The Perseid Collapse (27 page)

Everyone broke out into an argument at once.

“Easy now! We need to stay focused!” said Campbell.

“All I’m saying is that some of what we’re hearing over the emergency broadcasts makes sense, but what we’re seeing from the government doesn’t,” said Littner. “There’s no reason to start disarming the populace if an asteroid hit, unless…”

“Unless what?” Campbell prompted.

“I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t like it. There’s not a lot of information flowing, and that makes people nervous. Look at the borders. They’re jammed with folks headed out of the cities. I’m already getting requests from the local police to help out with border crossings.”

“Which you’ve politely declined,” said Campbell.

“Absolutely, though we might have to reconsider this position.”

“The brigade isn’t a police force. We’ve promised the people of York County that we’d never serve in that capacity. If the towns need help with municipal duties, we’ll commit one hundred percent of our resources, but I won’t have members of the brigade manning checkpoints with weapons. Are we all good to go with that?” Campbell looked around at the members.

Everyone voiced agreement, except for Littner.

“What is it, Dave?” said Campbell.

“I’m totally with you, but I think we have a problem.”

“Have some of your people already done this?”

“No. The chapter is solid,” Littner said with a hurt look. “You know that.”

“I’m sorry, Dave. I know you’ve taken pains to weed out the chaff over there.”

“That’s just the problem. I know for a fact that Eli Russell has approached the Berwick and Eliot police to offer his group’s assistance,” said Littner.

“I presume they turned him down?”

“They turned him down for now, but the police are stretched thin. They’ve started to deputize people they can trust to augment the reserve officers. Just manning the border crossings twenty-four hours a day is taking up most of their manpower, and that’s only dealing with vehicle traffic. Once the greater Boston area starts to deteriorate and people start migrating on foot, they’ll be hard-pressed to turn down Eli’s offer.”

“That could spell trouble for all of us,” said Cuskelly.

“I’m simply suggesting that it might be in our best interest to beat Eli to the punch here,” Littner said. “Get our own people involved in these checkpoints, maybe as unarmed observers or inspectors. That way we’ll be in a stronger position to argue against the use of his militia.”

Harrison Campbell contemplated the suggestion, frowning at the thought of getting involved in formal police operations. He wouldn’t hesitate to employ the brigade to protect civilians from specific threats, but patrolling the streets as a sanctioned arm of government didn’t square with the public perception they had worked tirelessly to build over the past several years. Littner’s idea of using the brigade as an observer force had potential. As unarmed, neutral observers, they could assist with nonenforcement tasks and sell their presence to the public as a quasi-watchdog role.

“Assuming an observer-only role, how many members do you think it will take to get the job done?” he asked after a moment of contemplation.

Littner grabbed one of the pencils sitting on the map and leaned over the table to examine the border area.

“I would guess three per crossing. They can rotate shifts, with one working the checkpoint, and the other two resting up. We’ll pick people that live close by and send them with a tent and some supplies. This could also give us a little community outreach presence. If people come by the tent, we’ll explain that the brigade is involved as a neutral observer, to ensure the protection of people’s civil liberties. Kind of like UN observers.”

“Let’s steer clear of the United Nations comparison. That’ll clear people out faster than one of Glen’s chili bombs,” said Campbell, eliciting a table full of laughter and fist pounding.

“I don’t think anything could empty a room quicker,” said Beaudoin.

“Sorry about that, Glen. I couldn’t think of a better way to drive home the point. No UN comparisons, please. With two to three per checkpoint, what are we looking at?” Campbell asked, hovering over the map.

Littner traced the border, stopping at each road over the Salmon Falls River.

“Between the Eliot, South Berwick and Berwick PDs, I know they’re covering six crossings from the Turnpike to Route 11. The state police have Route 11 coming out of Rochester and Route 109. I don’t know what’s happening up in Milton or Milton Mills.”

“All right, here’s what I want you to do, Dave. Before we commit to this endeavor, I want you to drive the border roads and check out each crossing. Stop and talk to each checkpoint to gauge their interest in having a few of our people help with nonenforcement tasks. Once I get in touch with Randy, I’ll send him west to the crossings north of 109 to get a handle on things. Just touch base with the checkpoints and feel them out. Has anyone run into Eli’s brother down south?”

