If the troopers ordered them out of the Jeep, they’d have no choice but to disobey and speed north toward the Wells exit, praying that they weren’t worth the time and effort of a high-speed pursuit. Alex’s crew needed to do everything in their power to avoid a law enforcement confrontation. The Jeep couldn’t outrun the police, and they had hesitantly but unanimously agreed that harming police officers was out of the question. Alex wasn’t convinced that he could abide by that pact, especially if it jeopardized rescuing his son. Turning around before the tollbooth assured that he wouldn’t have to test these doubts.
“All right, let’s get out of here,” he said.
The rear passenger-side/center seat combination directly behind Alex had been folded forward to give Charlie quick access to their rifles and tactical vests, which were hidden underneath a thick plaid comforter. Three black school-sized backpacks lay over the comforter next to Charlie, camouflaging its purpose. The lighter, off-the-shelf daypacks had been stuffed with food, water, medical supplies and emergency basics to last twenty-four hours. Sufficient for their excursion into Boston, but not enough to weigh them down like the heavier packs.
They would hide the sixty-pound, long-term endurance rucksacks in the forest, wherever they decided to leave the Jeep. If the Jeep disappeared while they were in the city, the success of their return voyage to Maine would depend on the rucksacks, especially if the kids were in bad shape. The larger packs were stuffed behind Charlie’s seat, on top of a few duffel bags filled with each family’s memorabilia. Gas containers, several two-gallon jugs of water and a box of MREs filled the remaining gaps in the rear compartment.
They could have fit twice as much gear into the Jeep, but for tactical reasons, they packed lightly. Alex wanted clear fields of vision in every direction and quick access to their equipment, which prevented them from filling every conceivable nook throughout the Jeep with repetitive gear. He also wanted to configure the Jeep’s load-out for the possibility of an immediate and irreversible abandonment of the vehicle while under fire. If an overwhelming threat engaged their vehicle, they needed to be in the forest or bushes with their weapons, tactical gear and MOLLE packs in less than fifteen seconds. His combat experience had irrevocably proven that quickly abandoning your vehicle and finding suitable cover, when the situation dictated, bettered your chance of survival. The Iraqi Fedayeen he’d encountered on the way to Bagdad in 2003 never adequately grasped that concept. They’d died in droves, clustered around their disabled vehicles. He had no intention of letting that happen to them.
Ed slowly turned the Jeep left and guided the vehicle through the orange traffic drums separating the two sides of the highway on the approach to the tollbooth. Alex watched the police vehicles with anticipation as they entered the northbound lanes and accelerated away from the massive roadblock. The only vehicle that followed them was a maroon pickup truck released through the checkpoint, which passed them at high speed less than a minute into their detour and disappeared ahead of them. Alex wondered if the pickup could navigate through the mud ahead.
“I don’t see anything following us,” said Charlie.
“Good. Let’s try to sort out a route to the border before we hit the Wells exit,” said Alex, reaching between the front seats to open a spiraled map book.
“We’ll have plenty of time with the fucking mud,” muttered Ed.
“Route 9 to Route 4 takes us through North and South Berwick to the border—then to Dover, New Hampshire,” said Charlie.
“I’m worried that we’ll be driving into the same situation we saw at the York tollbooth,” Alex said. “There’s only one other crossing between that one and the turnpike. My guess is that either the state police or locals will have them sealed up—possibly both ways.”
“There are plenty of places to cross further west. We can keep driving until we find one,” said Charlie.
“How far do you want to drive? They could have the entire border sealed up.”
Alex shrugged. “We have all day to figure this out. It’s not even nine yet.”
“And this little setback will end up costing us another hour, if we don’t get stranded in the mud. The clock is ticking. Did you see the rain clouds in the distance? The ground can’t take any more water. We’re fucked if this is a big storm,” said Ed.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not a major system. Looked like a chance of showers on the forecast” said Alex.
“When did you check last?” asked Ed.
“Saturday.”
“A lot can change in a few days.”
“We’ll start with the Berwicks and see what happens,” Alex said. “We might be able to talk our way across.”
Ed was right about the potential storm on the horizon. Alex had seen a chance of rain on the extended forecast when he checked on the weather for their sailing trip. He vaguely remembered seeing a chance of thunderstorms for today and clear weather for the rest of the week. Kate had eyeballed the distant clouds when they parted ways earlier, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.
She wasn’t a big fan of rain-soaked sailboat trips, and he had purposely glossed over that part of the week’s weather report right before packing up the car and heading over to the yacht club. The sailboat’s interior space shrank quickly when foul weather trapped them below with the kids for any length of time. Ironically, the decision to withhold part of the forecast from Kate probably had saved both of their lives. Kate liked to walk in the morning, and Alex invariably ran every other day. He usually skipped Sundays, which meant that he would have very likely found himself somewhere between his house and Higgins Beach when the tsunami swept inland.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, guys,” Charlie said. “Dover is a decent-sized city. We need to avoid high-population centers until we have no choice.”
“Dover’s not exactly teeming with people,” countered Ed.
“I’d prefer to avoid places like Dover,” Alex told them, “but we should still be all right in New Hampshire. I’m mostly worried about the outskirts of Boston.”
“I don’t agree, guys,” Charlie insisted. “If you live between Boston and Maine, you’re gonna want to get the fuck out of there. Dover and Portsmouth were ransacked by the kind citizens of Massachusetts and Connecticut during the pandemic. I’m just saying we can’t let our guard down.”
“We shouldn’t let our guard down at any time, but we can’t take every dirt road from here to Medford in an attempt to slip past any town with more than one traffic light. We need to reach the kids by tonight at the latest,” said Ed.
“Barring some unforeseen disaster, we’ll be in position to enter Medford around dusk.”
“Why can’t we just hide the car and go straight to the kids?” asked Ed.
“Because we’ll be wearing tactical gear and carrying military-style rifles through a heavily populated, urban setting. If we do this during broad daylight, we’ll attract a shit ton of attention. The wrong kind of attention. The only thing more valuable than a car right now is a military-grade weapon. Anyone with a little foresight knows that the situation in these high-population-density areas will implode. Even a rifle like yours will replace the dog as man’s best friend,” said Alex.