Point of Crisis (7 page)

“The orders said that?”

“Negative. I called Colonel Hanson over ROTAC to confirm the orders, looking for an explanation. His orders came with a few more details. He lost a total of eight from the battalion. All with suspected or confirmed ties to Maine militia groups.”

“That’s interesting given my role here,” said Alex.

Adler stared at him for a moment, his expression flashing from doubt to panic. “Look, I’m in this for the long haul. Part of the team. I just can’t help making the connections to—”

“Rick, what are you talking about?”

Adler cocked his head. “Let’s just say I get worried when I see the label ‘security and intelligence’ accompanied by ‘provide unrestricted access.’ Call me paranoid.”

“What else did my ID badge tell you?”

“That’s the extent of it, but what else do you need? It’s more or less a carte blanche declaration, which is why it struck me as odd. The RRZ protocols are thick, delineating relationships, authority, this and that. Typical government bullshit. I have to go through ten layers of nonsense to move one of the airport’s porta-shitters ten feet to the left.”

“It didn’t say what type of security? I was under the impression that the Marine battalion was an area security unit for southern Maine. Almost like MPs.”

“You have one of the least defined security clearances I’ve ever seen. It set off my internal alarm. Let’s leave it at that.”

“I think you might want to heed your spider sense. You never know who you’re talking to, or who’s listening.”

“I hear you. Keep it zipped and do your job,” said Adler.

“Especially when the Recovery Zone personnel start to arrive. Any idea when that might start?”

“My first priority is to build a security barrier around the cluster of hangars and commercial buildings across the tarmac. I assume the RRZ folks will start rolling in once it’s finished.”

“That’ll be one long line of EMIFs,” said Alex.

“I won’t have to worry about that. A company of Rangers from the 2
^nd
Ranger Battalion is scheduled to arrive tomorrow, along with a headquarters element from the 75
^th
Ranger Regiment. They’ll take over physical security and general airport operations while I harden the perimeter. After that, it’s a nonstop parade of aircraft and vehicles. 4
^th
Brigade Combat Team, 10
^th
Mountain Division has been assigned to RRZ border control and FEMA camp security. They’re bringing part of the division’s Aviation Brigade. Blackhawks and Chinooks. You won’t recognize this place by next week.”

“The entire Brigade Combat Team?”

“That’s the plan. Advanced elements left Fort Drum this morning.”

“I need to secure hangar space for my battalion—before it’s standing room only. Something out of the way, with quick access to a gate,” said Alex.

Captain Adler stood up and walked to the window, pointing across the main runway.

“See those long hangars? Two in front, along the taxiway, and one partially hidden behind them?”

“Got it,” said Alex, feeling the heat pour through the thin glass as he neared.

“We cleared the aircraft out yesterday. The hangars have their own gate and access road. Easy in, easy out. A straight shot down Airport Road to Route 109. How much room do you need?”

“I’ll take all three hangars,” said Alex, staring past the waves of superheated air rising from the asphalt runway.

“Why not? First come, first serve. Perfect timing, too. Your conex boxes arrived on that convoy. I’ll send them over to the hangars,” he said, nodding at the three trucks Alex had followed into the airport.

“Were the conex boxes delivered to another airport?”

“This is where it gets really interesting. They’re dragging container after container out of an old business park behind Walmart. Started two days ago.”

“Want to take bets on when that business park was abandoned?” Alex asked wryly.

“About the same time the runway was reinforced. I had a talk with the mayor,” said Adler. “The company that owned the business park let the leases expire on several local businesses between 2015 and 2016. They may have bought out a few of the longer term leases.”

“I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this,” said Alex.

“Starting?”

Alex considered the implications raised by his conversation with Adler. One thing was certain. The federal government had been planning for a catastrophic, national-scale disaster since 2015, possibly earlier. The complexity of the Category Five Response Plan was mind-boggling. Hundreds, possibly thousands of active duty and reserve military commanders received orders governing and coordinating the deployment of their units. Countless thousands of equipment containers had been pre-staged across the United States for the express purpose of supporting Category Five requirements—or the Federal Recovery Plan.

