Event Horizon

Chapter 1

EVENT +46:45 Hours

^{Boston University}

^{Boston, Massachusetts}

Alex Fletcher sat against one of the interior walls of the elevator lobby and dug through his front cargo pocket. He retrieved the magazine he had ejected after shooting up the truck and thumbed four rounds into the palm of his hand. He tucked the half-emptied magazine into a “dump” pouch attached to the left side of his tactical vest and ejected the magazine in his rifle, adding the four rounds. Marines consolidated ammunition whenever practical, and he had a few minutes to burn before stepping off for Brookline—without his new entourage. The magazine slammed home in the HK416, and he stood up to prepare for his impending departure.

“You can’t just leave us here,” said one of the students, standing in the semi-circle formed around Alex.

“You’re not exactly equipped to survive on the streets.”

“We don’t have much of a choice. You said it yourself,” said another student. “Nobody is coming for us. We’re running low on food and water.”

“It’s not like I’m meeting my son at Denny’s for a Grand Slam breakfast before heading north,” said Alex, adjusting the straps on his backpack and checking for loose gear.

“What’s a Denny’s?” said a petite brunette sitting in front of him.

“You really don’t know what Denny’s is?”

She shrugged.

“How much water do you have?” said Alex.

“Each of us has a few water bottles, and we still have, like, how many trash cans filled?”

“Four. Some guy went around telling everyone to fill up containers right after the shockwave hit. It’s the only reason we’ve been able to keep a low profile. We haven’t left the floor,” said Piper, the young woman in charge.

“Your son told me to do that. I saw him right before he left,” said a dark-haired girl, stepping forward into the red glow of the chemlight. “He seemed to know what he was doing. Like you. You have to get us out of here.”

“I can’t take any of you out of this building. It’s not safe. They’re actively looking for me. The best I can do is let the marines know about your situation.”

“Who’s looking for you?” said the leader.

“I was hoping one of you could answer that question. A heavily armed, organized group appears to be in control of the streets. Any intel on who might be calling the shots out there?”

“It looked like gangs last night,” said a pale kid to Alex’s left.

“What do you know about gangs?” said the student with the bat.

“I’m West Coast. We have gangs all over the place.”

“Not where you’re from.”

“I’m from LA, man. Ever heard of the Crips and the Bloods?”

“Dude, that’s from fucking twenty years ag—”

“Bullshit! It’s still the biggest gang in—”

“Shut the fuck up! All of you! You’re at Boston University. The tuition is nearly sixty thousand a year. Nobody here has any street cred, all right? Just tell me what you saw,” said Alex, cutting them all off.

“They were rough-looking dudes, mostly Caucasian. Armed with pistols and some hunting rifles,” said the kid from LA.

“That changed today. There’s been a ton of shooting. Men—and women— running around with rifles like yours, but without all of the fancy optics stuff. They looked more like regular people, you know? I saw a pickup truck go by with a couple of them in the bed. It looked like a citizen’s militia,” said a student holding a baseball bat.

“That might be a good thing. If it’s a legitimate militia, you should be safe out there,” said Alex.

“Why is it safe for us and not for you?” asked the leader.

“I’m pretty sure they think I’m one of the marines. I swam across the river from one of the marines’ outposts on the other side.”

“You swam across the Charles at night, with all of this gear?”

“I told you he was a mercenary,” said someone.

“Believe whatever you want. I don’t really give a shit. I’m leaving, and nobody is following. I’ll leave a water filter behind for you. It’s a hand-pumped type, good for five hundred gallons. You can catch rainwater in the trashcans or fetch water from the river. Whatever you do, don’t let anyone see it, or you’ll have a fight on your hands.”

“So that’s it?” said Piper.

He wished he could do more for them, but beyond the water filter, he had nothing to offer. The idea of leading them on some kind of predawn parade through the streets of war-torn Boston was absurd. The fact that none of the students seemed to understand this reality made it even more ludicrous. Most of them were still wearing shorts and T-shirts, in a building that could collapse or catch fire at any moment. They were clueless.

But they’re kids—and you’re a parent.

He felt responsible for their safety on some basic level, but rationally, he couldn’t justify the risk. Ryan and Chloe were his sole responsibility right now. He had to let these kids look out for themselves.

“That’s it. I’ll do a radio check at the top of the hour. Then I’m gone.”

Chapter 2

EVENT +46:52

^{Harvard Yard}

^{Cambridge, Massachusetts}

Ed dropped his backpack on the wet grass and collapsed against a tree trunk, staring at Hollis Hall’s shadowy facade. The steady hum of the battalion’s generator pulled at his eyelids. He’d have to sleep soon. There was no way to avoid it. He just needed to hang on for another eight minutes to catch Alex’s first broadcast on the stolen Motorola. He wished they could talk, but Alex explained why it had to be a one-way broadcast.

All transmissions sent from one of the battalion’s handheld radios triggered an encryption protocol, even if Ed used one of several “uncovered” channels, and could be monitored by the communications platoon. If they discovered an unauthorized conversation emanating from one of the battalion Motorolas, they would block the radio and trace the source.

Alex assured Ed that he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that search. Ed would only transmit if the situation deteriorated enough to affect Alex’s timeline. Alex agreed to keep his radio in “sleep mode,” which scanned for channel activity on their preset frequency, alerting him if Ed transmitted for longer than three seconds.

Just thinking about Alex’s transmission energized him. By now, Alex should have reached Ryan’s dorm room. Everything depended on what he found there. Ryan was supposed to travel to Chloe’s apartment in the event of an emergency, where they’d wait for their parents. He desperately needed to hear that Ryan wasn’t in his room. It meant that Chloe was safe. He knew the discovery would be tough on Alex, but it represented the best chance that both of them were safe.

