Ed let out a deep breath, “I can live with that.”
Samantha nodded. “All right.”
“We’ll need a lookout with a radio on the second floor,” said Charlie, “and someone on the ground level in case they try to get into the main house.”
“I’ll watch from Daniel’s room. Charlie’s probably a better choice to have guarding the doors,” said Ed.
“We’ll switch off, so you can get sleep, or at least try,” said Samantha.
“It’s gonna be a long night, but we’ll get through this. By noon tomorrow, you’ll be safe at the compound. We’ll join you with Chloe and Ryan the day after that,” said Alex.
“Easy as that?” said Ed, finally smiling.
“Easy as that,” repeated Alex.
Chapter 20
EVENT +21:37 Hours
Scarborough, Maine
Alex swatted lethargically at the mosquitos. What was the point? The swarm above his head was unusually aggressive, relentlessly attacking his sweaty face. Their buzz competed with a distant generator. Annoying, but blameless, the mosquitos could be forgiven. Unlike humans, they lacked the capacity to govern their response to deeply ingrained survival instincts. Alex lay in the backyard as a hedge against their collective bet that Jamie and her husband had given in to their instincts.
Samantha had given him a thick comforter to lay over the mud, which he had placed over an old, supposedly waterproof poncho. The system had kept him dry for roughly seven minutes before the brackish water seeped over and around the poncho, quickly soaking the comforter. At least he wasn’t lying in a puddle of shit water. The hastily assembled ground cover had prevented him from sinking far enough into the mud for that.
He’d set up along the edge of the drainage easement behind the Walkers’ house, on the downward side of the slope, exposing little more than his rifle and his head to the house. His feet sat less than a foot from the water trapped in the ditch. The easement ran the entire length of the backyards, giving him an unobstructed view in both directions. The dual-tube night vision goggles had turned night into day, ensuring that nobody stood a chance of approaching undetected.
His earpiece crackled. “Alex,” Charlie reported, “I have a male with some type of rifle crossing the street between Jamie’s house and the house to the left. Looks like he’s headed to the Andersons’ next door. I need to go to the other side of the house. I’m about to lose him.”
“Stay where you are, and keep a close eye on Jamie’s house. Make sure we don’t have any more surprises. I have it from here. Charlie, did you copy?”
“Copy. Standing by,” said Charlie.
Alex pointed his HK416 semiautomatic rifle at the left corner of the house. He figured that Jeff would appear there first and slide along the house.
A darkened shape appeared beyond the corner for a moment. He focused his attention on the white trim, which appeared pale green in his goggles, and waited. Jeff Michaud’s head slowly emerged, followed by the shotgun. He pressed the transmit button on his shoulder-mounted handheld radio.
“He’s at the corner of Ed’s house. Pump action shotgun,” he whispered, mentally blocking out the nervous replies.
Several seconds later, Jamie’s husband stepped into the open and walked slowly along the back of the house, the mud sucking at his feet.
Alex moved his left hand along the hand guard to the vertical fore grip and double tapped the remote switch attached to the rail. A green light spanned the backyard, striking the house behind Michaud. Invisible to the naked eye, the infrared (IR) beam emitted by the Dual Beam Aiming Laser (DBAL) attached to the top rail of his rifle could only be seen using night vision technology. Alex shifted the laser onto Michaud’s head and waited for him to pause at the edge of the Walkers’ mangled deck.
“That’s far enough!” he warned.
Michaud raised the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed into the darkness beyond Alex, craning his head frantically. The green laser remained centered on his forehead. He took another step forward.
“Stop! Right! There!” yelled Alex. “Drop your weapon, and put your hands on top of your head!”
“Where are you?” said Michaud, shifting his aim in Alex’s general direction.
“Last chance, Jeff! Drop the shotgun, or I’ll shoot!”
Jeff Michaud paused, looked to both sides, and lowered the shotgun. Not good enough.
“Drop the shotgun!”
“I’ll leave! This is all I have to defend Jamie and the kids,” said Michaud.
“Either you drop the shotgun, or I’ll help you drop it.”
“I’m walking back to my house, Alex—and I’m taking this with me,” said Michaud.
“I’ll kill you if you take a single step with that thing. Last warning, Jeff!”
“You wouldn’t do that to Jamie and the kids! She’s already lost one husband,” he said, lifting his left foot out of the mud.
The rifle kicked, and Michaud dropped. The suppressor reduced the sound of the gunshot to that of a compressed-air-powered nail gun. With no background noise to compete, the sound would be heard clearly throughout the neighborhood and the street behind the Walkers’, but it wouldn’t register definitively as gunfire. Only someone with experience using suppressed firearms would be able to make the determination based on a single shot—not that anyone could call 911. He turned off the IR laser and stood up.
“You there, Alex?” said Charlie.
“I’m here. Jeff Michaud is dead.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Come out of the back door to the garage. Are we all clear, Ed?”
“All clear on the street, but something’s going on in Jamie’s mudroom. It’s hard to tell, but I saw some movement inside.”
“We’ll take care of it. Be careful by the window, Ed. Do like I showed you.”
“I’ll keep you posted. Are you sure Michaud is dead?”
“One hundred percent. Headshot,” said Alex.
“And we just leave him there?”
“Do you want to give him a proper burial?”
“Not really,” said Ed.
“Alex, was that a suppressor?” added Charlie.
“Let’s not transmit stuff like that in the open. Everyone cut the chatter. I’m headed across the backyard.”
The suppressor attached to his rifle was not registered with the ATF, and would most certainly land him in jail if discovered by authorities. He’d purchased it with a thick envelope of twenty-dollar bills after a gun show, hoping never to need it. He had a feeling it would be prove to be worth every penny in the upcoming days.
“Shit. Sorry, man. Probably just the echo or angle of the sound waves,” said Charlie.
“You done yet?” said Alex.
“Now I am. Out,” said Charlie.
They were using a privacy-coded subchannel within a rarely used public channel that had been silent all evening. He highly doubted anyone was listening, but he preferred they maintain better radio discipline. When they reached Boston, all of the channels would be busy, and finding a clear subchannel might present a challenge. He also wouldn’t be surprised if law enforcement officers within bigger departments were monitoring all of the available channels and subchannels.
With the grid down, handheld radios would become one of the only reliable forms of longer-range communication within the cities. Controlling the handheld channels or monitoring them would become critical. It was something they needed to keep in mind when navigating the city.
He replaced the radio and fought the mud on the flat ground above the easement lip. Tactically, the better move would be to use some of the sloped earth for cover and traverse along the axis of the ditch, but the mud was difficult enough on level ground, and the steep gradient led right into chest-high water. He had no plans for a midnight swim. Alex kept his rifle trained in the direction of the garage corner as he approached. Charlie’s form appeared in the door, and Alex signaled for him to cover the back of the house.