Event Horizon (11 page)

“And the rest of the property?” asked Samantha.

Linda winced. “We only found thirty-two sensors. The north and south boundaries are roughly two thousand feet each according to Alex’s diagram, four times the length of the eastern approach. The water frontage is…”

“Five hundred forty-two feet,” said Tim.

“We installed five overlap zones on each side, about three hundred paces into the forest, focusing on the areas Alex highlighted. Mainly game trails and natural openings. It’s pretty thick in there, with some ledge, so we’ll get some natural channeling effect. We have two zones covering the center of the pond approach. The perimeter isn’t airtight, but the odds are stacked in our favor. Anyone heading to the house should trigger one of the sensors. We didn’t mess with the trip flares. They looked like World War One relics. I can’t believe Alex stored those in the house.”

“Neither can I,” said Amy.

“I drew up a chart with all of the zones. The transceivers are labeled and arranged on the table in a rough representation of the perimeter for easy reference. Each transceiver simultaneously monitors four sensors. Two zones. You’ll get a visual warning on the digital display and an audible warning, telling you which of the four sensors were triggered. It’s pretty self-explanatory when you see the setup in the dining room.”

“What do we do if one of the alarms goes off?” asked Samantha.

“We sit tight and stay out of sight. If they decide to pay us a visit, the only people they should see are Ma and Pa Fletcher,” Linda explained. “Under no circumstances do we allow them into the house.”

“What if they insist, as in open the door or we’ll open it for you?” asked Tim.

“Then we’ll know they didn’t come here on official business and act accordingly,” said Kate, patting her drop holster.

“If they produce a warrant, you better not produce a gun,” said Samantha.

“If they produce a warrant, I’ll serve as your personal butler for the remainder of the year,” Kate quipped.

***

“What are these people thinking? Flash the lights and hit the siren for a few seconds,” said Eli.

He waited a long minute after the sound and light show.

“I guess they don’t give a shit about the law. All right. Back it up and park us about fifty feet down the road. That way,” he said, pointing north. “I want to take a little look before we call in the cavalry.”

Brown pulled the car along the right side of Gelder Pond Lane and stopped.

“Should I bring the .308?”

“Negative. We’ll map everything out and head back to base. This is strictly a reconnaissance mission.”

“Roger that,” said Brown, opening his car door.

***

“We have company!” yelled Linda. “Zone 2. Single sensor pick-up. If they head straight in, they’ll appear due east of the garden.”

“Shit!” Samantha yelled from the kitchen. “I told you it was the cops!”

“I don’t give a shit who it is. They’re trespassing,” said Kate, slinging her rifle. “I’ll head up to the master bedroom and keep an eye on the tree line.”

“I’ll join you,” said Linda. “Sam, I need you to stay here and watch the sensors. Call us on the handheld if any of them are triggered.”

“Got it. What are you going to do if they head toward the house?”

“That all depends on how they approach and what they’re carrying,” said Linda. “I’m sending the kids into the cellar with Amy until this is resolved. Tim, I want you to make sure all of the doors are locked, then keep Sam company.”

“I’ll check the front door on my way upstairs,” said Kate, patting her father-in-law’s shoulder.

He leaned his M-14 rifle against the wall and hurried after Kate, catching her before she turned down the foyer hallway.

“Don’t do anything we’ll all regret. If they’re alone, we’ll talk to them at the door. The last thing we need is the entire Sheriff’s Department pitched in against us. We’ll lose everything.”

“What happened to the ‘I smell a rat’ speech?”

“Let’s sniff them out a little closer. Trust me on this,” said Tim.

***

Eli Russell crept to the edge of the tree line, pushing the underbrush out of the way, until he had reached the point where he couldn’t go any further without breaking concealment. Brown eased into a position behind the thick tree to his left and nodded, staring straight ahead. Dense, unkempt bushes forced the use of a compass to stay on a due-west heading. The Fletcher compound remained obscured by heavy rain until they reached a point roughly fifty feet from the edge of the clearing, reinforcing his assessment that it would be nearly impossible for anyone in the house to detect their arrival. Unslinging a pair of powerful binoculars, he rose on both knees until he had a view of the house and the surrounding area.

