Event Horizon

Chapter 7

EVENT +49:20

^{Limerick, Maine}

Kate refilled her coffee mug from the stainless-steel percolator on the stove and joined the adults at a rough-hewn farmer’s table on the screened porch. The moist, early morning breeze felt chilly compared to the house, which had managed to retain much of the previous day’s late afternoon heat long into the night. It still felt swampy, which wasn’t a good sign for the rest of the day. Temperatures inland tended to run ten degrees hotter than the coastline, creating saunalike conditions remedied by a swim in the lake or air-conditioning—neither of which was an option today. They had too much work ahead of them.

She’d woken two hours earlier and strolled the perimeter of the 2.5-acre clearing with a thermos of coffee and her rifle. Stopping every fifty feet to listen for anything out of place, she walked the inner grounds until she spotted a light on the second floor of the main house an hour into her patrol. Returning to refresh her coffee supply, she found Linda Thornton filling a second thermos, rifle slung over her back. Having Linda at the compound made a big difference. They spent the next hour forming a basic strategy to protect the compound from the inevitable shit storm headed their way.

If the kid hadn’t been lying about his association with local militia, they faced a serious threat. Alex’s research into militia groups had been frightening, and she didn’t share some of his more optimistic conclusions about their overall intentions. Heavily armed and highly organized, they were everywhere. If anyone in Limerick recognized her face or Emily’s when they drove through town, the militia would find them. Being “from away” drew attention in rural Maine, and their land purchase from the Gelders hadn’t exactly endeared them with the locals.

She placed her hands around the steaming cup and started the meeting.

“Linda and I came up with a rough plan to get the most important work done by the end of the day. We’ll divide into three groups— security, IT and general prep. Samantha and Tim will head up the IT group, with Abby, Emily and Ethan to help. Your first task will be to figure out how to hook up the outer perimeter surveillance gear. Motion detectors, remote cameras, thermal detection stuff. Alex has a bunch of diagrams in a logbook down there. Once you figure out how to hook it up, the security group will install it, along with the trip flares. It’s a massive perimeter, but Alex put a lot of thought into this.”

“You think?” Linda laughed, eliciting a chuckle from Samantha.

“I know, but here we are. Once the IT group finishes making sense of the surveillance gear, the next task will be to restore power to the gate,” said Kate.

“That’s just a flip of a switch. Puts the camera, intercom, gate motor and the keypad back into business—on battery power,” said Tim, raising an eyebrow.

“No worries,” Kate said. “Getting the backup solar array up and running will be your third job. If we run minimal equipment, the backup array should replenish the batteries at a fast enough rate to keep us in business.”

“I’ll need some young athletes to climb into the barn loft to connect the solar panel coupling. There’s a junction controller that looks like an electrical box and a plastic conduit tube running through the loft floor and down into the ground. I think you’re supposed to run wire down the tube and attach it to the house. Nothing is connected. That’s about the extent of my knowledge. Alex has a diagram.”

“We’ll put the kids to work figuring out the setup,” said Samantha Walker. “You said he had spare inverters and stuff like that? It sounds like we have to recreate the control element. Shouldn’t be too difficult if the system is like the one we have at home.”

“The basic concept is the same,” Kate said. “I hope.”

“Alex stored everything in giant plastic bins and labeled them,” said Tim.

“And everyone thinks Charlie is nuts?” Linda winked.

“Where the hell are they?” Samantha sighed.

“They’re fine,” said Amy Fletcher. “I can feel it.”

“They should have been back by now.”

“It’s still early,” Kate said confidently. “They didn’t plan to enter the city until dark. If Chloe and Ryan are holed up near Boston College, they’re looking at a fifteen-mile round trip on foot. That could take all night, especially if the city is hostile.”

Samantha shook her head and exhaled. Kate looked around the table. Despite a full night of sleep, they looked even more exhausted today.

“Waterboro was hostile,” muttered Samantha.

“Then it’s going to take a while. Alex is cautious,” Kate said. “Right now we need to get this place up and running. Once we get the solar panels feeding the batteries, we’ll activate the perimeter security system.”

“What about the other group?” asked Tim. “I suppose I’m in charge of that crew?”

“In title only,” said his wife.

“Funny how we all have that same arrangement with our husbands,” said Linda. “As long as they feel like they’re in charge, they stay out of trouble.”

Everyone but Tim laughed. The joke even managed to drag Kate momentarily out of her funk.

“Amy’s group,” said Kate, twisting her head toward Tim, “will do two things. First priority is camouflage. We have to make this place look like it’s only housing Mom and Pops Fletcher, plus their grandchildren. The downstairs needs to be cleared of any evidence suggesting otherwise. The garage windows need to be covered from the inside. Nailed shut with ply board. The door to the backyard from the garage should be locked and somehow reinforced so it can’t be kicked in. We can’t have anyone snooping around and making a casual discovery. Can the big doors be jimmied open?”

“I tried last night,” said Tim. “They feel solid, but I have no idea what might happen if someone really put some effort into lifting one of them.”

“It should hold. Charlie was worried about the same thing at home,” Linda said. “He nearly broke the damn door, but it held.”

“Okay. This is going to sound weird, but are your daughters familiar enough with firearms to load magazines and match them up with Alex’s weapons?”

“Alyssa and Sydney have been shooting and cleaning all of Charlie’s firearms for longer than I care to admit. They can figure it out.”

“Perfect. I know he has two more ARs in the basement. One is a .223, the other is a .308. There are a few pistols and shotguns. I think everyone should be armed. Alex has a Ruger 22, which might suit you or your son,” said Kate, nodding at Samantha.

“Danny can handle the .22. I’ll take one of the shotguns,” said Samantha.

“Linda, can you tell your daughters to load the shotguns with—”

“Number one buck?” said Linda. “Way ahead of you.”

Samantha shrugged.

“Number one is easier on your shoulders and still has the penetrating power that makes Alex happy. That’s all I know,” said Kate. “Once the firearm situation is sorted and the house is secure, the kids on the general prep team will join us on the perimeter, installing the surveillance gear. I’d like to have everything up and running by sunset.”

“Sandbags?” suggested Linda.

“I think it’s worth looking into, but only if we have spare bodies.”

“Sandbags?” said Samantha doubtfully.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Amy Fletcher, looking to her husband for support.

“I thought Alex was kidding,” admitted Tim.

Kate nodded. “I did too, but it doesn’t sound so crazy now. Not if we have a price on our heads.”

“How many sandbags are we talking?” asked Samantha.

“I’d have to look at the logbook tossed in with the empty bags, but I remember him saying something about a thousand, maybe more,” said Kate.

Samantha frowned. “What is he planning to do, line the outside of the house with sandbags?”

“No. Unfortunately, he planned to drag all of that crap inside the house,” said Amy. “I thought he was joking about the sandbags! We’ll have dirt floors!”

