idea when the police arrived at the site, since he had purposely avoided Foxes Ridge Road until Alex procured an official military escort. If Alex wasn’t exaggerating about what had transpired here, he didn’t think the state investigators would be too keen on having armed militia show up unannounced, especially with dead militia strewn about the scene.
“What do you think they found?” asked Gene.
“I don’t know for sure. Captain Fletcher reported finding Eli Russell’s people out here the day after the event. Claims they were stealing cars and executing the occupants in the woods. Jimmy’s crew was supposedly running the show. I had Dave Littner get one of the troopers to take a look. Looks like they found something.”
Gene grimaced and shook his head slowly. Harrison knew what he was thinking. Gene had been in the brigade long enough to know that Eli’s brother had formed a group within the Maine Liberty Militia. The stories circulated over whispers and shifty glances at the shit-ball taverns and out-of-the-way cocktail lounges in York County. Dark stories about initiation ceremonies, disappearances, murders…worse. Stuff you wanted to immediately “unhear,” because you never knew who was playing pool or sipping from a pitcher a few stools over. He hoped the news was true. The world was a better place without Jimmy, or any of the Russells.
“How does Captain Fletcher know Jimmy was involved?”
“Eli staged an attack on Captain Fletcher’s house in Limerick, nearly killing his family. Retribution for what happened here. He didn’t say, but I get the impression that they captured some of Eli’s men.”
McCall gave him a doubtful look.
“Have you verified that he was attacked?”
“I didn’t ask to see his house, if that’s what you mean. He had details about Eli Russell that aren’t public knowledge.”
“From what you’ve told me, Homeland appears to have cornered the market on information that isn’t public knowledge. Just saying. He seems to be on the up and up, but you never know, especially now.”
“I know. It’s something to keep a sharp eye on. Looks like we’ve attracted some attention,” said Harrison, nodding toward the crime scene van.
A trooper holding a shotgun at port arms approached their car, motioning for them to stop. He didn’t look happy to see them. Neither did the crime scene team standing outside of the doorway to the church’s one-story annex. Dressed in navy blue coveralls, gray booties, and elbow-length gloves, the group comprised of two men and a woman glared at them as they edged up to the yellow crime scene tape barrier. Harrison grabbed the radio again.
“Guardian One-Zero, I might need an assist on this one.”
“I was wondering. On my way over,” Staff Sergeant Taylor said, and the front passenger door of the Matvee swung open.
“Keep your hands where that trooper can see them,” said Harrison, studying the parking lot scene.
Something definitely happened here.
He counted nine cars parked against the white building, all with out-of-state license plates. All of them appeared undamaged, with the notable exception of the vehicle closest to the building’s entrance. The shiny black SUV showed clear evidence of a sustained shootout. All of the windows were shattered, littering the worn asphalt with hundreds of light blue safety glass particles. Small holes circled by chipped paint peppered the driver’s side doors and rear cargo area panels, leading to the rear left tire, which sagged into the pavement. A faint red stain traced down the siding panels located directly in front of the vehicle, extending below the hood. He didn’t see any bodies, shell casings or markings in the parking lot.
“I need you to back your car up immediately. This is still an active crime scene,” said the trooper.
“We’re the ones that called this in. York County Readiness Brigade,” said Harrison, keeping his hands plainly visible on the dashboard.
“Doesn’t matter. I need you out of here.”
“We’re operating with 1st Battalion, 25th Marines based out of Sanford Airport.”
Staff Sergeant Taylor jumped down from the vehicle and called out to the trooper over the hood of the Matvee. “Officer, they’re with me. They just have a few questions for your investigators,” he said, squeezing between the two vehicles. “Staff Sergeant Taylor. I’m part of the Recovery Zone security battalion.”
“The what?” asked the trooper, still keeping most of his attention directed toward the sedan.
“Internal security for southern Maine. Any way we could get a word with your crime scene team?”
“Hold on,” he said and waved the team over.
“Do you mind if Mr. Campbell and Mr. McCall get out of their vehicle?” said Taylor.
The trooper hesitated for a moment before answering. “Sure. I don’t suppose that’s a problem. Keep any weapons in the car.”
Harrison didn’t feel like getting into a Maine firearms law discussion with the young trooper, so he nodded, placing his pistol on the dashboard. He had Gene do the same, under the watchful eye of the nervous trooper. The three officers ducked under the yellow tape and joined them in front of Campbell’s car.
“Harrison Campbell. York County Readiness Brigade,” he said, nodding a greeting. “I received the initial report about this place and had one of my people call it in. Looks like something big went down here.”
“Detective Jane Berry. Maine State Evidence Response Team,” the w
oman said. “We can’t share any information with the public at this time. You shouldn’t even be here.” She turned to the trooper. “We need to barricade the driveway closer to the road.”
Before anyone responded, Staff Sergeant Taylor stepped forward. “Detective, Mr. Campbell and members of his unit are working on behalf of the Regional Recovery Zone security team. We’re hoping to uncover any patterns or tactics that might assist with our security mission.”
“Doesn’t matter, Staff Sergeant. I was told to report directly to my boss in Augusta on this one. Plus, I don’t know a thing about this…Recovery Zone?” said Berry.
“What about the bridge at Milton Mills?” Harrison asked.
“We retrieved the bodies yesterday afternoon. Your people had already contaminated the crime scene beyond the point of investigation.”
“My people didn’t touch the bodies,” said Harrison.
“The bodies didn’t stack themselves,” Berry muttered. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. We’re in cleanup mode here. We’ll be gone in a few hours, but the area will remain off limits, and I expect you to observe that. Someone from the state police will be in touch to take statements.”
“Thank you for your time, Detective. Based on what I heard, this couldn’t have been an easy scene to process, on any level,” said Harrison.
She stared at him with a neutral expression. “Who exactly reported this to you?”
“One of the RRZ internal security officers,” said Harrison, keeping the title as vague as possible.
“Where can I find this unnamed security officer?”
“Ma’am, if you have a card, I’ll pass it along to him,” said Staff Sergeant Taylor.
“You’re really not going to give me that information?”
“That’s correct, ma’am. He’ll either contact you, or you can report to the RRZ’s Main Operating Base at Sanford Seacoast Airport and place a request in person with a representative from 1st Battalion, 25th Marines. They’ll pass the request along. We should head to the bridge, gentlemen.”
Detective Berry bristled at his rebuff, placing her hands on her hips and tightening her jaw. “Maybe I should contact Augusta and request that the entire bridge area be designated a crime scene.”
Point of Crisis (The Perseid Collapse Post Apocalyptic Series) Page 13