Through the rain-splashed lens, he saw that they had arrived on the left side of the house, from the perspective of someone standing on the front porch and facing the front yard. They had agreed that all observations would be recorded relative to the viewpoint of this imaginary observer. Continuity of perspective was critical to recreating an accurate diagram of the compound.

Most of his view consisted of the eastern side of the house. A single window on the ground level facing them indicated that he was looking at the garage, which probably housed his deceased nephew’s SUV. Further examination led him to suspect that they had boarded up the window from the inside. He could see wood through the rain-splattered window. That was all the evidence he needed to bring back a squad or two of soldiers.

“Well, looky here. A surveillance camera,” said Eli.

“Got it,” said Brown. “Along with that motion-activated light up on the second story. The camera looks stationary. Do you think any of that shit works, with the EMP and all?”

“Unless they replaced it all, I highly doubt it.”

“Do you think they could see us if it worked?” Brown asked.

“I highly doubt it. Even if those are quality cameras, the image will be grainy. Throw in the rain, and we’ll be washed out. Those windows up there are a different story. Someone with a pair of binoculars might be able to pick us out. Keep an eye on them for movement.”

“Roger that, sir. Did you notice the screens have been removed from the windows?”

“Good eye, Mr. Brown. They’re ready for action.”

He panned right to a partial, long view of the back of the colonial-style house. A bulkhead door protruded from the foundation, next to a covered screen porch containing a table and some of that fancy outdoor furniture he saw in his ex-wife’s Pottery Barn catalogue. He couldn’t be certain, but the table looked like it had been abandoned in the middle of a meal—unless they were slobs. Five table settings and what looked to be like the remains of sandwiches. Definitely an open bag of chips. Five was one more than the neighbors reported to be living out here.

Set back from the house, a red, two-story barn with roof-mounted solar panels materialized between sheets of rain.

Damn. These people have it all!

“Looks like we just found our new headquarters. Did you see the solar panels?”

“Yeah. This looks like a completely self-sustaining operation. The vegetable garden behind the house nearly stretches to the trees. That’s enough square footage to feed several families, and if you squint between rainsqualls, you’ll see that they’re growing a sizeable plot of something way in front of the house. Some kind of grain.”

“Shit. I might have to keep a few of them alive to tend the crops and keep the boys happy,” he said, finishing his sentence with a barely audible mutter and a grin. “Be a fitting life sentence for these bitches.” He studied the layout for another minute. “What are you thinking in terms of tactics?”

“Definitely bring in the primary breaching team behind the barn,” Brown said. “They’ll probably have cameras back there and some motion-triggered lights, but at that point it won’t matter. Once we have control of the barn, we can suppress them from the northern tree line,” he said, pointing beyond the vegetable garden, “and move the team right up onto the screened porch and in. Probably keep another team right here. Be easy to suppress those two windows and move a group across once all of the shooting starts on the other side.”

“Damn. You read my mind, son. Were you Delta Force or something?”

“3
^rd
Ranger Battalion, sir.”

“No shit? 101st Airborne. Screaming Eagles.”

“Airborne!” they said, pumping fists in the air.

***

“Are you seeing this shit?” said Kate, standing several feet away from the leftmost window, staring through binoculars.

“Cops, my ass,” muttered Linda.

“I can’t pick them out of the forest on either screen,” said Samantha, over the handheld, “what are they doing?”

“Reconnaissance. If they were real cops, they’d ring the doorbell and state their business,” responded Kate.

“Maybe they want to make sure it’s safe to approach.”

“They drove up to the gate and pressed the intercom button. I’m pretty sure they would have driven their cruiser right up the driveway. Not exactly the safest approach. Hold on—they’re leaving,” Kate announced. “No way this was legit.”

“I’d probably be cautious too if no one answered,” stated Samantha.

“But why leave once you checked the place out?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter if they’re leaving,”
the radio squawked.

“
If
they’re leaving. Let’s verify their departure. They should hit the sensors on the way out.”

“Got it,” said Samantha.