“Inside?” asked Samantha. “This is extreme, even for me.”

“Alex came up with a plan to create firing positions around the house, in front of enough windows to cover a full 360 degrees. Each ‘position,’” Kate stated, using air quotes, “is three feet wide and two feet thick, with another foot coming back from the wall to give you some wraparound protection. You place a three-by-three piece of sheet metal against the wall under the window, then build the barrier.”

“He has sheet metal in the basement?”

Kate nodded slowly. “He has sheet metal in the basement. Pre-cut.”

“I thought those rifles could shoot through cars,” said Samantha.

“According to Alex, a bullet from an AR will lose enough momentum passing through sheet metal to burrow harmlessly into the dirt. He planned to build two or three larger safe boxes within the house, with sandbag walls on four sides. If you can’t get to one of the firing positions or hostiles break into the house, you throw yourself over the three-foot wall into the safe box and figure out your next move. With hostile militia in the picture, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to start filling sandbags once we finish the higher priority chores.”

“I’m sold,” said Samantha. “I think we should work on the safe boxes first, then key positions around the house. Once we get the surveillance system sorted out and the power running, I’ll put the crew to work filling sandbags.”

“What do you think about taking the screens out of the windows?” Linda asked. “For shooting and looking through binoculars.”

“Maybe just the firing positions?” Samantha suggested.

“If we do one, we have to do them all,” Tim countered, “otherwise they’ll be able to map out our gun positions.”

“We’ll give that to Amy’s group,” stated Kate. “Prioritized ahead of the sandbags. Now the hard part…”

“The hard part?” said everyone in near unison.

“Waking seven exhausted teenagers at 6:30 in the morning and convincing them to work for the rest of the day.”

“No convincing necessary. They work or they don’t get fed. Right?” Linda said with a smirk.

“Sounds good to me,” said Alex’s mom. “I’ll fix up pancakes and bacon. Fill them up with a good meal before we break the bad news. Slackers eat cold oatmeal moving forward.”

“Hard core! I like it,” said Samantha. “Need any help in the kitchen?”

“I’ll take all the help I can get. The quicker we whip this up the better,” said Amy.

“I can crisp bacon perfectly—on the grill. Meat handling is my specialty,” said Linda.

Samantha spit her coffee onto the table, immediately swiping her napkin.

“That’s not something you want to advertise too loudly,” said Kate, stifling a laugh.

“Good heavens,” mumbled Amy, blushing.

“This is why I pretend to be deaf around women,” said Tim. “The bacon’s in the basement freezer.”

Chapter 8

EVENT +52:01

^{Limerick, Maine}

Eli Russell marched up the steps of the two-story red brick building and stopped at the entrance door held open by his deputy commander.

“The building is secure. We have one hundred and forty-three residents packed into the recreation hall. Standing room only,” said Kevin McCulver.

“Secure the door and post a guard. Nobody gets in or out without my say-so. We have to be on our toes,” said Eli, entering Limerick’s “Brick Town Hall.”

No longer housing Limerick’s municipal offices, the historical Brick Town Hall building had been recently renovated to house the town’s library and generate revenue by renting the large first-floor hall for private functions. The recreation hall served as the largest public meeting place within Limerick, aside from the elementary school a few miles to the east on the Newfield border. Eli had chosen the historical building for his debut public appearance because it was a familiar landmark located in the heart of town.

He strode into the room and grasped the podium, pushing aside the useless microphone.

“Citizens of Limerick. Please. I’ll keep this brief,” he bellowed.

The din of conversation diminished, but didn’t stop.

“Please. I don’t want to take up any more time than necessary! We all have enough going on at home,” he said, smiling widely at the crowd, which finally fell silent. “I want to thank Selectman Keithman for arranging this meeting and getting the word out on short notice. My name is Eli Russell. Some of you know me pretty well—I’m a Waterboro native. Several years ago, I started the Maine Liberty Militia. Our ranks are filled with hardworking, patriotic folks just like yourselves from all over York County. Gary Flannery is one of our original members,” he said, motioning for a thin man dressed in a MultiCam uniform to step forward from behind him.

“His family has lived in Limerick for nearly a century, and you’ve been eating his family’s pizza for three decades, for better or worse,” he said, slapping Gary playfully on the shoulder.

The tension in the room eased with the joke, setting the stage for Eli’s main event.

“Obviously, I didn’t come here to tell jokes. These are uncertain, frightening times for all of us, but one thing is certain: the hardest days lie ahead. Life as we’ve known it has come to an abrupt end and is unlikely to ever return to what most of you consider normal. This isn’t an isolated incident. The entire nation has been plunged into darkness. This has been confirmed by ham radio broadcasts.”

The crowd murmured in response to his statement.

“Trust me when I say that the situation out there will only get worse. The police and National Guard are overwhelmed at the border, which is leaking like a sieve right now, leaving us exposed to the same horrors that migrated into Maine during the 2013 pandemic. The sherriff’s department personnel assigned to these parts are nowhere to be found and—”

“They’ve been murdered. Haven’t you heard?” said an elderly white-haired man from the back of the room.

No kidding.

“We’ve been so busy helping the State Police at the borders, I haven’t—this is horrible. What happened?” said Eli.

“Three of them were killed at home. Assassinated along with their families. The other is missing, along with his car. He lived in West Newfield. Residents in town heard gunshots soon after that airwave hit us.”

The room launched into an uproar, which gave Eli the precious moments he needed to capitalize on the “news.” He couldn’t have planted a better link to what he needed to say next.

“This can’t be happening,” said Eli, feigning shock and indignation. “This has to be related to the massacre!”

“What massacre?” asked a woman near the front of the room.

“At the border,” said Eli, counting on others to eavesdrop.

“Where?” asked a young man a little further back.

“Milton Mills. The whole border checkpoint was ambushed. All of my men were killed. Completely wiped out! We also found a possible mass grave behind the Methodist church on Foxes Ridge Road, just a few miles from the New Hampshire border. We’d brought supplies over to the church, since it was so close to the border. Figured it might be a good place to feed and shelter the folks trying to get home to points north. Mainers have been showing up on foot from all over New England. By the time they get to the border, they’re spent and out of resources. We let at least fifty through in the first twenty-four hours, until I lost contact with the squad out in Milton Mills…” he said, trailing off for effect.

“What happened to them?” yelled a man from the back.

“What massacre?”

“Who was in the mass grave?”

One of the town selectman, standing along the wall near the door, shouted, “Everyone! Keep it down! This is important!”

“Once we realized that this was more than some freak power outage,” Eli continued, “I drove Route 11 to the border to see if I could offer any assistance and—”

“Where did you find a car that worked?”

“We have a big organization,” he lied, “and a few of our cars survived. We were lucky. Anyway, State Troopers at the border told me that they didn’t have enough personnel to watch some of the smaller crossings until the National Guard fully mobilized, which may never happen, but that’s a different story. They asked us to set up border checkpoints at some of the smaller crossings past Milton Pond, doing the same thing the police are doing—screening refugees for Maine residents. Nobody wants a repeat of 2013, right?”

