Two men in the front seats, one wearing a military-style boonie cap, woman and children in the back. None of them turned their heads when the two cars passed.
Charlie followed them with his eyes. “Fucking weird.”
“Weird is putting it mildly,” said Ed.
“What are they doing?” Alex asked.
“Shit!” Charlie blasted. “They just turned at the church.”
“What? How does that make sense?” said Alex.
“Maybe it’s one of those militia supply points.”
“With out-of-town guests? Something is off around here.”
“You just noticed?” Ed snorted. “It’s like driving through the fucking Twilight Zone.”
“At least they’re letting cars into Maine,” said Alex. “As weird as it is, I think we made the right call.”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said doubtfully. “Something wasn’t right with that car.”
Alex stayed silent as the Jeep crossed Edgecomb County Road and pressed forward through the intensifying rainsquall. They were less than a mile from the border crossing.
“Is this it?” asked Ed, slowing the car.
“Not according to the GPS,” said Alex.
The road opened into an industrial area, flanked by several warehouses and dozens of neatly arranged semi-trailers on either side of the road. One of the warehouses near the road had open sides, exposing stacks of recently milled wood. Trees swallowed the road again, and the rain intensified.
“Maybe we should wait for this to ease off a bit,” Ed suggested, slowing the Jeep even further.
“This might be our only shot. They won’t get out of their cars in this shit.”
“How far?” asked Ed.
“Not far,” said Alex. “Start to slow once we hit the bend. You ready back there, Charlie?”
“Ready as ever.”
“All right. Let’s go through it one more time. Ed stops the car roughly fifty feet from the roadblock, and I get out. I’ll talk to whoever is blocking the bridge and figure out what we’re up against. Ed watches me with the binoculars. If I give the thumbs-up, he drives forward, and all is good. If I rub the top of my head, it’s a no-go. I’ll return to the car, and we’ll figure out how to bust through. If I reach for the gun behind my back, get ready for a hot extract. Charlie?”
“Suppressing fire. Over their heads,” said Charlie.
“Way over their heads, and only if they fire first. There’s no reason for them to fire at me. Over their heads and keep the volume of fire high. Ed, you turn the car around and wait for me to come to you. Good?”
“Got it,” responded Ed.
“Your job is the most important, Ed. Charlie won’t be watching the roadblock. There’s a three-way intersection right before the bridge. I need him to observe the road parallel to the river. It leads north to the other crossing, where there will be more police. Shit. Here’s the bend—slow us down a little more.”
The bend straightened, and the foliage cleared on the right to reveal a stretch of white picket fence along the road. A yellow bungalow-style house with a wide farmer’s porch sat back from the fence. A tall white church spire appeared above the trees beyond the house. Alex didn’t have time to assemble the bigger picture. The intersection was less than a hundred feet ahead.
He raised the binoculars, immediately spotting the roadblock. They would have to rethink the plan. This wasn’t a police roadblock. The tight, two-lane asphalt road spanning the Salmon Falls River was blocked at both ends by single SUVs. He could see little more than a three-to five-foot gap between the front bumper of the nearest SUV and the metal guard railings. The gap on the far side appeared even smaller. He didn’t see any personnel in the open on either side. Alex handed the binoculars back to Charlie.
“Stop us here,” said Alex.
As soon as the Jeep stopped, the dark green Toyota Land Cruiser’s doors opened. Two men dressed in MultiCam fatigues and boonie hats stepped onto the rain-swept pavement. They wore a variety of mismatched tactical gear, which immediately pegged them as militia. The men carried AR-style rifles attached to one-point slings. Alex was beginning to piece things together. Part of him screamed “get out of here.” The other part put his hand on the door handle.
“Make sure your rifle is ready for immediate action. I can almost guarantee this will be a no-go. If this goes bad, shoot for center mass. I’ll get out of your way. Three quick rounds at one target, then shift to the next. Keep shifting back and forth between targets until they are down,” said Alex, opening his door.
“Militia?” asked Charlie.
“Or locals. Nothing official, I can guarantee that.”
He glanced back at Ed, who looked calm. “You good?”
“Never been better,” said Ed. “Be careful with these guys.”
“Careful would be backing up and trying to talk our way past the state police,” said Alex, eliciting a nervous laugh from Ed.
He stepped onto the wet pavement and tucked the HK P30 into his waistband, pulling his shirt over the protruding handle. He had chosen not to wear his drop holster or any tactical gear for the drive, since he had anticipated having to possibly approach law enforcement officers at some point during their journey south. Even the presence of an empty tactical holster could end their trip prematurely.
This decision was quickly validated. Both men shifted into alert carry stances when Alex started walking toward them, pointing their weapons in his direction. They were anxious. The question was whether they were anxious out of uncertainty, or anxious to score a kill. In the deafening rain on this abandoned stretch of road, virtually in the middle of nowhere, he began to seriously question his own decision to step out of the car. He kept moving toward them through the warm rain, with his hands raised over his head.
One of them spoke into a handheld radio and waited for a reply, pressing the radio to his ear. A few seconds passed before he lowered the radio and hooked it onto his vest. Radioman assumed the ready carry position, with the butt stock jammed into his shoulder and the muzzle aimed at Alex. He thought of the pistol behind his back long enough to accept the fact that he’d be dead before he hit the ground if he tried to reach for it.
“That’s far enough!” yelled Radioman. “State your business.”
“I need to cross over into New Hampshire. My son is trapped in Boston. He’s a college student, and he has no way to get back home!” Alex yelled over the downpour.
“Nothing gets across in either direction! Those are my orders.”
“Look, all I want is to get my son. I’ll find a different way back,” said Alex.
“Orders,” said Radioman, shrugging his shoulders.
“State police are allowing Maine residents to cross the border in both directions,” said Alex.
“Then I suggest you take your car to one of their checkpoints. Nobody’s crossing here.”
“I just saw a car headed south on the road behind me. Looked like one of your guys in it. Massachusetts plates,” said Alex.
“They volunteered to give up their car. That’s the only way anyone gets across. We’re not having a repeat of 2013, with people driving around looting and pillaging our homes,” said Radioman.
“You’re making them walk?”
“We take them to Sanford or Springvale. Their choice. They have plenty of options there.”
“So there’s no way we get across here?”
“We’ll make an exception if you’re willing to give up your vehicle and everything inside. That’s the only way anyone gets across.”
With that statement, it all snapped into place for Alex. The men with rifles at the church. The car with Massachusetts plates turning into the church. Nobody was getting a lift to Sanford or Springvale.
He forced a smile. “I guess we’ll have to find another way across,” said Alex, lowering his right hand enough to scratch his head.