Ed unzipped the top of his pack and dug into one of the internal compartments for the hidden Motorola. He turned it on and inserted one of the earbuds, hearing the typical back and forth military chatter he’d been treated to every time he scanned the channels. He had no idea what they were saying most of the time; the marine lingo was as foreign to him as Chinese. SITREPS. POSREPS. SPOTREPS. None of it made sense. Line Alpha. Line Bravo. All nonsense. He wasn’t sure why they bothered to use encrypted radios. Nobody could figure this shit out.

All he knew at this point was that “Shadow” referred to the Harvard Yard security detachment, “Striker” meant any of the units in the city, and “Raider” was the group along the river. He learned most of this by eavesdropping in the battalion headquarters tent. Sergeant Walker hadn’t been totally useless. He leaned his head against the harsh tree bark and pressed the scan button, jumping to the next encrypted channel. The orange LED read “Shadow.”

“Shadow Actual, this is Shadow 3. SPOTREP. I have four possible hostiles moving south across the Cambridge Street overpass, headed in our direction. Request permission to engage, over.”

Cambridge Street? His head came off the tree.

“Shadow 3, can you confirm weapons?”

“Affirmative. Rifles. They’re halfway across. We’re gonna lose them behind Holworthy.”

Holworthy Hall?

“Stand by, Shadow 3.”

“This is Shadow 5! We have six—contact! I say again, contact! Taking automatic fire from the southern end of the old yard!”

Rapid, sustained gunfire erupted in the distance, followed by an overhead snap.

“What the…?” Ed muttered, rolling on his stomach.

A hiss passed to his right.

“Oh shit,” he said and pressed his body flat against the ground.

“All Shadow stations. You are cleared to engage.”

Flashes filled the darkness between Hollis and Stoughton Halls, followed by the staccato hammering of the M240G machine gun. Red tracers stitched outward, floating deep into the campus. The marines between Hollis and Harvard Halls fired their rifles at the same time, barely beating the 240 deployed between Stoughton and Phillips Brooks Hall. The thunderous gunfire masked the frantic reports streaming through Ed’s radio earpiece. The marine perimeter was under attack from all sides! The shooting slackened several seconds later, and he could hear the different perimeter stations reporting.

“Shadow 5 reports three, possibly four enemy kills. Hostiles have stopped firing.”

“Shadow 5, this is Shadow Actual. Copy report. Continue to engage any hostiles in the open.”

“Shadow 3 reports two enemy kills on the Cambridge Street overpass. One enemy wounded was carried out of sight behind Holworthy.”

“Copy, Shadow 3. Scan the windows and watch the corners. All units cease fire and pass your SITREP. I say again. All units cease fire and pass your SITREP. Shadow Actual, out.”

The firing died out just as suddenly as it had started, yielding to the occasional distant gunshot. Ed pulled the radio out of his backpack and shifted to the “broadcast” preset channel programmed by Alex. He pressed the transmit button, fairly confident that an all-out attack on Lieutenant Colonel Grady’s command tent qualified as an event that bumped up the timeline. Alex had overestimated the time it might take for the city to implode. Ed couldn’t imagine they had more than twelve hours until the marines had no choice but to withdraw.

“Durham Three-Zero, this is Durham Three-Two. Come in, over.”

Chapter 3

EVENT +46:55

^{Boston University}

^{Boston, Massachusetts}

Alex felt one of his chest pouches vibrate. Checking his watch, he muttered a few curses. Ed couldn’t wait five minutes? He really hoped the marines were too busy to notice an unauthorized transmission go out over one of their encrypted Motorolas. It wouldn’t take Lieutenant Colonel Grady more than a few seconds to figure out who had swiped the radio. He opened the pouch and removed the radio, switching it out of “sleep mode” and inserting the earbud. Maybe it wasn’t Ed.

“Station sending on this channel, please identify,” said Alex.

“Durham Three-Two!”

“This is Durham Three-Zero. First transmission scheduled for zero-five hundred (0500). Stand by for five minutes, please.”

“I told you he was Special Forces,” said one of the students. “Parent, my ass.”

Alex dismissed the comment and turned up the volume. “No. Negative. SPOTREP. Whatever the fuck you people say!” said Ed.

Something was wrong.

“Take a deep breath, Durham Three-Two, and send your report.”

“The headquarters was just attacked from all sides. I had bullets snapping right over my head,” hissed Ed over the radio.

“Can you estimate the number of hostiles?” said Alex.

“Every gun on the perimeter started shooting at something. Multiple groups. One of the SPOTREPs mentioned a group of four with rifles. It’s all quiet now.”

“Understand. You’re still in the safest place possible. Stick close to the marines and cease transmitting. I did not find either of the kids at Boston University. It looks like Ryan bugged out right after the shockwave hit. I’m moving to the second rendezvous location. Will report again at 0600 or upon arrival, whichever comes first. Switch to our backup broadcast channel. Durham Three-Zero, out.”

He put the radio back into the pouch.

“Is something wrong?” said the student leader.

“Everything is wrong.”

A powerful flashlight illuminated the walls of the hallway to the right of the lobby.

“Who’s watching the stairwell door?” Alex asked quietly, shifting his stance to face the shaking light.

“Which one?” said Piper.

“The one I used,” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back.

“Shit. Move this way and don’t make a sound,” he hissed.

Alex snatched the red chemlight from the floor and pocketed it, corralling the group toward the hallway opposite the new light source.

“Get inside any room on this side, and lock the door. Let’s go. Where’s the other stairwell?” he whispered, aiming his rifle across the lobby.

“Down there. There’s a door on the left side, past the lounge,” said Piper, pointing down the long, murky passage.