The group nodded and muttered in agreement.

“I lost radio contact with the squad at Milton Mills the night before…” He faded off, shaking his head slowly.

The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath for Eli’s next words.

“I drove out there myself yesterday afternoon and found them dead. Twelve well-trained, heavily armed militiamen killed in an ambush—by extremely accurate gunfire.”

“Who killed them?” asked several citizens at once.

“The same unit that killed everyone at the Methodist church. We found fifty plus bodies in the forest. All shot in the head, execution style. I had a few guys helping out at the church. They put up one hell of a fight, but whoever did this…” another well-placed shake of the head, “I haven’t seen anything like this since El Salvador.”

At 58 years old, the closest Eli Russell had come to Central America in his lifetime was a one-time trip to an all-inclusive resort in Cancun, Mexico, with his ex-wife. He’d joined the army in 1981, completing the infantry basic training and airborne training in Fort Benning, Georgia. His airborne qualification earned him a duty assignment to the 101^st Airborne at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, where he served in 1^st Battalion, 327^th Infantry Regiment as an M-60 machine gunner until 1986.

After an uneventful stint in the army, Sergeant Russell returned to Maine, immersing the local bars with nebulous tales of “classified” black-ops paramilitary operations in undisclosed countries. The Iran-Contra hearings in 1987 dovetailed perfectly with his newly created persona, and he quickly became an underground celebrity in York County. Sergeant Eli Russell, suspected military advisor to the Salvadoran counter-insurgency effort, was born.

“Death squads,” stated Gary Flannery, intimately familiar with Russell’s history as a military advisor.

“Worse. Special Forces death squads. It’s the only logical explanation for how my men could have been taken out so quickly. I can’t go into the details of what I saw in El Salvador. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it at all, but it fits the pattern and confirms my suspicions about this whole EMP thing. I think we’re on the brink of a government takeover.”

“Not this again,” said a middle-aged man near the back wall.

“I’m sorry, did I say something to offend you?” Eli said. “I’m just passing along what I saw. I’m concerned for everyone’s safety.”

Eli knew he’d have to handle this carefully if he wanted to prevent a public relations backlash.

“Look, I’m just as displeased with Washington as anyone else, but I draw the line at this broad-reaching conspiracy nonsense,” the man replied. “They blame the same bogeyman every time. That one Internet nutcase has thousands of people convinced that the 2013 pandemic was allowed to enter the U.S. by the CDC, with the help of—you guessed it—the biggest bogeyman in human history: Homeland Security. I suppose this is the latest in a long line of ‘false flag’ operations that never materialize in the militarization of America? Like the Jakarta Pandemic? The conspiracy lunatics were sorely disappointed when the thousands of armored cars allegedly purchased by the Department of Homeland Security didn’t take to the streets with the billions of hollow-point bullets supposedly purchased right before the pandemic. This is more of the same.”

“We lost a lot of good men out there! Mr. Russell’s youngest brother, Jimmy, was among the dead,” barked Gary Flannery, stepping toward the crowd.

Eli extended his right hand to hold Gary back. “It’s all right, Gary.”

“I’m sorry. I had, uh—no idea,” said the man. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. It just all seemed… I’m really sorry to hear about your brother.”

“I didn’t take it as disrespect, sir. Thank you,” said Eli, pausing to let the crowd think he was struggling to get past the death of his brother. He continued when he saw a genuine look of compassion appear on the doubter’s face, signifying that his last hurdle in this room had been cleared.

“I’ll be the first to admit that all of this sounds outlandish, but only a Special Forces team is capable of doing that kind of damage so quickly. They even took one of my men for interrogation.”

Eli let the implication of kidnapping and torture settle into the captivated gathering of sheep. He hoped the rest of the townships would be this easy. He’d triple the size of his personal army within a few days.

“These are textbook guerilla tactics for rural paramilitary operations. Trust me, folks. I’ve seen this before, in another life. It’s a brutal, systematic process designed to strike fear into the local population and disintegrate your resolve. We can expect more of this until…”

“Until what?” said a woman clutching a young child.

“Until the new authority arrives to save and protect us from this terror. I’m telling you, this is by-the-book Spec Ops stuff. Psychological operations—PSYOPS. They want you afraid to leave your house. Afraid to close your eyes at night, lest you be snatched away,” he said, snapping his fist shut and pulling it toward him. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that our satellite phones don’t work? I have a full signal on mine—tracking nine birds, but all I can do is receive government transmissions. They don’t want us talking with anyone outside of our immediate communities. Keep us isolated until our saviors arrive.”

“A false flag ploy?” asked the town selectman.

“The bigger event is the false flag. Whatever they did to turn off the lights, that created the crisis.”

“The government announced that a space-borne object broke up over the U.S and hit the East Coast. It explains the shockwave,” said someone deep in the crowd.

“But not the EMP. I’ve studied this stuff. Meteorites don’t cause electromagnetic pulses. Only nukes and solar flares do that. Did you notice how they haven’t given an explanation for why your cars don’t work or why the lights are out? That’s because it doesn’t make sense. Instead, they say, ‘widespread power outages have been reported.’ No kidding, Sherlock. I couldn’t microwave my breakfast burrito this morning. Tell me something I don’t know.”

The group broke into open laughter.

Man, I love this, Eli thought.

“I’m not buying the asteroid story, and neither should you. They’re watching the skies 24/7, detecting and analyzing inbound space objects years away. Ain’t no way they missed one as big as they claim. Judging by the blast wave we all experienced, I’d say they detonated a nuke over the water in the Gulf of Maine. Far enough away to minimize civilian casualties, but close enough to let us know that something big happened. I bet they did this up and down the East Coast where most of the people live.

“I know this sounds extreme. I’ve gone over it in my head time and time again, trying to come up with a different scenario. Until the Milton Mills massacre, that is. I recognized the military’s handiwork immediately, I’m ashamed to say,” he said, letting those words sink in.

“I’ve held you up long enough. If anyone is interested in learning more about the Maine Liberty Militia, we’ve set up a table in one of the smaller rooms down the hall. We’re looking for volunteers. Prior military experience is preferred, but anyone with basic firearms experience or a willingness to learn is welcome. We’ll provide the training and the firearms to keep the people of this town safe.

“I know what you’re thinking; if the government hit team can take out fifteen of Eli’s best-trained men, what chance do you stand? I’m not going to BS any of you; we’re not training anyone to be a Navy SEAL. Militarily, we’ll never be a match for the teams roaming these parts, but if we organize quickly, they’ll back off. They’re in this for the long game. If they can’t keep us isolated and scared, they’ll switch to less drastic tactics or disappear completely.”

“Does that mean the government won’t bother with us?” asked the selectman.

