Authors: Steven Konkoly
“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.
He got halfway to the covered porch when a man wearing jeans and a dirty white T-shirt appeared on the right side of the house. He cradled a pump action shotgun across his chest, the wood fore-end nestled into the crook of his left elbow, finger in the trigger well. The brim of a faded green John Deere hat shaded his eyes, which never left Eli. Tufts of gray hair poked out of the hat.
“Can I help you, Deputy?”
“Sorry to startle you like this. Deputy Russell. York County Sheriff’s tactical response team,” he said, pointing at his hat.
“A little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?” said the man, glancing from Eli to the SUV.
“We had two families murdered in Cornish yesterday and a report of three men staying at Hiawatha. Oxford County couldn’t spare the manpower. We didn’t find anything at the camp. We’re doing a quick sweep before we call it quits. Getting crazy out there,” said Eli, keeping his hands open at chest height.
“We haven’t seen or heard anything unusual since the morning of the 19
th
.”
“Well, sorry to trouble you. Stay safe,” he said.
“Same to you, Deputy,” he said, relaxing his grip and taking his finger out of the trigger well.
Eli’s pistol cleared the holster before the farmer could grip the shotgun in both hands. Not taking any chances, Eli started walking left, firing his .45 Colt Commander with both hands as the farmer tried to bring the shotgun around. The first bullet grazed the man’s left shoulder, slowing his efforts to turn the shotgun on him. The next three bullets missed entirely, forcing Eli to stop and kneel as the barrel swung precariously in his direction. Any further and the buckshot spread might have a chance of hitting him. Quickly forming the sight picture between his match-grade sights, he pressed the trigger, snapping the farmer’s head back. Another trigger press blew out the back of the man’s neck. Eli reloaded as he sprinted to the side of the house.
The temperature dropped several degrees in the shade next to the house, clearing his head a little. He grabbed the shotgun and pointed it at the door located toward the back of the house. A screen door swung open, and Eli discharged the shotgun, punching several holes through the loose screen and knocking a gray-haired woman into the backyard. Eli signaled for the rest of the men to join him, hearing doors open and slam shut as he slowly approached the side door. A revolver lay in the grass a few feet past the door, directly underneath a shiny patch of blood-splattered siding. The air wafting out of the door reminded him of a bakery.
Home sweet home.
Chapter 46
EVENT+78:45
Limerick, Maine
Alex stormed out of the side door to the barn holding a bloodstained map in one hand and his rifle in the other. Staff Sergeant Evans and his two marines sat on the porch steps, drinking out of their CamelBak hoses and eating MREs. They had just finished hauling the last of the militia bodies into the trees behind the barn.
“Staff Sergeant! Have your team mount up. We have a mission.”
“A mission, sir?” said Evans, stepping down from the porch.
The marines behind him started packing up their food.
“Two of the terrorists confirmed the location of the Maine Liberty Militia’s headquarters in Parsonsfield—less than nine miles from here. We’ll roll up with the Matvee and tear the place apart. I want M320s attached to all rifles. Full grenade load-out.”
“The men in the barn, sir?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“What’s going on?” demanded Kate from just inside the screen porch.
“They aren’t going anywhere,” whispered Alex, eyes on Kate as she strode across the porch.
“Sir?” he said, locking eyes with Alex.
“One of them expired from natural causes. The others are a little worse for the wear, but they’ll be fine. I want to be on the road in under a minute.”
“Shit,” muttered Evans, “this isn’t good.”
“I plan to file a full report detailing the entire interrogation—after we get back.”
“Where are you going?” said Kate, standing with her hands on her hips in front of the Matvee.
“I know where their headquarters is located,” he said, waving the folded map. “We have to hit them now and put an end to this.”
“You and three marines? You’re out of your fucking mind,” she said. “No offense, Staff Sergeant.”
“None taken,” Evans said, slowly backing away.
“We’re bringing the Matvee. With the 240 and grenade launchers, we’ll blow the place to pieces. You’re not changing my mind, Kate,” he said, knowing that he was unlikely to get off that easy.
“I’m not doubting that you could level the place, if they let you get close enough.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that this militia group detonated a car bomb at the entrance to our neighborhood. What makes you think they won’t have something bigger ready for you at their secret hideout?”
“Headquarters,” said Alex.
“Whatever. One, they won’t be there, unless we’re dealing with the stupidest militia group ever. Two, they probably left a nice little surprise behind for you. You’re not thinking this through right now, and the staff sergeant knows it,” she said, shooting Evans a nasty look. “You’re running on empty, Alex. No. Actually, you’re running on those stupid STIM things. Look at your hands.”
Alex didn’t have any intention of producing his hands for general examination. He’d fought to keep the trembling hidden since he arrived last night.
“How many P-STIMs have you taken, Captain?”
“See?” Kate said. “He knows.”
“Four in the past thirty-six hours.”
“Jesus,” muttered the staff sergeant.
“It’s the only way I’ve been able to function like this.”
“Is that a lot?” asked Kate.
“They’re recommended for one-time dosage, at night, during extended combat operations. Yes, he has a shit-ton of amphetamine in his system. Frankly, I’d feel more comfortable if the captain had a seat inside and let this filter out of his system.”
“I’ll take a break once this Eli Russell character is dead,” said Alex.
“Who’s Eli Russell?” asked Kate.
“Our prisoners identified him as the leader of this group. I haven’t walked them around to look at the bodies, but I think he escaped. This was only half of their group.”
