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.