“Does the lounge connect on both sides?”

“Yes. Same with the stairwell.”

Students scrambled through the darkness, pouring into the rooms and shutting the doors. Alex made a mental map of the dormitory floor. Two long hallways ran parallel to each other, connected by the elevator lobby, lounge and second stairwell vestibule. Three points of access to this hallway and only one viable escape route.

“So, what’s the plan?” she said, peeking around the corner with him.

“Get into a room, and don’t open the door,” he said, crouching. “I’m going for the second stairwell.”

“You’re ditching us?”

“If this is the same group that followed me from the river, you’ll be glad I left,” said Alex.

“What are we supposed to tell them?”

“Tell them I searched one of the rooms and took off, or tell them everything. It doesn’t matter. Gotta go,” he said and dashed across the hallway.

He reached the other side as a concentrated beam of light spanned the elevator lobby.

“Freeze! Step into the hallway with your hands above your head!”

Alex stopped long enough to see that the beams of light had settled on Piper, who covered her eyes with one hand and raised the other.

“Both hands!”

Alex flipped his night vision goggles down and sprinted away from the lobby, toward the opposite end of the hallway. He passed a door labeled “WOMEN,” followed by an unmarked door, which he pushed inward. Several comfortable-looking chairs and a long couch faced a flat-screen television mounted to the wall. Two round tables with chairs sat beyond the couch. Wrong door. He started to back into the hallway when a light appeared under the stairwell door. Alex ducked inside the lounge and shut the door quickly and quietly. Crouched in the pitch darkness, he drew his suppressed pistol and remained absolutely still.

“You got anything!” someone yelled outside the door.

He couldn’t hear the reply over the high-pitched screaming. His grip on the pistol tightened. The shrieking intensified, followed by crying.

“Open your doors and get into the hallway!” another voice boomed.

Alex crossed the room, careful not to bump any of the furniture, and listened at the far door. Hearing nothing, he cracked it open and stared directly ahead at the wall, interpreting the light. The green image of the cinderblock wall shimmered but didn’t flare, giving him the confidence to open the door and verify that the hallway was empty. The hallway near the elevator lobby pulsed bright green, almost washed out by the powerful flashlights. He heard the men pounding on the students’ doors and yelling threats.

He edged toward the lobby, knowing damn well he should leave. He couldn’t skip out now, not after dropping a dangerous enemy right at their doorstep. He couldn’t let the new world order play out on these kids tonight. They had a whole lifetime ahead of them to deal with the newest form of Darwinism that emerged from this disaster. Alex continued, walking heel to toe, constantly checking behind him. No plan materialized as he edged closer to the corner. The sharp sound of multiple slaps caused Alex to grit his teeth.

“I know he was here! I’m not blind!” said an angry male voice. “None of us saw him leave the building!”

“He was only here for a few minutes. He was looking for something in that room. I don’t know if he found it,” Piper whimpered.

“You better not be lying to me,” he grunted. “Get those kids out of their rooms! Shoot the door open if you have to!”

Alex instinctively backed up and crouched, expecting one of them to run across the lobby, but no one came. The pounding intensified in the other hallway, followed by heated shouting. This was his last chance before the hallways filled with students. He holstered the pistol and gripped his rifle, disengaging the safety. Finishing one more scan of the dim hallway behind him, he flipped his NVGs out of the way. A quick peek around the corner gave him hope. Two men dressed in woodland camouflage and tactical vests stood in the lobby with Piper, one of them holding her against the wall by her long blonde hair. The second man shined a flashlight in her face with one hand and gripped her neck with the other.

“He didn’t leave. My people came up both stairwells,” spat the man holding her hair.

“He left over fifteen minutes ago!” she yelled.

Alex emerged and triggered the rifle flashlight. The 150-lumen beam blinded them, and they instinctively turned their faces away from the searing light. Alex fired one bullet at each of their heads, dropping both men to the floor. He deactivated the light and grabbed Piper, pulling her into the hallway before the rest of the militia group could investigate.

“Gerry? Ted? What’s going—”

“They’re dead!” screamed another voice.

“What the fuck are you talking—shit!”

Alex leaned out and aimed at the rightmost corner, hoping to catch the last voice in the open. He centered the red tritium dot on a partially obscured torso and fired twice, yielding an agonized screech.

“Get to the student lounge, quick,” he whispered to Piper. “Don’t open the door.”

He followed her at half-speed, keeping his rifle trained at the corner they had just abandoned, until he bumped into her.

“We’re at the lounge,” she whispered.

Alex lowered his NVGs and gently pushed the door inward, checking the room for surprises.

“It’s clear. I need you to follow the wall to your immediate left and keep going until you hit the corner. You’ll stay there until I come back for you. Understood?”

“It’s really dark in here,” she said.

“You have a clear path to the corner if you hug the wall. How many of them did you see?” said Alex.

“Four.”

“Minus three. See you in a few,” he said.

With the door shut, he lifted the NVGs for a second. He couldn’t risk using them in the hallway once he left this room. The NVGs gave him a considerable advantage in the darkness, but a beam of light directed at the device’s sensitive lens would blind him. Switching to his pistol, he carefully opened the door. The hallway was pitch black. Of course. He lowered the NVGs and studied the green image. The hallway was empty. He closed the door and paused, thinking about his next move. If the guy had been smart enough to turn off the lights, Alex couldn’t count on him to make a rookie mistake. He’d have to go out and look for him.

“Piper?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“He’s not there.”

“What?” she said too loudly for comfort.

“Sssshhhh! Keep it down,” he grunted. “I have to search for him, but I’m going to need your help with something.”

“I’m not going out there.”

“You don’t have to. Do you know how to shoot a pistol?”