“You’re not going anywhere. Your family needs you in one piece. You have the vast resources of the Marine Corps and Homeland Security at your disposal; why don’t you let them handle this?”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Not really. Call Grady. Maybe he can send a helicopter or a drone to blow the place up. Designate the location as a critical threat.”
“Sounds like a better plan, sir, for now,” said Evans.
“I’ll contact Grady.”
“Thank you,” Kate said, hugging him tightly.
“I’ll go check on the prisoners,” said Evans, slipping away.
“Staff Sergeant?” said Kate, standing next to Alex.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Thank you for moving the bodies. It would have been too much for us right now. We’ll get your men some real food tonight.”
“Not a problem, ma’am, and we’re fine with MREs if it’s too much trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I’ll throw some beers in the freezer a little later—if Captain Fletcher doesn’t have a problem with that.”
“As long as I get one, there’s no problem,” said Alex.
“Thanks, ma’am,” Evans said and jogged to the barn.
“Sorry, hon. I just thought I could put an end to this right now. What if they come after us again?”
“I can’t imagine they’ll return with the marines here. Let Grady worry about this. Designate this guy, Eli Russell, as the top threat in southern Maine. It’s not like you’ll be out of the loop on what happens.”
“You’re right,” he said. “Let me call Grady and see if he can scare something up while Russell’s trail is hot.”
Kate nodded. “I want you inside taking a break when you’re done. Mopping and sweeping doesn’t take a lot of energy. We have most of the bigger pieces cleaned up downstairs.”
“What happened to resting?”
“Yeah, that’s not happening. We’ll be at this most of the day just to get the house in basic shape. All hands on deck.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said and kissed her on the forehead.
Alex walked toward the garden, looking for a little shade behind the house. He still felt exposed outside of the house, despite walking nearly every square foot of the forest to the north and east of the clearing. The prisoners told him far more than he had conveyed to Kate, and he had no reason to doubt their words. Not after what he did to the scumbag who kept insisting Eli would return to “rape every bitch in that house.” Dying of natural causes involved a long, painful process in front of his scared-shitless comrades. They nearly talked over each other to give Alex information.
The ROTAC indicated a full signal from his resting spot on the slanted metal bulkhead door. He scrolled through the preprogrammed directory and selected “Patriot.” It was the only call sign listed without a follow-on number or letter. Had to be Grady. He pressed “Lock,” which initiated an encrypted protocol connecting his radio to Grady’s. “Connected” flashed on the digital display a few seconds later. He remembered it was “push to talk” technology just as Grady’s voice broke the silence.
“Alex, Evans called as soon as Lianez hit the road. Sounds like you gave it to them good. I’ve arranged for priority treatment of your wounded at Goodall Hospital in Sanford. Is everyone else okay?”
“We have some minor injuries that can be treated here. Thank you. I have a situation that requires immediate attention. Can you spare a full squad right now?”
“Right now?”
“Affirmative. I need additional marines to conduct a raid against the militia headquarters. I interrogated a few of the surviving militia and confirmed the location. It’s less than nine miles from here.”
“Alex, I can’t spare any marines right now. A quarter of the marines I had in Boston are missing or en route. We’re getting ready to evacuate north to the Londonderry Reserve Center.”
“What happened to the rest of the battalion? Where are you now?”
“National Guard Armory in Melrose. As for the missing units, I think we’ve had some desertions. Striker units found an abandoned Matvee in Watertown. At least they zeroed out the crypto in the vehicle radios. Homeland’s Cat Five plan estimated a forty-three percent no-show rate for my battalion in the event of an EMP-related scenario, so we’re actually in good shape, according to the plan.”
“I’ll take one vehicle with half of a squad. The group that hit my house is the same group I ran into on the way out of Maine,” said Alex.
“The group executing civilians at Milton Mills?”
“Affirmative. Somehow they figured out where I live, and it doesn’t sound like they’re going away. This was only half of their group. Trust me when I say they will be big trouble for the Recovery Zone. They planned for the possibility of your marines returning and set off a sizable IED next to one of the Matvees.”
“Evans briefed me about it. High-order detonation car bomb. No damage to the Matvees.”
“They have a bomb maker in the group. He won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“I can’t send anything your way, Alex,” said Grady.
“Can you pull some strings and detach some National Guard folks in Maine? They’re standing around in droves at the border crossings.”
“I’ll give it a shot, but I’m not optimistic. FEMA hasn’t officially designated the Regional Recovery Zone yet, so technically, I don’t have any jurisdiction in Maine. I do, however, have a mission, which is why Staff Sergeant Evans was on his way to see you.”
“Hold on, Colonel, let me put my wife on. This sounds like something you might need to clear with her,” said Alex.
“Funny,” uttered Grady. “I do have your signature accepting an emergency commission in the Marine Corps for an indefinite period of time.”
“Sounded like a good idea at the time. What are we talking about?”
“Babysitting duty. The remnants of Bravo Company are headed to the Sanford Regional Airport. ETA two to five days, depending on what I can scare up for transportation. Bravo Company is in bad shape. Thirty-two marines have reported for duty as of this morning, and the company gunny isn’t holding his breath for any more. They’re scattered all over the state. A good number are likely dead from the tsunami.”
“Sounds like they’re in good hands,” said Alex.
“Gunny Deschane is squared away, but without an officer, he’ll have problems cutting through the red tape that’s bound to clog up that airport. With your provisional identification and rank, he should have smooth sailing.”