“Jimmy’s been quiet from what I can tell. Then again, it’s barely been twenty-four hours,” said Littner.

“It won’t take his criminal mind long to figure out some way to take advantage of the situation. Keep a close eye out for him. Eli’s bad enough, but Jimmy’s nothing but bad news. I’ll put the feelers out around Sanford and have Randy do the same up his way. I guarantee he’s up to no good, especially if he’s running the felony arm of Eli’s Maine Liberty Militia,” said Campbell.

“I thought they were all felons,” said Beaudoin, eliciting some nervous laughter.

“Eli ain’t a bad guy overall,” Campbell admitted. “We just never saw eye to eye on the main purpose of a civilian militia. Jimmy’s a different type altogether. He made a lot of friends up in Warren, during his extended stay as a guest of the state. Too many of these friends landed in Eli’s militia.”

“I guess I should emphasize that fact when I visit the checkpoints. Keep the police informed,” said Littner.

“Might not be a bad idea. Dave, you’ve got your marching orders and a long day ahead of you, so why don’t you get going. We’ll finish up the status reports, and I’ll pass anything along to you that might come in handy. Head over to the equipment barn to load up on extra tents and blankets, then drive out to Milton Mills. Start there and work your way south through all of the checkpoints. Glen, I need you to assign one of the Sanford chapter members to accompany Dave. Probably not a good idea to have you on those roads alone, especially with Jimmy’s people on the loose.”

“Got it,” said Cuskelly, grabbing the handheld radio on his belt.

“Sounds like a plan, Harry. We’ll do a loop and head back here to come up with a more detailed plan for these crossing checkpoints,” said Littner.

“Make sure you grab a slicker from the barn. Rain’s gonna open up on us any minute now.”

Littner saluted Campbell, who returned it. After shaking hands with the rest of the brigade’s leadership, he departed with Campbell’s deputy commander. Campbell had every confidence that David Littner was the right person for the job. Littner had been with the brigade from the very beginning, and had been one of the most vocal advocates of transforming the brigade from a gun-toting band of weekend warriors back to an organization more in line with the original concepts of civil defense.

Guns and the defense of the citizenry’s 2
^nd
Amendment rights would always be a core mission of their brigade, but it wouldn’t be the focus. The York County Readiness Brigade, like many militia groups throughout the country, strived to function as a nonmilitarized, grassroots version of the National Guard, focused on preparedness and local disaster relief. Littner had helped him convince the most cynical skeptics that they needed to follow a new path or run the risk of fading away into obscurity. If Littner felt it might be in the best interest of the brigade to help out at the checkpoints, then they would explore the possibility of a shift in official policy. He turned his attention back to the two men at the table.

“So how are we looking in the Kennebunk area, Anthony?”

Chapter 26

EVENT +30:35 Hours

Acton, Maine

Thick raindrops smacked the windshield, buoying his hopes that the black and purple clouds would unleash a torrent of rain. A thrashing downpour would discourage a detailed examination of their vehicle. They might sail right through. Or not. Either way, they were crossing in Milton Mills. That much had been agreed upon.

A white, single-steeple church sat burrowed in a plot of trees along the road. The back ends of several vehicles appeared in front of the visible portion of the building, tucked behind the church. Two people walked to a white gazebo, one of them carrying a rifle.

“Did you see that?” asked Alex.

“What?” said Charlie.

“A guy back there had a rifle—at the church.”

Ed said, “Maybe it’s one of those end-of-the-world churches.”

“A lot of cars in—”Alex started.

“Heads up,” Ed cut in. “White minivan just took the turn ahead.”

Alex squinted to get a better view. “Got it.” He noticed the Massachusetts plates. “Slow down a bit,” he said, as the minivan drew even.

Two men in the front seats, one wearing a military-style boonie cap, woman and children in the back. None of them turned their heads when the two cars passed.

Charlie followed them with his eyes. “Fucking weird.”

“Weird is putting it mildly,” said Ed.

“What are they doing?” Alex asked.

“Shit!” Charlie blasted. “They just turned at the church.”

“What? How does that make sense?” said Alex.