“My father’s a cop,” she stated.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes. I can shoot a pistol, but I’m not a good shot.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said and worked his way over to her.

“I just need you to cover my back. Sit in the doorframe, watching the second stairwell door and this door right here,” he said, pointing to the door they had both used to enter.

“Are you pointing in the dark?” she said.

“No,” he said, lowering his hand. “Can you do this for me?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see anything.”

“It’s dark out there, but not as dark as this room. There should be enough background light in the hallway to see either door open. I’m not asking you to get into a prolonged gun battle. Yell, pop off a few rounds and run for it. I’ll take care of the rest. This would make your dad proud.”

“You can spare me the proud parent speech.”

“Sorry. Can you do this, or are you useless like the rest of your generation? Is that better?”

“Sort of,” she said.

“The pistol has no safety. You pull the trigger, it goes boom. First trigger pull is a little tough—”

“Double action. Single action. I get it.”

“Let’s get you set up.”

Less than a minute later, Piper stood in the doorway, propping the door open with her foot and facing the back hallway. Alex removed his boots and placed them inside the lounge.

“Just shoot and run in the opposite direction,” whispered Alex.

“Uh-huh.”

Alex lowered his NVGs and activated the IR laser. He had no idea what he was up against. He didn’t know if the guy turned off the flashlights because they might give up a shadow, or if he had caught a glimpse of the NVGs on Alex’s head. For all he knew, the guy just picked them up because they were expensive. It didn’t matter. The rifle light would advertise his location, and it was too dark to effectively see without the NVGs. He could use the goggles to his advantage in this environment, unless his adversary was crafty. It was still too early to tell.

He took several silent steps on the cool tile, keeping the green laser centered on the empty passage ahead. The bulk of his attention was directed on the doors lining the hallway. As he passed each closed door, he checked the handle to verify it was locked. He felt comfortable enough to turn his back on a locked door. Not that he had a choice. Knocking on doors wasn’t an option right now.

Approaching the elevator lobby corner, Alex tensed. A blood slick trailed into the elevator lobby, beyond his line of sight. His adversary had moved the wounded man, hopefully down the stairwell and out of the building. If that was the case, Alex needed to get out of here before reinforcements arrived. He studied the hallway beyond his son’s door, convinced that the shooter couldn’t have doubled back after dragging his comrade away. A significant pool of blood extended across the hallway where he’d shot one of them in the chest. The tile beyond held no footprints.

He crouched at the corner and executed a quick peek into the elevator lobby. Gunfire exploded, lighting the lobby and exploding the cinderblock wall in front of him. Shit. Crafty. Alex scrambled backward, desperate to escape the shower of fragments, as shards of cinderblock stung his face. Bullets pummeled the concrete on the opposite side of the hallway, sparking and ricocheting into the dark void behind him. The shooting stopped, and he heard the telltale sounds of a magazine swap. Alex sprinted to the corner and dropped to the floor, leaning to the left and placing the laser on the man’s head.

The wounded man sat propped up against one of the elevator doors, desperately trying to change rifle magazines. He acknowledged Alex’s presence by spitting.

“You’ll never take this country from us.”

“Stop loading your weapon. I’m not with the government,” stated Alex.

Fighting to sit upright in a puddle of his own blood, the man’s shaky hand inserted a magazine and reached back for the charging handle. A sharp bark from Alex’s rifle ended the struggle.

Who the hell are these people?

He didn’t have time to analyze the question. He felt certain that the remaining shooter had relocated to the other long hallway. The wounded militiaman effectively served the same purpose as Pip—oh shit!

“Piper!”

Gunshots echoed from the other side of the building, lighting the end of the hallway behind Alex. He scrambled to his bare feet and sprinted for the lounge, arriving to find the door closed, perforated by several bullets.

I killed her.

He kicked the door in and rushed inside, ready to engage any target without long hair. He caught a glimpse of a figure with a rifle crouched near the far wall, but his night vision flared before he could react. Gunshots erupted, and he dropped to the floor, firing blindly at the other side of the room.

“I got him!” screamed a female voice.

Alex raised the NVGs and stared upward at the voice. Piper stood over him, aiming a pistol and flashlight at the other side of the room. A bright red, clumpy stain covered the brightly illuminated wall.

“That’s all of them. Turn off your light,” he said, standing up.

He took the flashlight out of his pocket and guided her out of the lounge.

“You all right?” he asked, handing her the light.

“I hid inside the lounge when the shooting started. I’m sorry. The door opened, and he got halfway across the room before I fired. I couldn’t move. We couldn’t see each other. We just kept shooting,” she said, crying.

“You did great, Piper. You’re meant to lead this group, and that’s not a bullshit, motivate the youngsters speech. Take a minute to get your shit together, and start working on a plan to secure the floor. You hear me?” he said, grasping both of her shoulders and forcing eye contact. “You have three points of access. Two on the stairwell back here and one by the elevators. You need to make it impossible for anyone to open one of those doors. Move the desks out of the rooms and pile them up. With four rifles and plenty of ammunition, you should be able to discourage any attempts to breach those barriers. Pick your shooters wisely. Anyone with prior shooting experience is preferred. Call of Duty does not count. Keep one rifle on each access point at all times. You carry the fourth to reinforce whichever door is under attack. Never leave a door unguarded. Ever. Good to go?”

“I think so.”

“Search the bodies for a radio and listen. If you can talk to these people, do it. Let them know exactly what happened, and that I’m no longer here. Tell them that you’ll defend the floor with your lives. Drag the bodies into the back stairwell vestibule and respectfully lay them side by side. They might leave you alone.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then you know what to do,” said Alex, picking up his boots and socks. “I guarantee your dad would be proud of you for this.”

“You really think I’ll see my parents again?” she asked.