Eli shook his head and grimaced. “The government’s still coming. They’re too vested at this point. The only thing we can do is change their early tactics. Save some lives. Keep your eyes open for strangers and any suspicious activity. Once word gets out that we’re not afraid, they’ll start employing some hearts and mind shi… stuff. Pardon my language, ma’am,” he said, directing his apology at the woman holding a toddler.

“He’s heard worse, I’m afraid,” she said, smiling nervously.

“One last thing everybody, before we all melt from the heat,” he said, fanning himself with his hand. “Two of my men were shot dead in Waterboro yesterday afternoon. The suspects, who may be women, were last seen driving toward Limerick along Route 5. Witnesses say the suspects shot them in cold blood and took their vehicle, a Black SUV. This happened around one in the afternoon, so if they made it to Limerick, they might have cruised through town maybe fifteen or twenty minutes later. Was anyone in town yesterday afternoon?”

A few hands rose toward the ceiling.

“Do any of you remember seeing a Black SUV? I imagine a functional car would stick out, right?” said Eli.

A man with a grizzly beard and unkempt hair answered. “I remember it. We were out in front of Flannery’s Variety,” he said, nodding at Gary.

“I was rationing out the last of the ketchup,” said Gary, stirring up a little laughter.

“The SUV went by pretty fast, so I didn’t really see much. I don’t think it’s the one you’re looking for. This one had out-of-state plates. The back passenger window was rolled down, and Ken got a good look. Said there was like six people shoved back there. Ken Haskell thought he recognized one of the kids in the back seat, but he wasn’t sure. I just figured they were some lucky out of towners. Be a weird coincidence.”

Eli had to proceed cautiously. Like his fictitious Special Forces hit-team, he was playing the long game. Nearly all of the vehicles acquired at the Milton Mills border crossing had out-of-state license plates, which would inevitably raise dubious questions about his fleet of functioning automobiles. He’d instructed his brother Jimmy to swap out the license plates at the church. Every vehicle they drove out of Milton Mills was supposed to have a Maine plate. Non-negotiable. Instead, Jimmy gave his son, Eli’s nephew, the shiniest late-model luxury SUV on the lot, and trusted his shit-for-brains son to change the plates himself.

He wondered how many bong hits it took for his nephew to erase that data, knowing it was likely gone by the time the kid turned the key in the ignition. He was truly sorry to lose Jimmy, but in this newly arrived “dog eat dog” world, they were all better off without Nathan. Of course, that didn’t mean he was going to shake hands and thank his nephew’s killers. He still planned to personally skull fuck each and every person who left a mountain bike on the side of the road in Waterboro, before cutting their heads off and jamming them on a tall stake.

I’ll blame it on the government, too!

“I’m not a big believer in coincidences,” said Eli. “I assume Ken isn’t here?”

“Out hunting. He’s got a few hundred acres up Sawyer Mountain Road,” said Grizzly.

“Mind pointing out his place for me? I should probably talk to him. It will save the sheriffs a trip, not that we’re likely to see the cops again. Still, better safe than sorry. Right?”

“I’ll show you the way, right after I sign your list. I’ve taken a few tactical carbine courses,” said Grizzly.

“I’ll take you up on both offers. How about we take a drive up together once this settles down?” Eli suggested, wondering where Grizzly might land in his organization.

Chapter 9

EVENT +53:12

^{Sanford, Maine}

Harrison Campbell heard the increasingly uncommon sound of a car engine echo through the barn. Car tires crackled along the dirt driveway a few seconds later, drawing his attention to the open door. One of his armed sentries stepped into the brightly contrasted opening.

“It’s Glen. He’s got a woman in the car. I don’t recognize her.”

Campbell placed the ham radio headphones on the communications desk and stood up, his back crackling as he extended fully upright. The past two days hadn’t been kind to his aging frame. There was no doubt about that. He’d slept on a cot next to the radios, his Kenwood transceiver scanning preset AM frequencies used by militia groups regionally and nationwide.

Sleep didn’t come easy, as reports of civil disorder, fires, and a near complete breakdown of the nation’s essential services infrastructure travelled in high frequency radio waves to anyone who cared to listen. Information was spotty at best, but he’d gleaned invaluable information about the event from the airwaves. Cities beyond the Sierra Nevada Mountains in California and the Cascades in the Pacific Northwest seemed to have suffered less of an EMP disruption than the rest of the nation. None of the cities on the West Coast had power, which made sense given the interconnectivity of the nation’s electrical grid, but vehicle and home electronics remained mostly unaffected. California was a long way from New England, but it gave Campbell a glimmer of hope. Not all of the country was down for the count.

News from the international community gave him mixed feelings. Amateur radio stations in Europe and other parts of the world confirmed that the event appeared to be confined to the United States. This was bad news, since it validated the growing theory that the United States had been targeted. It was also good news, however, since it left the international community intact to render aid.

The Council of the European Union had held an emergency session yesterday, to be followed later today by a full meeting of the European Parliament. The general consensus among radio reports seemed to indicate that the European Union would authorize a comprehensive recovery package, to be implemented immediately. Transmissions from U.S.-based radio stations questioned the intentions of these efforts, spurred by reports that the United Nations had reassembled in Geneva to discuss “options.” To some, this was bad news. It didn’t matter at this point. The United States was falling apart fast, and Campbell seriously doubted they could pull out of the deep dive without foreign intervention.

He rubbed his eyes and walked between the timber benches to the door, catching sight of Glen Cuskelly and his supposed mystery guest as they approached. He recognized her immediately.

“Carol, is everything all right? Is Brian okay?”

The grave look on Glen’s face told him nothing was all right.

“Brian’s fine, Harry. He’s home watching the kids, but we have a big problem.”

“Come on in,” he said, gesturing for her to enter the barn, “unless you’d prefer to talk inside the house. Mary would be glad to fix you up a cup of tea. All I have here is some dreadful coffee.”

“No, I think we better talk in here. Probably make sense to look at some maps while I’m talking.”

“All righty then. Make yourself at home. Good to see you, Carol. Especially in light of what happened to Randy. You’re all still more than welcome to stay on the farm here if you don’t feel safe at your house.”

“Feeling safe is a relative term nowadays,” she said, “but we may take you up on your offer. They killed Randy’s entire family.”

“I’m really sorry. I know your families were close,” said Campbell.

Carol’s eyes watered, and he left the topic alone as they made their way to the “situation room” in the back right corner of the barn. He lit the two-burner propane camping stove under the tin pot.

“Hope you don’t mind reheated coffee,” he said, taking a seat across from her at the table, next to Glen.

“That’s fine.”

“So, what brings you to Sanford, Carol? It can’t be the coffee,” he said, eliciting a muffled laugh.

“My husband didn’t feel comfortable leaving the property, given what happened to Randy’s family, or he’d bring the report himself,” she said.

“Perfectly understandable.”