“Maybe it’s one of those militia supply points.”

“With out-of-town guests? Something is off around here.”

“You just noticed?” Ed snorted. “It’s like driving through the fucking
Twilight Zone
.”

“At least they’re letting cars into Maine,” said Alex. “As weird as it is, I think we made the right call.”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said doubtfully. “Something wasn’t right with that car.”

Alex stayed silent as the Jeep crossed Edgecomb County Road and pressed forward through the intensifying rainsquall. They were less than a mile from the border crossing.

“Is this it?” asked Ed, slowing the car.

“Not according to the GPS,” said Alex.

The road opened into an industrial area, flanked by several warehouses and dozens of neatly arranged semi-trailers on either side of the road. One of the warehouses near the road had open sides, exposing stacks of recently milled wood. Trees swallowed the road again, and the rain intensified.

“Maybe we should wait for this to ease off a bit,” Ed suggested, slowing the Jeep even further.

“This might be our only shot. They won’t get out of their cars in this shit.”

“How far?” asked Ed.

“Not far,” said Alex. “Start to slow once we hit the bend. You ready back there, Charlie?”

“Ready as ever.”

“All right. Let’s go through it one more time. Ed stops the car roughly fifty feet from the roadblock, and I get out. I’ll talk to whoever is blocking the bridge and figure out what we’re up against. Ed watches me with the binoculars. If I give the thumbs-up, he drives forward, and all is good. If I rub the top of my head, it’s a no-go. I’ll return to the car, and we’ll figure out how to bust through. If I reach for the gun behind my back, get ready for a hot extract. Charlie?”

“Suppressing fire. Over their heads,” said Charlie.

“Way over their heads, and only if they fire first. There’s no reason for them to fire at me. Over their heads and keep the volume of fire high. Ed, you turn the car around and wait for me to come to you. Good?”

“Got it,” responded Ed.

“Your job is the most important, Ed. Charlie won’t be watching the roadblock. There’s a three-way intersection right before the bridge. I need him to observe the road parallel to the river. It leads north to the other crossing, where there will be more police. Shit. Here’s the bend—slow us down a little more.”

The bend straightened, and the foliage cleared on the right to reveal a stretch of white picket fence along the road. A yellow bungalow-style house with a wide farmer’s porch sat back from the fence. A tall white church spire appeared above the trees beyond the house. Alex didn’t have time to assemble the bigger picture. The intersection was less than a hundred feet ahead.

He raised the binoculars, immediately spotting the roadblock. They would have to rethink the plan. This wasn’t a police roadblock. The tight, two-lane asphalt road spanning the Salmon Falls River was blocked at both ends by single SUVs. He could see little more than a three- to five-foot gap between the front bumper of the nearest SUV and the metal guard railings. The gap on the far side appeared even smaller. He didn’t see any personnel in the open on either side. Alex handed the binoculars back to Charlie.

“Stop us here,” said Alex.

As soon as the Jeep stopped, the dark green Toyota Land Cruiser’s doors opened. Two men dressed in MultiCam fatigues and boonie hats stepped onto the rain-swept pavement. They wore a variety of mismatched tactical gear, which immediately pegged them as militia. The men carried AR-style rifles attached to one-point slings. Alex was beginning to piece things together. Part of him screamed “get out of here.” The other part put his hand on the door handle.

“Make sure your rifle is ready for immediate action. I can almost guarantee this will be a no-go. If this goes bad, shoot for center mass. I’ll get out of your way. Three quick rounds at one target, then shift to the next. Keep shifting back and forth between targets until they are down,” said Alex, opening his door.

“Militia?” asked Charlie.

“Or locals. Nothing official, I can guarantee that.”

He glanced back at Ed, who looked calm. “You good?”

“Never been better,” said Ed. “Be careful with these guys.”

“Careful would be backing up and trying to talk our way past the state police,” said Alex, eliciting a nervous laugh from Ed.

He stepped onto the wet pavement and tucked the HK P30 into his waistband, pulling his shirt over the protruding handle. He had chosen not to wear his drop holster or any tactical gear for the drive, since he had anticipated having to possibly approach law enforcement officers at some point during their journey south. Even the presence of an empty tactical holster could end their trip prematurely.