“Not a doubt in my mind,” Alex lied.

Ten minutes later, he sprinted across the Massachusetts Turnpike, seeking refuge in the maze of tightly packed west Boston neighborhoods he needed to traverse to reach Ryan and Chloe.

Chapter 4

EVENT +47:14

^{Middlesex Fells Reservation}

^{Stoneham, Massachusetts}

Charlie Thornton put the key in the ignition and paused, his hands trembling. He’d somehow picked up a transmission from Ed on the primary broadcast frequency, after several hours of sheer radio silence. Ed’s sudden, desperate report of an all-out attack had jarred him into action. Little of the report made any sense. Ed had used Alex’s radio call sign, and they were clearly having a conversation, but Charlie could only hear Ed’s side of the exchange.

Ed’s report painted a horrible picture of the situation in Boston. From what Charlie could tell, Ed was in some kind of besieged perimeter with other survivors. How did that evolve? Why was he able to hear Ed? Did he turn back? Was he nearby? He’d lost contact with them in Medford, which was less than four miles away. Too many unanswered questions. He lacked the bigger picture, which was why he closed his eyes and took deep breaths until his hands stopped shaking. He pictured Linda and his girls, safe at the Fletcher compound, and the key came out of the ignition, his hand resting in his lap. He’d come perilously close to making a disastrous decision.

They’d barely navigated the tight roads and fallen trees in full daylight. Even if he somehow managed to miraculously get the jeep onto Route 28, then what? Drive south in the middle of the night until he made radio contact again? Alex reported that the exodus along the main roads leading north had intensified, with travelers looking to put as much distance between themselves and the city at night, while the temperatures were reasonable. How long would he have lasted driving through that desperate herd? He knew the answer.

Charlie opened the door and stepped onto the soft forest floor, taking his rifle and backpack with him. He took a few steps and lifted his rifle, using his night vision attachment to locate the IR chemlight that marked his makeshift camp. He’d taken Alex’s advice and set up about twenty-five yards into the forest. Far enough away to avoid drawing immediate attention to the Jeep, but close enough to respond to one of his trip wires set across the forest road. He’d tied the ends of the two trip wires to thick sticks, which he kept under his armpits when he felt sleepy. For the most part, the night had been uneventful. Alex had been wise to bring the Jeep here.

Stuck between the Middle and South Reservoirs, a crumbly, raised road connected the island to the eastern and western sides of the reservation. He hadn’t noticed any foot traffic on the road and guessed that most of the city’s evacuees had no use for an east-west running trail. Everyone was headed due north. Charlie set his pack in front of the tree marked by the chemlight and lowered himself carefully to the forest floor, gingerly leaning against the soft pack.

He’d torqued his back carrying their packs to the Jeep. He knew better than to heave all of them at once, but he’d been in a hurry to finally sit his ass down and give his heart a break. One last chore, he’d told himself, and wham! He’d felt the telltale twitch, and his lower back muscles started to spasm. He popped a thousand milligrams of ibuprofen and laid flat on the ground for an hour. Surprisingly, the combination of drugs and rest kept his muscles from locking up and pulling his back completely out of place—for now. He was borderline useless when his back “went out.” Linda could attest to that.

He chuckled at the thought of Linda chastising him for lifting three packs at once. She’d hover over him, pointing that finger, reading him the Linda Thornton Riot Act and setting a time limit on his recovery period. One day for a self-inflicted back pull. Two days if it wasn’t his fault. He’d never received two days.

God, I miss her.

The thought of his family gave him the idea to check the satphone.

He powered the device and studied the screen. Eight satellites registered within line of sight; two more than earlier that evening. The government must have “asked” the major satellite communications companies to move a few of their more redundant satellites into geostationary orbit over the United States. Satellite bandwidth represented the only viable long-distance communication network available in the United States—for government use only. He autodialed the Fletchers’ second satphone and pressed send. “Connection Unavailable” flashed on the muted orange display. He noticed a new message in the phone’s inbox and sat up. Adrenaline flushed through his body. It could be a message from the wives! He navigated to the inbox and opened the message. Not the wives, Uncle Sam.

“That’s it?” he muttered, followed by a wide yawn.

How on God’s green earth did the government expect to enforce a curfew when half of the population had taken to the road? Idiots. The latest government broadcast told him everything he needed to know about the state of affairs in Washington, D.C. There was a one hundred percent clusterfuck in progress. Only the most obtuse bureaucratic stooge would approve a nationwide sunset-to-sunrise curfew given what he’d seen on the approach to Boston. Didn’t the government have any way to receive reports from the field? Was it possible they didn’t know the cities had already started to empty? They had clearly hijacked all of the available satellite bandwidth—wait a minute! What if the government wasn’t in control of the satellites?

His heart rate started to increase, followed by heavier breathing. None of this made sense. Either the government had purposely ignored incoming reports, or they hadn’t received them. Either scenario carried chilling implications. Staring at the starry sky through the moonlit branches, Charlie couldn’t shake the image of a sky blanketed with Chinese paratroopers. It beat the other image; a convoy of heavily armored DHS vehicles rolling into town.

Chapter 5

EVENT +47:45

^{Brookline, Massachusetts}

Alex low-crawled along the hedge, fixated on reaching the corner of the narrow yard. Traversing over one hundred fifty feet of dew-covered grass along the apartment building’s frontage had left him soaked. He arrived at the corner and lowered his head into the wet grass, thankful that the low hedge still held enough leaves to provide adequate concealment from the intersection. The cool, damp clothing felt refreshing against his skin. He’d spend a few minutes lying prone and taking in the ambient sounds at the intersection before poking his head over the bushes to confirm the road was clear.