The relationship between the two looked hazy. Declaration of a Category Five Event triggered specific military missions, like Lieutenant Colonel Grady’s immediate deployment to Boston, but it also appeared to set the Federal Recovery Plan wheels in motion. Adler received orders to secure the airport and start building an inner perimeter, all tasks designed to support the Regional Recovery Zone. Maybe the declaration of a Category Five Event was synonymous with the activation of the Federal Recovery Plan. He didn’t know, and he was too exhausted to give it any more thought. He’d oversee the delivery of his battalion’s conex boxes to the distant hangars and head back to Limerick after he had a look at the contents.

Chapter 5

EVENT +5 Days

Limerick, Maine

Kate checked her watch and shook her head.

Where the hell is he?

Alex had been gone for nearly five hours, two hours longer than he had estimated. His absence was conspicuous given the circumstances. At first she had been angry, but now she was worried that he had run into trouble with the supposedly friendly militia group. Or worse, he had decided to ignore her repeated warnings about staying away from Eli Russell’s base camp and had been ambushed. She sensed a presence in the bathroom doorway.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Kate,” said Tim Fletcher, Alex’s dad and Kate’s father-in-law.

“He should have been back already,” she said, mopping at the hardened mixture of drywall dust on the tile floor.

“We’d know if something was wrong. The Marines would get a distress call and respond.”

“Unless they were taken out by an IED or a coordinated ambush. Six hours without a phone call?”

“I’ll have Staff Sergeant Evans check in on them. Looking good in here,” Tim said, glancing at the entire mudroom.

“Aside from the missing toilet, cracked sink and bullet holes,” she said.

“It’s coming along. The first floor is clear of debris and drywall dust. We’ll put the kids to work on the upstairs after lunch. Tomorrow, we’ll start on the outside. If Alex can find plywood and heavy-duty hinges, we’ll fashion some crude hurricane shutters that can be pulled shut from the inside. It won’t look pretty, but we’ll be back in business in a few weeks.”

“I don’t know.” Kate sighed. “Alex doesn’t seem optimistic about this whole Recovery Zone thing.”

“I suppose we could make a go of it back at the Scarborough house. Put a little distance between ourselves and the border.”

“We need to move away from the population centers, especially Portland. Plus, the house will be one giant mold spore in a few weeks. The water went up to the ceiling. I’d only recommend our house in an absolute emergency.”

“Well, if the situation deteriorates, we’ll have to consider it.”

“Worse than this?” she said, and they both laughed.

Kate lowered her voice to a whisper. “Emily overheard Ed talking to Charlie and Linda about their place up in Belgrade. Maybe we should consider relocating—at least until the Marines destroy this militia group.”

“Who’s to say the situation is any better up north?” Tim whispered back.

“It has to be better than living in fear of a murderous lunatic,” she said.

“We’re in pretty good hands here. I’d rather take my chances with what I know, and I didn’t get the impression that Charlie had a big place up there. Sounded like a cozy, four-season lake cottage. We have seventeen mouths to feed here. This is our best bet, if we can make it work.”

“This Colonel Grady character can yank the Marines away at a moment’s notice.”

“We need to discuss this—with everyone. Figure out the options. For now, we have to press on with the repairs. Winter won’t wait for us to make a decision.”

“I know,” Kate said. “I really want this to work.”

“Why don’t you take a break? Grab a sandwich and a beer,” Tim said, taking the mop. “There’s a cooler at the bottom of the stairs. I got the rest of this.”

“We probably shouldn’t be drinking alcohol in front of the Marines. At the very least we should keep it on the down low. Most of them haven’t spoken with their own families since this started. I’d be pretty pissed if I was ordered to protect someone else’s family while they tipped back beers.”

“I didn’t think of it that way,” said Tim.

“We’ve barely had time to process the basics, especially after what happened yesterday. I’m not saying we have to walk around like this is the end of the world, but…”

Kate stopped, realizing that their situation was about as close to the “apocalypse” as anyone could reasonably expect in their lifetime. “What kind of sandwiches?”

“Grilled cheese…from the bullet-riddled grill in the backyard.”