“We shut ourselves in after finding the Cushmans slaughtered—and they were truly slaughtered,” she said, glancing at Glen.

“Never seen anything like it. Whoever did that is an animal,” said Glen.

“His radio was stolen, along with the chapter’s supplies. Paperwork too, as far as we could tell. We figured we were next, since Brian was his deputy commander. Maybe whoever did this just wanted the chapter’s stockpile.”

“Seemed a bit more personal than that,” said Campbell’s deputy.

Carol nodded and fought back tears.

“If Glen knows the rest, you don’t have to tell it, Carol. I understand.”

“No. It’s our new reality. We have to get used to things like this, I guess,” she muttered.

“Not if we can get to the bottom of it quickly enough,” said Campbell.

“So, Bill Fournier stopped by on the way back from town. He had some interesting news. Eli Russell was at the Old Town Hall riling up the people about military assassination teams and an upcoming government invasion.”

“That’s Eli for you,” said Campbell.

“Bill said he’s recruiting. From what he could tell, Eli added about ten names to his roster after the meeting. I guess he really pitched his militia hard, saying it’s the only thing that will stand between freedom and martial law. I guess there was some kind of Special Operations massacre at the border, or so he claims. Jimmy, his brother, was killed. Brian says good riddance. I didn’t know the man, so I couldn’t say.”

“You’re better off never having known him. Trust me on that. I figured it was Jimmy that killed the Cushmans. He’s a hard-core ex-con. Spent most of his adult life in prison. I’d heard some rumors that he was putting together his own little spin-off crew. Sounds like they met with disaster out in Milton Mills. Good riddance indeed. With Jimmy gone, you guys shouldn’t have anything to worry about, but the offer still stands. We have plenty of room out here, and Mary would love to have the company. Glen and the gang ain’t cutting it for her,” he said, patting his deputy on the shoulder.

“Here’s the thing. Randy’s truck was missing, right? Gray Chevy Avalanche?”

“Yeah,” muttered Campbell.

“Bill remembers seeing a big gray four-door pickup truck behind the town hall. It grabbed his attention, because he thought Eli’s meeting would be the last place on earth he’d find Randy. He couldn’t get a close enough look to confirm it, thanks to the heavily armed goons keeping people’s noses out of the parking lot.”

“Carol, let’s bring your family over to Sanford. Actually, we should bring everyone in the Limerick chapter here until we sort this out. If Eli is behind all of this, it’s just a matter of time before he makes the rounds.”

“How big of a group does he have?” asked Carol.

“He has pretty much everyone we kicked out over the past five years, plus anyone we won’t take,” said Campbell. “Best guess, Glen?’

“Sixty or seventy, depending on how many he can gather. Judging by the number of vehicles he has running, I’d say he gathered most of them.”

“If he grabs ten volunteers every time he opens his mouth, York County is going to empty into his camp pretty quick. At that point, we’ll welcome the government with open arms,” stated Campbell.

Chapter 10

EVENT +54:37

^{Limerick, Maine}

Kate stood in the basement next to her father-in-law, listening to Abby Walker explain Alex’s solar power diagram and the steps they took to hook up the bank of panels on the barn to the house’s battery system. Tim had called Kate off the perimeter to verify their work before they flipped the transfer switch.

“Sounds like you followed his directions step by step, Abby. Not sure why Grandpa Fletcher and your mom called me in to check on your work, but I assume it has something to do with sharing the blame if the system self-destructs?” she said, raising an eyebrow at the adults.

“This is going to be a long apocalypse,” grunted Tim.

“Wait until Alex gets back,” said Kate, winking at Tim.

“It’s working fine, Mrs. Fletcher,” said Abby, waving a yellow handheld instrument. “The new controller is blocking the flow of electricity because it can’t detect the battery bank charge. I tested the input beyond the controller with a voltmeter.”

“Looks like you’re having fun, Ms. Tesla. If everyone concurs this is set up right, throw the switch.”

“We have Emily and Ethan watching the connection in the barn. You never know… Alex’s log indicates that the bank of panels on the barn have never been tested with this gear. They have a fire extinguisher,” said Samantha.

“Mom, it’s fine. The electricity is already flowing from the panels through the barn. This won’t change anything,” said Abby, shaking her head. “Ready?”

“Go for it,” said Kate.

Abby flipped the transfer switch, and nothing happened at the circuit breaker box. She pointed behind them at two side-by-side LED monitors wired to the battery bank, which consisted of 16 deep-cell, 12-Volt AGM batteries mounted on a thick wooden table in the center of the room. Red and black wires ran back and forth across the batteries, in a pattern that made little sense to Kate. She believed they were connected in parallel, whatever that meant. The monitors showed green numbers, which she assumed was a good sign.

“It’s charging. The one on the left is set to measure the charging current and the one on the right is a multifunction monitor. It’s showing 12.6 volts, which means the battery bank is about ninety percent charged. Based on the calculations in Mr. Fletcher’s book, the system is rated to provide 2880 amp hours, which should be enough to run lights at night, the security equipment, the pump for the well, and other appliances if absolutely necessary. Long term, we’ll have to closely monitor the charge and discharge rates. It’s all in the book. We should probably take a close look,” said Abby.

Everyone clapped and congratulated Abby, who looked slightly embarrassed, but continued.

“We replaced the controller, inverter and both monitors, but we don’t have any more backups.”

“Is the system still vulnerable to an EMP?” said Kate.

“We disconnected the grid-tie inverter, but according to Mr. Fletcher’s book, the wires connecting the panels to the house will probably conduct enough of the EMP to fry everything. If we get hit again, we’re out of luck.”

“Well, I doubt that’ll happen. How many times in one lifetime do you get EMP’d?” said Tim.

“Once is more than enough,” Samantha remarked. “Great job, sweetie. Your dad would be really proud!”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I didn’t understand half of what you said, but it sounds like we have a new power Czar at the compound. Congratulations on your promotion, Abby,” said Kate.

“Sure, Mrs. Fletcher. Thank you. So, where are we going to set up the surveillance monitors?”

“We wanted to ask you about that, Kate,” said Samantha. “Alex didn’t leave any instructions about where to set up the station. Everything is wireless, so it can pretty much go anywhere. We just need to plug in the monitors and the receivers for the cameras and sensors. Abby said she’ll have the wireless router set up in less than thirty minutes.”

“Perfect. Bummer about the cameras. I was expecting more than eight,” said Kate.

“The diagram shows eight mounting points, so I don’t think we missed anything in the boxes. Three on the barn and five on the house. I took a look outside, and each point has a weatherproofed outlet under the mount. Camera specs say you can see in total darkness for sixty feet.”

“That’s fine. We can’t be expected to watch fifty screens for activity. We’ll have our hands full with the motion sensors. We have deer all over the place, along with the occasional moose,” said Tim.

“I know. Linda and I have concentrated on the most likely avenues of approach through the property. Alex spent a ton of time walking the grounds and mapping that out.”