The GPS receiver told him Stedman Road emptied into Harvard Road, but it couldn’t know that the intersection rated a stoplight. He’d taken pains to detect and avoid traffic signals, having spotted militia patrols hidden at two major intersections in the past mile and a half. He’d started crawling toward the intersection of Stedman and Harvard long before detecting the stoplight. In all truth, he’d slipped up. He could have used his NVGs to scan from a distance, but he’d started to conserve the unit’s batteries and had forgotten.

By the time he stopped to check, he’d already traversed half the distance and couldn’t raise his head fully to scan the intersection. He decided to press onward and gamble that it was clear. If it were guarded, he’d have to crawl back. Not a big deal, but with morning twilight approaching in forty minutes, he wanted to put as much distance between himself and Warren Towers as possible.

Militia activity had been steady but not overwhelming in the areas south of the Massachusetts Turnpike, confined to obvious intersection outposts or easily detectable vehicle patrols. With little background noise beyond distant, sporadic gunfire, the sound of an approaching vehicle was impossible to miss. He’d effortlessly avoided several vehicle patrols within the first mile of his journey, decreasing markedly after Pleasant Street. With 1.4 miles left to reach 42 Orkney Road, he anticipated smooth sailing, as long as he didn’t get sloppy.

He heard the repeated click of a disposable lighter and froze. A fit of hacking followed, drawing Alex’s attention to the park across the road to his left. A small orange glow appeared through the hedge’s foliage, quickly fading.

How did I miss that?

He couldn’t determine the precise location, but based on the position of the glowing cigarette, someone had decided to sit his or her ass in the small park bordering the intersection. He’d caught a serious break.

Now what?

Crawling the same one hundred fifty feet didn’t seem like a good idea anymore. The militia team had an unobstructed view of the hedge along most of its length. Rationally, he knew the result would be the same, but his mind had already closed off that route to further discussion. It didn’t leave him with a ton of options.

The hedge turned at the corner and ran about fifteen feet along the sidewalk on Harvard Street, ending at the apartment building. If he could quietly squeeze through the bushes and crawl past the corner, he’d be out of their line of sight. Alex crawled the length of the bushes, reaching the building’s rough sandstone foundation. The entire hedgerow appeared thick and well maintained. There was no way he could push his way through that without waking up the entire neighborhood. This left him with one guaranteed option. Eliminate the sentries.

While definitely the “tried and true” solution, killing militia this far from Warren Towers carried risks he’d prefer to avoid. Warren Towers to the corner of Harvard and Stedman in thirty minutes? A simple game of connect the dots on a city map would give militia leadership a fairly accurate prediction of Alex’s intended travel route. Worse yet, a straight line drawn between the two locations terminated less than a quarter of a mile from Chloe’s apartment at the Chestnut Hill Reservoir. They had no way to determine how far he travelled, but they could focus their search along this projected path, effectively trapping him in Chloe’s apartment until nightfall. Based on Ed’s report of the attack in Harvard Square, they couldn’t afford to wait until sunset to cross the Charles River. Boston sat on the verge of a complete civil breakdown.

He pointed his body at the sentries and lowered the NVGs, peering through the bushes. Leaves broke the image, but he managed to form an actionable assessment. Two armed men sat on top of a picnic table, facing the intersection. The smoker was partially obscured by a tree stump, his head and legs visible beyond the lead edge of the table. He stared down the length of the hedge, wondering if he shouldn’t try to crawl back. If they spotted movement and decided to investigate, he could take them down with little effort. If they skipped the investigation part, he’d be in trouble. The bushes would do little to protect him from a concentrated barrage of projectiles travelling at 3,200 feet per second.

He didn’t have the time to dick around with crawling back and approaching another intersection, and the sun had no intention of waiting for him to figure this out. Alex crawled along the hedge and stopped, reevaluating his line of fire to the targets. Both men sat in full view.

Let’s get this over with.

He started to rise, but stopped to reflect on his surprising indifference toward the prospect of preemptively killing them.

The sentries had been reduced to objects. Dehumanized for his emotional convenience. They fell into several convenient categories: Enemies. Targets. Obstacles. All true, but oversimplified—the way it had been done for millennia. Warfare relied on dehumanizing the enemy, no matter how “justified” the conflict. Raw human nature didn’t embrace wholesale slaughter. It had to be manipulated, which wasn’t an overly difficult task.

Alex had already convinced himself it was necessary and justified. He didn’t stop to consider why these men sat here watching the intersection. Were they doing their part to protect family and friends? Did they believe they were connected to something bigger and more important? Defending their city from the government? Alex didn’t care about the answers to any of these questions, because he was sure of one thing. If he stood up and tried to identify himself, his journey to reach Ryan and Chloe would come to an abrupt end—and that was the only piece of information that mattered.

With that in mind, he kneeled, keeping his profile below the top of the hedge. Rising slowly, he canted the rifle and braced it snugly into his shoulder. The IR laser broke the plane of the hedge and reached the man enjoying a cigarette. Alex moved the beam to the center of his head and slowed his breathing. One of the sentries’ radios broke the silence, emitting a garbled transmission, causing him to delay the shot. The second man slapped the smoker on the shoulder and said, “Let’s go,” prompting them to jump down from the table and run across Harvard Street. They hopped into a two-door sedan parked on the street and drove urgently toward Beacon Street. Alex waited for the taillights lights to disappear behind the buildings before running in a low crouch to the hedge along Harvard Street. The red lights continued to recede into the distance, vanishing from sight. A quick scan in the opposite direction convinced Alex that he could cross the street unobserved.

The team’s sudden recall from the area was a positive development. It signified a redeployment of assets away from his intended travel path, which might allow him to pick up the pace. Beyond Harvard Street, Alex faced a twisted path of obscure side streets leading to Chloe’s apartment. At a brisk, alert walking pace, he could be there in less than thirty minutes.

