Alex turned and slammed into a man that had suddenly emerged from the corner, knocking both of them to the ground.
“Back the fuck off!” a female voice warned from the shadows.
Alex struggled to his feet, aiming his rifle at the corner.
“Hey, we’re not looking for any trouble. Headed north, that’s all,” said the man, brushing himself off.
Alex backed up and shifted left, bringing the entire group into view. A black and yellow, overstuffed hiking backpack pulled heavily at the husband’s shoulders, stretching his sweat-stained, gray T-shirt. With a dark green ball cap pulled tightly over his head, it was hard to pin down his age. The fading light didn’t make it any easier. Mid-thirties to early forties probably.
His wife wore khaki, multipocketed shorts and a black shirt, equally burdened by an overstuffed integrated frame hiking pack. Blond hair spilled over her shoulders from under her maroon cadet-style hat. Solid hiking boots and CamelBak hoses completed the couple’s REI look. He couldn’t see the kids through the parental shield, but they didn’t come up past the husband’s waist. They wouldn’t last very long on the road. He doubted they would make it out of Massachusetts.
“Are you travelling alone?” Alex asked them.
“Just us. We left an hour ago,” said the man. “Put the knife away, honey. He has a gun bigger than you.”
“Sorry about that,” Alex said, lowering the rifle. “Captain Alex Fletcher, 3rd Special Forces Group. We’re part of a surveillance team sent to assess the ground situation. Have you seen any other military units in the vicinity?”
“All over the place. There’s a big unit at the hospital. That’s probably your best bet,” said the husband. “Where did you guys come from?”
“North,” said Alex.
“We need to get going. We figured the 93 would be less active at night.”
“How far do you plan to go?” said Alex.
“We have family up in Concord. It’s a straight shot.”
“Honey,” his wife whispered, pulling at him, “we should go.”
“Do you have maps?” asked Alex.
The man didn’t answer.
“Stay off the main roads, and avoid any downtown areas,” Alex advised. “They’re jammed with plenty of people who wouldn’t hesitate to cut your throat in front of the kids to take a peek in one of those backpacks. You should plan to stop by nine in the morning. Start looking for a private, shaded spot well before that. The kids won’t last an hour in the midday heat. Replenish your water whenever possible. Can you purify water?”
“We have iodine pills,” said the husband.
“Try to strain the water through a T-shirt before filling your CamelBaks. Kids don’t like to find sinkers and bobbers in their water. Keep a low profile, and don’t take any deals that seem too good to be true. We’ve had reports of militia units doing some nasty shi—stuff further north.”
“Jesus,” muttered the wife.
“Trust nobody but family. It’s getting bad out there,” said Alex.
“That’s why we’re leaving,” said the husband. “We’ve heard the city is out of control past the Charles, and it’s about to spill over.”
Alex tilted his head, catching the sound of a diesel engine. Headlights flashed along the bushes across Lawrence Road, headed in their direction.
“Grab the kids!”
Alex grabbed both of the parents by their backpack chest straps and yanked them around the corner into a scorched evergreen bush. The kids screamed, causing the wife to break loose and pull at Ed. Alex jerked her backward by her hair, and she screamed.
“Shut up!” he hissed, clamping his hand over her mouth.
Ed managed to corral the kids into the shadows as a large, wheeled military vehicle rumbled past Ashcroft Road, heading east on Lawrence. The woman bit his hand, and he let go, giving her enough leverage to twist around and punch him in the mouth. He grabbed her wrist before she could pull it back to hit him again.
“What the fuck is wrong with you people? Why didn’t you want them to see you?” she demanded.
“Avoid contact with any government units if feasible. Make no assumptions. Can you navigate the Middlesex reservation?”
She stared at him, poised to strike again. “What’s going on out there?” she asked.
“Nobody knows.”
The woman took both children by the hand and pulled them out of the bushes. Her husband stood there, frozen.
“Are you coming? We need to get as far away from here as possible. We should have left yesterday like I said. I knew it. If these guys can’t even trust each other,” she said, pointing at Alex and the distant vehicle, “we’re utterly fucked.”
The woman grabbed the hand of one of her kids, angrily motioned for her husband to do the same, and they stalked off.
“That went really well,” said Ed when they turned a corner. “How’s your face?”
“Still have all of my teeth. She bit me. You see that?” said Alex, picking up the pace.
“Can you blame her? ‘Grab the kids’?” said Ed. “We’re lucky she didn’t stab one of us. Hey, on the bright side, you sounded convincing back there.”
“That’s about the only thing that went right.”
“And we didn’t get machine-gunned by the truck. Maybe walking the streets with an assault rifle isn’t the best idea with armored personnel carriers cruising the streets,” said Ed. “Especially at night. Can you break that thing down?”
“I can’t hide your Ruger. It’s one piece. Carrying a civilian rifle will look even more conspicuous,” said Alex.
“More than your SEAL Team Six gun?”
“I’ll try to keep it out of sight for now,” said Alex. “Once we get over the Mystic, we won’t stick out.”
“Except we’ll be going in the opposite direction,” said Ed.
“People will be going everywhere. We’ll be fine.”
Alex peeked around the corner, scanning the street toward Governors Avenue. A blood-orange band of sky stretched across the western horizon, hanging above the quiet street. A few stragglers moved up the sidewalk in the distance. They’d have to be extremely cautious crossing open spaces, especially streets.
Just hours after the “event,” the Department of Homeland Security issued orders to disarm citizens on sight. Thirty-six hours later, those orders might include “shoot on sight” considerations. Armed men sneaking around at night would go at the top of that list. The M240G machine gun mounted to the Joint Light Tactical Vehicle turret would make short work of them, no matter where they tried to hide.
“Just a walk in the park,” he mumbled.
Chapter 39
EVENT +41:58 Hours
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Alex leaned against a tree and lifted his night vision goggles to check his watch. Four miles in three hours. The pace was agonizingly slow, but it had kept them out of trouble. After Medford, they strictly avoided commercial or business districts, opting for the quiet, pitch-black neighborhoods that most of the refugees avoided. They couldn’t avoid crossing major roads, but the continuous migration east toward Interstate 93 kept the main thoroughfares busy, providing enough urban camouflage to slip across and disappear. They’d seen two police cars and one military vehicle during their journey.
“Let’s stop here and take a break,” said Ed.
The smell of barbequed chicken wafted into the street, chased by raucous laughter.
“Probably not the best place for a pit stop.”