“You know, there was a time when I thought Alex was a little touched in the head.” Samantha chuckled. “But now? I’m pissed that he doesn’t have more cameras!”

“Oh, he’s still a little touched. Remember, this is all once in a lifetime odds stuff,” said Kate, motioning to the storage shelves behind them.

“Twice in a lifetime,” Tim corrected. “We should probably run an inventory or something later; see where we stand.”

“It looks like we might get some substantial rain. We can sit down and hash it all out in the afternoon,” Kate said. “I’m going to grab Ethan and Emily from the barn and drag them out to help. We might be able to get the sensors done by the time the rain hits. I should probably grab one of the cameras to put up at the gate, in case we have visitors. Linda said she could hardwire it to the gate’s power source somehow.”

“Sounds good,” said Tim. “Let me know when she’s going to do that, so I can shut the power off. I’m pretty good with wiring if she needs any help.”

“I’ll pass that along,” said Kate.

“That’s it, then,” Tim said, ruffling Abby’s hair. “Sam and I will install the house cameras and replace the motion-activated lights while the IT genius here sets up the surveillance headquarters in the dining room. We’ll need the table for the monitors and the receivers. It’s a good, central location. We can set up an air mattress or one of those cots for whoever pulls the midnight shift.”

“Perfect. Amy’s crew has secured the garage, and they’re starting on the sandbags,” Kate informed him. “They’re going to fill as many as possible before the rain. I told them to dig east of the garage. They can walk the bags through the bulkhead door on the other side of the basement and stack them in the root cellar. We’ll figure out how to build the safe boxes later. Hey, awesome job on this. Everything is coming together nicely.”

Samantha nodded. “And we’re ahead of schedule.”

“Even better. Give us a holler on the radio when lunch is ready. Amy thought we’d eat around one,” said Kate.

“Will do,” replied Tim.

Kate smiled at Abby and walked across the basement, headed out of the “bunker.” The basement was divided into two sides, like the basement in their home on Durham Road. The half beyond the reinforced door contained Tim and Amy Fletcher’s basement storage, with room for seasonal yard furniture, bicycles and whatever else they decided to migrate out of the cold weather. Like Alex, they were particular about organization, which was Kate’s way of politely rephrasing “anal retentive.” The Fletchers’ trademark 50-gallon plastic bins lined the walls, four high, apparently filled with everything that they had ever owned. She couldn’t complain. Much of what they had brought with them when they moved with Ethan and Kevin from Colorado after the 2013 pandemic was too painful to display and sat untouched in the bins.

The bunker resembled an expanded version of Kate and Alex’s Scarborough home. The far western wall, underneath the expanded great room, housed the furnace, hot water tank, oil tanks and electrical system. Sturdy metal shelves lined the rest of the cement foundation, containing enough food and essential supplies to support the Fletchers’ core family for at least five years—well beyond the expiration dates on some of the canned goods rotated through the stockpile.

Supplementing the vast selection of canned, pickled and dry goods, a deep tower of pre-packed plastic buckets, each containing one hundred twenty individually sealed freeze-dried meals, occupied the entire wall next to the door. She knew that the buckets alone contained enough meals to sustain eight adults for an entire year, only requiring water to reconstitute. With a shelf life of twenty-five years, the buckets represented their last option. She shuddered to think how they might feel after eating nothing but freeze-dried food for a year, but it easily beat the alternative.

Beyond food, the shelves housed routine and emergency supplies; extra prescription medications needed by Alex’s parents, along with antibiotics and antivirals purchased online through Canadian pharmacies; vitamins, supplements and protein powders; paper products and toilet paper; hundreds of candles and a wide array of portable lights; rechargeable battery stations and thousands of dollars’ worth of batteries, both rechargeable and disposable; communications equipment, including handheld scanners, walkie-talkies, headsets—much of this gear had already been moved upstairs by Tim.

The shelves’ contents represented anything and everything Alex had discovered on the hundreds of prepper forums and blogs that he frequented and wrote about for a living since the 2013 pandemic. Kate never said a word about the pile-up of gear or the near daily UPS and FEDEX deliveries. As their accountant, she knew exactly how much money he spent annually on prepping, and his website consulting business income far exceeded the expenditures.

Over the past three years, they had turned a substantial profit, in addition to receiving the equivalent of her senior accountant salary in “test” items to review on Alex’s site. Even without the additional income to cover the expenses, they had enough money invested to spend like drunken sailors for the rest of their lives and barely touch the capital.

Of course, the traditional concept of financial security in America and the rest of the world may have taken a long hiatus, unlikely to return in any recognizable form. Despite Washington’s rhetoric, the nation’s economy had barely reached the point of stumbling six years after the Jakarta Pandemic. Stocked shelves, off-the-grid house, vegetable garden and grain field, year-round water access—this was the new face of prosperity.

Chapter 11

EVENT +56:33

^{Limerick, Maine}

Eli Russell sat in the front seat of the York County Sherriff’s Department cruiser with “Deputy Brown,” looking for the entrance described by good folks on the other side of Gelder Pond. Standing in one of their backyards and surveying the eastern shoreline, he’d spotted a lone dock nearly halfway across. Three-quarters of the way down Gelder Pond Lane, he pounded the dashboard.

“Turn the car around, Jeff. We must have missed it. No mailbox. No nothing.”

Jeffrey Brown, recently promoted to squad leader after the public execution of the previous one, had proven to be more than amenable to Eli’s plan for him to impersonate a sheriff’s deputy, never asking a single question about the three bullet holes in the left side of the cruiser or the missing rear driver’s side window. He didn’t even have a problem wearing the officer’s blood-speckled duty belt over jeans and a tan short-sleeve, button-down shirt. In fact, he looked enthused and oddly proud when Eli wiped the blood off the slain deputy’s badge and pinned it to his left pocket.

“There it is,” said Brown, stopping the car.

Eli peered through Brown’s window at the unbroken foliage, finally noticing the faint gravel path beyond a young spruce. He stepped out of the cruiser into the downpour and approached the tree. A four-foot-wide, one-foot-deep band of dirt and forest floor debris had been strewn across the gravel road leaving Gelder Pond Lane, blending one side of the driveway with the other. A common spruce tree, roughly eight feet tall, stood in the middle of the dirt, secured upright by green paracord, extending to stronger trees on each side of the entrance. He kicked at the base, expecting it to give way, but it remained firmly in place. A quick inspection showed that a two by four had been driven at least a foot into the driveway and screwed to the back of the tree base.

Clever. Clever.

He cut the paracord with his knife and pushed the tree toward the side of the driveway, letting the weight and leverage of the spruce snap the two by four. Soaked and fuming with anger, he kicked at the shard of wood sticking up from the faux forest floor until he was satisfied that the splinters couldn’t possibly penetrate the cruiser’s tire.