Chapter 6

EVENT +48:17

^{42 Orkney Rd}

^{Brookline, Massachusetts}

Alex squeezed between two tightly parked cars and sprinted across Ayr Road, burying himself in a stand of tall bushes next to a two-story duplex. Ed had advised him to turn on Ayr Road and look for the service street that ran between the apartments on the southern side of Orkney Road and Beacon Street. Access to Chloe’s apartment from Orkney Road was limited to a single, street-level door, which should be locked. With the doorbell inoperable, he’d have no way to effectively signal Ryan and Chloe on the third floor without drawing considerable attention. He preferred to arrive at the apartment unnoticed. One radio call to the militia from a concerned citizen could jeopardize everything.

Resting against the building’s brick façade, he measured his senses. The green image betrayed nothing behind the windows staring down at him. The buildings appeared uniformly green. No “hot spots” or movement. A few well-spaced crickets provided the neighborhood’s only discernible background noise. The near absence of sound worried him. Ed’s description of the ancient metal staircase attached to the three-story covered porch on the service street gave him pause. One way or the other, he was going to wake up some of the neighbors.

The service street connected to Ayr Road through a narrow paved drive surrounded on both sides by steep brick walls. Alex walked through the gap with his rifle raised, until it opened into a wide paved courtyard ringed with trash dumpsters and parked cars. He paused to scan the windows and was treated to a sea of uninteresting green. He counted porches, stopping at the fifth structure jutting out from an indistinguishable three-story wall of brick and windows. Ed had been adamant that 42 Orkney Road was the fifth porch—one of the few details he’d stood behind in his description of the apartment. The porches were supposedly marked with the street number, but in the sheer darkness of this alley, he wasn’t sure the night vision could pick up the numbers.

Arriving at the porch, he was relieved to find the number “42” on a sturdy placard next to the stairs. He was almost there. He wanted nothing more than to rush up the stairs and pound on the back door, but he swallowed his excitement and took a cautious step forward onto the metal staircase bolted to the concrete next to the building. He hadn’t made it this far to screw it up at the last possible moment. Halfway up the first flight of stairs, the metal groaned, causing Alex to stop and cringe. The sound echoed off the walls of the concrete enclave, repeatedly reaching his ears. His next step yielded the same result.

“Fuck this,” he muttered and mounted the stairs at a normal pace.

By the time he stepped onto Chloe’s covered back porch, Alex heard several windows slide open, followed by scattered mumbling. The night vision image flared bright green as at least one powerful flashlight swept the alley. Someone issued a halfhearted challenge, only to be immediately shushed. A whispered argument ensued, and a window slammed shut. They were afraid. Good. Maybe everyone decided this wasn’t their problem.

Alex walked gingerly across the loose wooden planks, careful not to knock over the bicycles leaned against the railing next to the stairs. Four plastic chairs sat stacked next to a small plastic table in the far corner of the dingy platform. He raised the NVGs and let his eyes adjust, listening for any commotion below. His heart pounded, but not from the threat of discovery. He started to have doubts about finding Ryan and Chloe here. No effort had been made to discourage an intruder from walking onto the porch. At the very least, Ryan would have fashioned a crude early warning system by jamming the bicycles and other porch junk on the stairwell. If the kids had fled, he faced a tough decision, one with the potential to haunt him for the rest of his life.

He felt shaky approaching the door, suddenly overwhelmed by the gravity of the next few minutes. He shuffled forward and felt something rub the front of his thighs. A muted cascade of crashing aluminum cans exploded inside of the apartment, followed by footsteps. Alex reached along his leg and gripped a piece of slackened fishing wire.

They were here!

A light exploded in his face, followed by a gleeful shriek. The door swung open, and Chloe Walker rushed onto the porch, trailed by his son.

“Mr. Fletcher!”

“Dad!”

“Shhhhhh. Keep it down. Turn that light off. Let’s get inside—quickly,” he hissed, corralling them back inside.

“Is my dad here? Mom? Abby and Danny?” Chloe asked in a rush.

“Mom? Emmy?” added Ryan.

“Everyone is fine. Everyone. Chloe, your dad is on the other side of the Charles, sitting tight with a battalion of marines. I made him stay behind. It’s so good to see the two of you,” he said, tears flowing freely down his sweaty cheeks.

Alex hugged his son, squeezing him tightly. He wanted to say something profound, but settled for a comfortable, reassuring silence. No matter what happened from this point forward, it happened to both of them. The three of them. That was a promise he intended to give his life trying to keep. He reached out and pulled Chloe into the hug, and they stood there for several moments.

“I need to contact your father and let him know that you’re all right,” he said, breaking up the group embrace.

“Did you bring the satphone?” said Ryan, locking the door to the porch.

“No, I left it with Charlie outside of the city. It didn’t work the last time we checked.”

“You dragged Mr. Thornton into this mess?” asked Ryan.

“He volunteered. We wouldn’t have made it without him. He’s guarding Chloe’s dad’s Jeep about nine miles from here in the Middlesex Fells Reservation. We hid everything up there and walked in. Everyone else is in Limerick—at the pond.”

“Let me grab some candles. You should sit down, Mr. Fletcher. Ryan, grab some water for your dad, or make a Gatorade,” said Chloe.

“No candles, Chloe. We shouldn’t draw any attention to the apartment. I ran into some trouble on the way over here.”

“Street gangs or militia?” asked Ryan.

“I’d say militia, but I’m not sure. How did you guess?”

“We went out onto Beacon Street a few times during the first day, trying to get some information, but we stayed inside when the shooting started,” said Ryan.