Kate let the binoculars hang and grabbed the rifle leaned up against the wall next to the windowsill. She sat on the edge of her in-laws’ bed and wiped the sweat from her face. “So, what now?”

“How many sandbags did they get filled before lunch?” asked Linda.

“A little short of two hundred. Moving them into the house slowed down the process. We have enough to make five positions as described in Alex’s diagram, or two of the safe boxes.”

“I’d almost rather have the firing positions than the bunkers. We can give ourselves full coverage. Five positions, five adults. Keep the kids in the basement if all hell breaks loose,” said Linda, still watching the tree line.

“Until the rain stops, and we can fill the bags with something other than mud, I think this is our best plan. If they’re really leaving, we’ll have time. Looks like we’ll be working with the mosquitos tonight.”

PART III

“A Bridge Too Far”

Chapter 12

EVENT +57:14

42 Orkney Rd

Brookline, Massachusetts

The first sound of distant thunder drew Ryan to the open window facing the street. He leaned on the armrests and craned his head, examining the sky. The light gray cloud cover had thickened, replaced by darker clouds, but the real menace clung to the western horizon. A purple-tinged, charcoal gray band hugged the skyline, slowly creeping in their direction.

“How long is the rain supposed to last?” he asked.

Chloe stopped fanning herself long enough to answer. “Most of the afternoon, but that was the forecast Sunday night, from what I can remember.”

“Take a look at this,” he said, stepping back from the chair.

She didn’t look thrilled to get up, and he didn’t blame her. Without air-conditioning or any semblance of a breeze, the apartment sweltered from the unabated heat wave suffocating New England. Daytime temperatures had remained steady in the mid-nineties since his arrival at Boston University on Saturday. High humidity compounded the misery, especially once the power died.

The window air conditioners in Chloe’s apartment had barely kept up with the demand, but it beat the hell out of his dormitory. He had somehow missed the part about no air-conditioning in Warren Towers and spent most of Saturday night awake, sweating through his mattress. He’d nearly cried walking back to the Chestnut Hill Avenue station Sunday night after respectfully declining Chloe’s offer to let him sleep on the couch. At least the subway had air-conditioning. He’d contemplated taking the “B” train to Lechmere station and back.

She wiped her face with a damp towel and joined him at the window, giving the sky a quick look. “It’s gonna pour. If it lasts long enough, it might drop the temperature.”

“Do you think we should wake my dad?” he asked, nodding at the couch.

“Why?”

“I think we should take off during the storm,” said Ryan.

Chloe wiped her face and stared down at Alex.

“Good luck waking him. I’ll start filling our water bottles.”

Ryan examined the filthy, disheveled man sprawled on the oversized couch and shook his head. He’d seen less realistic-looking zombies in
The Walking Dead
. Covered head to toe in a crusty, foul-smelling layer of muck, Alex Fletcher hadn’t stirred since falling asleep in mid-sentence. While arranging him on the couch, they discovered numerous congealed cuts and scrapes on his face and hands. A tightly wrapped, rust-color-stained bandage peeked out of his left sleeve and completed the picture. He’d gone through hell to arrive at their doorstep. Ryan almost felt bad waking him.

“Dad. Dad!” he said, nudging his exposed shoulder.

Alex mumbled and turned away from the sound. Thunder boomed closer as Ryan tried to rouse his father from a near catatonic state.

“Try this,” said Chloe, appearing behind the couch with a half glass of water.

He reluctantly took the plastic cup and held it over his dad’s face. A loud clap of thunder reinforced the urgency of their situation, and he dumped the water. Alex came to life, flailing his arms and knocking Ryan to the floor. A thunderous boom shook the windows.

“What happened?” yelled Alex, sitting up and grabbing for the rifle Chloe had hung on one of the kitchen table chairs.

“Dad, everything’s fine. I just dumped some water on your face. We’re fine,” said Ryan.

The room darkened, filled by another round of approaching thunder. His dad glanced around, still confused.

“There’s a big storm coming, Dad. We could take advantage of the heavy rain to reach the bridge. At least get us into place for tonight,” said Ryan.