“Up to the house,” he said, slamming the door shut and wiping his face.

Brown didn’t say a word, which was one of several reasons Eli felt the young man had a promising future in the Maine Liberty Militia. His usual driver would have made some inane comment about the rain or whatever trivial detail suited his need to run his piehole in overdrive. Eli had extended that hole all the way through the back of his head when he kept bringing up the “coincidence” of two of Eli’s men being killed in the same day. “Ain’t that an unbelievable coincidence?” “You’d swear this was Friday the 13^th, if you didn’t know it was Tuesday,” and on and on, until he’d told the idiot to pull over so he could take a piss. One bullet later, he had his peace and quiet back. The car halted, shoving Eli forward in his seat.

“What is this place, Fort fucking Knox?” he said, staring at a sturdy metal gate. “Any way around that?”

“Doesn’t look like it, sir. Are we sure this is the right place? This seems more like one of those setups on that Armageddon Preppers show,” said Brown.

Even Brown’s choice of words didn’t piss him off. He used ‘we,’ instead of ‘you’ to avoid sounding like he was raining an accusation of incompetence down on Eli. He’d caught the innuendo, but it didn’t bother him. And he had to admit, this didn’t seem to fit the mold. Whoever lived here had a nice setup for waiting out “the big one.”

“I agree, but our only witness swears that he recognized one of the kids in my nephew’s silver BMW SUV. Seen them in town at the diner and pizza joint over the past couple summers. Every other house on the pond is a long-standing resident of Limerick. This has to be it. Son of a bitch, I don’t want to walk it in. I can’t even see the damn place.”

Brown lowered his window and pressed a button on the keypad, illuminating the numbers.

“They even have power. Press the intercom button and smile. I’m willing to bet we’re on camera,” said Eli.

An electronic chime echoed from the house. Kate dropped the grilled cheese sandwich on her plate and stood up. She pushed her chair back and rushed through the sliding glass door connecting the house to the covered porch, beating Samantha, who sat on the other side of the table.

They made it!

“Is that Dad?” said Emily, as Kate flashed by the teenagers huddled around the kitchen table.

“I think so,” she whispered, creating a discordance of squealing chairs.

Everyone followed her to the digital intercom panel built into the kitchen wall, just outside of the hallway leading to the foyer and stairs. She reached her hand forward to press the green, blinking “Intercom” button. A surprisingly strong hand seized her wrist and yanked it back.

“What the f—”

“Alex knows the code,” hissed her father-in-law, releasing her hand.

She seethed with anger for a moment before the full ramifications of answering the intercom without checking the camera sank in.

“Let’s check the camera feed. Sorry to grab you,” said Tim.

“No. That was my fault,” Kate said, following him to the dining room.

Tim swiped his finger over the track pad on the laptop, conjuring a quad-screen digital feed. The top left image displayed the gate. The EMP had damaged the front gate security system, leaving them without a built-in camera feed or the ability to open the gate remotely. With the voice intercom still functional, they rigged one of the wireless cameras to the gate’s power source and hid it in one of the trees beyond the keypad.

“It’s the cops,” announced one of Linda’s daughters.

“Everyone upstairs. Right now!” said Linda. “Let’s go!”

“Why do you always have to yell, Mom? Jesus,” said Alyssa, her brown-haired, hazel-eyed daughter.

“Watch it, missy! Get moving.”

“We could ignore it and see what they do. If they walk in, we can always say that the system got fried in the house,” said Kate.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” said Samantha. “We need to answer and see what’s up. They might have news about our husbands.”

“I hope not,” said Amy Fletcher.

“Something’s off with these guys. No uniforms and—”

“They have badges,” Samantha cut in.

“Those could be from a gumball machine, for all I can tell,” said Tim.

“A gumball machine? How old are you exactly?” said Kate.

“You know what I mean. I think they’d have uniforms no matter what the situation. Take a look at the passenger. That guy doesn’t look like a sheriff’s deputy. His hair is too long and—look right there! Guy has a tattoo on his neck. You can barely see it above the collar. No way we should buzz them through.”

“It seems like we’re asking for more trouble by not talking to them,” said Samantha.

“Are those bullet holes?” said Kate.

Tim pointed at the image. “Looks like the back window was shot out. Why else would they have it down in the rain? The back seat is empty. I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

“Neither do I,” Kate agreed. “The two crazies that stopped us kept saying they were the law. Who the hell knows what’s going on out there? I say let them sweat it out. If they’re real, and they want to talk to us badly enough, they can walk in.”

“I agree,” said Linda. “We should watch the eastern tree line and keep everyone upstairs for now.”

Samantha nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. “Will the motion sensors pick them up in the rain?”

“They should. It’s a passive IR system. We created overlap zones by placing two sensors facing each other at about a hundred and twenty feet apart. Even if they pass through the middle, we should pick them up. Four of these zones cover the eastern approach from the road, placed in a line from one side of the property boundary to the other—maybe three hundred paces into the forest. That should give us enough of a buffer to react,” said Linda.

“And the rest of the property?” asked Samantha.

Linda winced. “We only found thirty-two sensors. The north and south boundaries are roughly two thousand feet each according to Alex’s diagram, four times the length of the eastern approach. The water frontage is…”

“Five hundred forty-two feet,” said Tim.

“We installed five overlap zones on each side, about three hundred paces into the forest, focusing on the areas Alex highlighted. Mainly game trails and natural openings. It’s pretty thick in there, with some ledge, so we’ll get some natural channeling effect. We have two zones covering the center of the pond approach. The perimeter isn’t airtight, but the odds are stacked in our favor. Anyone heading to the house should trigger one of the sensors. We didn’t mess with the trip flares. They looked like World War One relics. I can’t believe Alex stored those in the house.”

“Neither can I,” said Amy.

“I drew up a chart with all of the zones. The transceivers are labeled and arranged on the table in a rough representation of the perimeter for easy reference. Each transceiver simultaneously monitors four sensors. Two zones. You’ll get a visual warning on the digital display and an audible warning, telling you which of the four sensors were triggered. It’s pretty self-explanatory when you see the setup in the dining room.”

“What do we do if one of the alarms goes off?” asked Samantha.

“We sit tight and stay out of sight. If they decide to pay us a visit, the only people they should see are Ma and Pa Fletcher,” Linda explained. “Under no circumstances do we allow them into the house.”

“What if they insist, as in open the door or we’ll open it for you?” asked Tim.

“Then we’ll know they didn’t come here on official business and act accordingly,” said Kate, patting her drop holster.

“If they produce a warrant, you better not produce a gun,” said Samantha.

“If they produce a warrant, I’ll serve as your personal butler for the remainder of the year,” Kate quipped.

“What are these people thinking? Flash the lights and hit the siren for a few seconds,” said Eli.

He waited a long minute after the sound and light show.