“Who was shooting who?”

“We didn’t stick around long enough to find out, but people said the police were being targeted. That’s all we needed to hear.”

“The shooting intensified by nightfall and lasted all night,” Chloe chimed in. “At about seven the next morning, we heard someone yelling through a bullhorn outside of the bedroom window. A pickup truck was cruising down Orkney Road announcing that the streets were safe,” said Chloe.

“They called themselves the Liberty Boys. Camouflage uniforms, but not really matched. A hodgepodge of tactical gear, plenty of ARs. They were also looking for volunteers,” added Ryan.

“Jesus,” muttered Alex.

“What’s wrong?” Chloe asked.

“The Liberty Boys. Holy shit,” he said, dropping his rucksack to the carpeted floor. “It’s linked to one of the oldest militia groups in American history. The Liberty Boys, aka ‘Mechanics,’ were an offshoot of the original Sons of Liberty run by Sam Adams. Paul Revere was one of the founding members. They gathered intelligence on British military activity in the Boston area and conducted limited sabotage missions during the lead-up to the Revolutionary War. The famous midnight ride by Revere on the eve of Lexington and Concord was one of their operations. I ran into one of them at your dorm. He said something about us ‘never taking the country away from them.’ It sounded like typical paranoid militia talk, but now I wonder. This group responded quickly, right? Within twelve hours?”

“I think, yes. They definitely took control of the streets within twenty-four hours,” said Ryan.

“With rifles like mine?”

“That’s what we saw.”

“Only a well-established underground militia group could have pulled that off. The Liberty Boys never went away. They just went deeper underground and waited.”

“What happened to the guy you saw?” asked Ryan.

Alex unclipped his rifle and walked toward the couch near the front of the apartment. He desperately needed to sit down.

“I killed him,” said Alex, setting his rifle against the back of the couch.

He dropped his aching, deliriously tired body onto the soft couch and sighed. Ryan followed with a bottle of water, pushing it against Alex’s hand. He sat in one of the chairs across from his father, his dark form barely outlined against the front window of the apartment. Chloe sat in the chair next to Ryan and posed the question that his son hesitated to ask.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Because he was trying to kill me. They all were.”

“They all were?”

“Four of them followed me to the sixth floor of your dorm,” said Alex.

“Four? What happened to the rest?”

“Same thing.”

“Holy crap,” muttered Ryan, “we’re screwed.”

“Why did they follow you?” said Chloe.

Alex lifted his legs onto the couch and leaned backward, wanting desperately to close his eyes.

“They were waiting for me when I got out of the river. I managed to shoot my way through their welcoming committee with the help of a talented marine sniper. They probably assumed I’m some kind of marine saboteur.”

“That doesn’t make… none of this makes sense. Right? What happened to the bridges?” asked Ryan, the shadow of his hand reaching over to Chloe. “Why do the Liberty Boys care if you’re a marine?”

“Because they think this is all some kind of false flag conspiracy set in motion by the government to declare martial law. They see the marines, or any military unit on the streets, as the enemy. The bridges are still there. It’s just that nobody’s allowed across, in either direction.”

“That’s insane,” said Chloe.

“I agree, but I don’t see either side budging. Your dad radioed me about an hour and half ago with news that the marine headquarters had been attacked. The marines put an end to all northbound bridge traffic after they discovered a large weapons cache hidden among a group of refugees. They see the Liberty Boys as some kind of criminal insurgency. I need to call your dad,” said Alex, opening one of the pouches on his vest. “He can’t respond, but he’ll be listening.”

Alex detached the earpiece from the radio and increased the volume, filling the room with static.

“Durham Three-Two, this is Durham Three-Zero. Press the transmit button the preset number of times when you are ready to receive the broadcast.”

The static clicked three times, and Alex nodded.

“Durham Three-Zero has arrived at the second rendezvous location. Both VIPs located. Stand by for separate transmission,” he said, handing the radio to Chloe.

“Do I have to talk like that?”

“No. Just keep it short, and don’t give away any information. Someone might be listening,” said Alex.

“Daddy, it’s me. We’re both fine. I love you. We’ll be together soon,” she said and handed the radio back.

“VIPs are in good condition and capable of travel. Will advise when ready to move. Durham Three-Zero, out,” he said and sat the radio on the coffee table.

“Thank you, Mr. Fletcher,” Chloe said, breaking into a muted, controlled sob. “Thank you for coming to get us.”

Ryan got up to comfort her.

“I’m just one part of the dream team. If you saw all of us at one time, you might consider taking your chances alone with the young master Fletcher,” he said, feigning a British accent.

“Good lord,” said Ryan, shaking his head. “When do you think we’ll leave?”

“I don’t know. I figure the Liberty Boys will make their big move on Cambridge tonight. We need to be across the river and out of Boston before the festivities begin. If we leave an hour before dusk, we should be able to reach either the Arsenal Street Bridge or North Beacon Street Bridge by nightfall. I have signal flares that will keep the marines from shooting us when we cross. We can swim if the militia has the entrances to the bridges locked down. I’m tempted to make a run for it right now, but…” said Alex, shaking his head.

“It’ll be light soon,” said Chloe.

“Too soon. And they’re actively looking for me. We could consider leaving earlier, but it’ll mean leaving most of my gear behind. We’d have to look and play the role of beleaguered travelers heading north. Make up some story about getting stranded during a camping trip somewhere in Rhode Island. I don’t know. I’m too tired to think about it,” Alex said, barely aware that he had mumbled his last sentence with his eyes closed.

His last conscious thought of the morning revolved around Ed Walker. Chloe’s dad was probably handcuffed to a dormitory bed somewhere in Harvard Yard. The pre-established code had been six clicks, not three.