“Last of the cheese?”

“Last of anything we couldn’t throw in the freezer. The refrigerator took one too many broadsides; may she rest in peace,” Tim said, stepping into the mudroom bathroom.

Kate let go of the mop and grabbed her rifle from one of the coat hooks in the mudroom. She slung it over her shoulder and let it hang in the “shoulder-ready” position behind her back, where it was out of the way but readily accessible. The rifle no longer felt like a cold, alien object. It still caught on furniture and clunked against the walls, but she’d come to terms with the fact that the rifle wasn’t dangerous unless she released the safety and pulled the trigger.

The kitchen looked spotless, if you could overlook a few structural problems. Split cabinets, cracked backsplash tile, missing chunks of drywall, painted-over bloodstains, and bullet-peppered furniture to name a few. Still, it was a radical improvement over this morning. She could live with the cosmetic damage, especially if it meant they could stay. The realities of evacuating the house weighed heavily on her mind.

They had designed the compound with resilience and redundancy in mind. “The rule of threes.” Three sources or layers for each of their basic needs. Water provided by a well, pumped out of the pond, or collected in fifty-gallon, food-grade drums from the gutters during a rainstorm. Food supplied by their garden and fields, supplemented when necessary by the vast stores in the basement, with the year-round option of fishing, trapping or hunting. Security had multiple layers. Communications. Heating. Power. Whenever practical, they sought long-term solutions with multiple backups. If they left Gelder Pond, their survival plan would have to fit into a car—shared by another family.

“Hungry?” asked Samantha Walker, appearing from the deck with a platter of sandwiches.

“Starving.”

“I’m taking these down to the critical care ward,” she said. “Why don’t you grab one?”

“I’ll get one off the grill after everyone has eaten. How’s Ed doing?”

“He’ll be fine. I’m worried about the Thorntons. Linda’s foot is destroyed, and Charlie’s calf muscle is torn. Neither of them can walk unaided. It leaves them a little vulnerable as a family,” she said.

“They’ll have to stay put for now. We can move them into the great room now that it’s clean. Air them out a little.”

“I’m not sure they’ll want to leave the basement.”

“Safer?”

“That, and it’s about thirty degrees cooler.”

“Doesn’t sound bad. Where are the kids?” asked Kate, staring into the empty screen porch.

“Cooling off in the cellar,” offered Samantha.

“They don’t want to be upstairs, either,” said Kate. “I don’t blame them.”

“It’ll be a while before anyone feels safe up here—or anywhere.”

“I’m not opposed to moving mattresses into the basement—or cellar. Whatever you New Englanders call it,” Kate said, winking.

“I thought you were from the Midwest. Don’t they call it a storm cellar there?” asked Samantha.

“New Jersey. Princeton area. We called it a basement. I think storm cellars were separate from the house. Alex might know.”

“Have you heard from your parents?”

Kate shook her head slowly. “I’ve tried on Alex’s military satphone, but they’re not picking up. Alex gave my dad a satphone for Christmas three years ago. I think it went back in the box after Alex showed him how to set it up.”

“Family Christmas gatherings with Alex must be…interesting.”

“It gets interesting, and a little tense, depending on what he tries to sneak by the censors. He gave our eight-year-old nephew a folding Gerber knife, magnetic compass and SureFire light for his birthday. The knife part went over well, as you can imagine.”

Samantha stifled a laugh. “I imagine it gets worse.”

“Much worse,” said Kate, her smile fading.

“I’m sure your parents are fine, Kate.”

“I hope so. You better get those down to the troops. I’ll grab the next batch,” she said, purposely steering the conversation away from family.

“See you in a few,” said Samantha, disappearing into the basement.

Kate took a deep breath and eyed the Iridium phone on the kitchen counter. She’d been unable to reach her brother, Robbie, which made her nervous. She could see her parents having no clue and keeping the satphone uncharged in the original box, but Robbie had gladly accepted Alex’s gift of the phone and a basic calling plan. They’d even tested it out once a year, at Alex’s insistence. He lived in a suburb of Concord, New Hampshire, less than eighty miles away from Limerick.