“I guess they don’t give a shit about the law. All right. Back it up and park us about fifty feet down the road. That way,” he said, pointing north. “I want to take a little look before we call in the cavalry.”

Brown pulled the car along the right side of Gelder Pond Lane and stopped.

“Should I bring the .308?”

“Negative. We’ll map everything out and head back to base. This is strictly a reconnaissance mission.”

“Roger that,” said Brown, opening his car door.

“We have company!” yelled Linda. “Zone 2. Single sensor pick-up. If they head straight in, they’ll appear due east of the garden.”

“Shit!” Samantha yelled from the kitchen. “I told you it was the cops!”

“I don’t give a shit who it is. They’re trespassing,” said Kate, slinging her rifle. “I’ll head up to the master bedroom and keep an eye on the tree line.”

“I’ll join you,” said Linda. “Sam, I need you to stay here and watch the sensors. Call us on the handheld if any of them are triggered.”

“Got it. What are you going to do if they head toward the house?”

“That all depends on how they approach and what they’re carrying,” said Linda. “I’m sending the kids into the cellar with Amy until this is resolved. Tim, I want you to make sure all of the doors are locked, then keep Sam company.”

“I’ll check the front door on my way upstairs,” said Kate, patting her father-in-law’s shoulder.

He leaned his M-14 rifle against the wall and hurried after Kate, catching her before she turned down the foyer hallway.

“Don’t do anything we’ll all regret. If they’re alone, we’ll talk to them at the door. The last thing we need is the entire Sheriff’s Department pitched in against us. We’ll lose everything.”

“What happened to the ‘I smell a rat’ speech?”

“Let’s sniff them out a little closer. Trust me on this,” said Tim.

Eli Russell crept to the edge of the tree line, pushing the underbrush out of the way, until he had reached the point where he couldn’t go any further without breaking concealment. Brown eased into a position behind the thick tree to his left and nodded, staring straight ahead. Dense, unkempt bushes forced the use of a compass to stay on a due-west heading. The Fletcher compound remained obscured by heavy rain until they reached a point roughly fifty feet from the edge of the clearing, reinforcing his assessment that it would be nearly impossible for anyone in the house to detect their arrival. Unslinging a pair of powerful binoculars, he rose on both knees until he had a view of the house and the surrounding area.

Through the rain-splashed lens, he saw that they had arrived on the left side of the house, from the perspective of someone standing on the front porch and facing the front yard. They had agreed that all observations would be recorded relative to the viewpoint of this imaginary observer. Continuity of perspective was critical to recreating an accurate diagram of the compound.

Most of his view consisted of the eastern side of the house. A single window on the ground level facing them indicated that he was looking at the garage, which probably housed his deceased nephew’s SUV. Further examination led him to suspect that they had boarded up the window from the inside. He could see wood through the rain-splattered window. That was all the evidence he needed to bring back a squad or two of soldiers.

“Well, looky here. A surveillance camera,” said Eli.

“Got it,” said Brown. “Along with that motion-activated light up on the second story. The camera looks stationary. Do you think any of that shit works, with the EMP and all?”

“Unless they replaced it all, I highly doubt it.”

“Do you think they could see us if it worked?” Brown asked.

“I highly doubt it. Even if those are quality cameras, the image will be grainy. Throw in the rain, and we’ll be washed out. Those windows up there are a different story. Someone with a pair of binoculars might be able to pick us out. Keep an eye on them for movement.”

“Roger that, sir. Did you notice the screens have been removed from the windows?”

“Good eye, Mr. Brown. They’re ready for action.”

He panned right to a partial, long view of the back of the colonial-style house. A bulkhead door protruded from the foundation, next to a covered screen porch containing a table and some of that fancy outdoor furniture he saw in his ex-wife’s Pottery Barn catalogue. He couldn’t be certain, but the table looked like it had been abandoned in the middle of a meal—unless they were slobs. Five table settings and what looked to be like the remains of sandwiches. Definitely an open bag of chips. Five was one more than the neighbors reported to be living out here.

Set back from the house, a red, two-story barn with roof-mounted solar panels materialized between sheets of rain.

Damn. These people have it all!

“Looks like we just found our new headquarters. Did you see the solar panels?”

“Yeah. This looks like a completely self-sustaining operation. The vegetable garden behind the house nearly stretches to the trees. That’s enough square footage to feed several families, and if you squint between rainsqualls, you’ll see that they’re growing a sizeable plot of something way in front of the house. Some kind of grain.”

“Shit. I might have to keep a few of them alive to tend the crops and keep the boys happy,” he said, finishing his sentence with a barely audible mutter and a grin. “Be a fitting life sentence for these bitches.” He studied the layout for another minute. “What are you thinking in terms of tactics?”

“Definitely bring in the primary breaching team behind the barn,” Brown said. “They’ll probably have cameras back there and some motion-triggered lights, but at that point it won’t matter. Once we have control of the barn, we can suppress them from the northern tree line,” he said, pointing beyond the vegetable garden, “and move the team right up onto the screened porch and in. Probably keep another team right here. Be easy to suppress those two windows and move a group across once all of the shooting starts on the other side.”

“Damn. You read my mind, son. Were you Delta Force or something?”

“3^rd Ranger Battalion, sir.”

“No shit? 101st Airborne. Screaming Eagles.”

“Airborne!” they said, pumping fists in the air.

“Are you seeing this shit?” said Kate, standing several feet away from the leftmost window, staring through binoculars.

“Cops, my ass,” muttered Linda.

“I can’t pick them out of the forest on either screen,” said Samantha, over the handheld, “what are they doing?”

“Reconnaissance. If they were real cops, they’d ring the doorbell and state their business,” responded Kate.

“Maybe they want to make sure it’s safe to approach.”

“They drove up to the gate and pressed the intercom button. I’m pretty sure they would have driven their cruiser right up the driveway. Not exactly the safest approach. Hold on—they’re leaving,” Kate announced. “No way this was legit.”

“I’d probably be cautious too if no one answered,” stated Samantha.

“But why leave once you checked the place out?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter if they’re leaving,” the radio squawked.

“If they’re leaving. Let’s verify their departure. They should hit the sensors on the way out.”

“Got it,” said Samantha.

Kate let the binoculars hang and grabbed the rifle leaned up against the wall next to the windowsill. She sat on the edge of her in-laws’ bed and wiped the sweat from her face. “So, what now?”

“How many sandbags did they get filled before lunch?” asked Linda.

“A little short of two hundred. Moving them into the house slowed down the process. We have enough to make five positions as described in Alex’s diagram, or two of the safe boxes.”

“I’d almost rather have the firing positions than the bunkers. We can give ourselves full coverage. Five positions, five adults. Keep the kids in the basement if all hell breaks loose,” said Linda, still watching the tree line.

“Until the rain stops, and we can fill the bags with something other than mud, I think this is our best plan. If they’re really leaving, we’ll have time. Looks like we’ll be working with the mosquitos tonight.”