Steven Konkoly - Event Horizon

“That might be a good thing. If it’s a legitimate militia, you should be safe out there,” said Alex.

“Why is it safe for us and not for you?” asked the leader.

“I’m pretty sure they think I’m one of the marines. I swam across the river from one of the marines’ outposts on the other side.”

“You swam across the Charles at night, with all of this gear?”

“I told you he was a mercenary,” said someone.

“Believe whatever you want. I don’t really give a shit. I’m leaving, and nobody is following. I’ll leave a water filter behind for you. It’s a hand-pumped type, good for five hundred gallons. You can catch rainwater in the trashcans or fetch water from the river. Whatever you do, don’t let anyone see it, or you’ll have a fight on your hands.”

“So that’s it?” said Piper.

He wished he could do more for them, but beyond the water filter, he had nothing to offer. The idea of leading them on some kind of predawn parade through the streets of war-torn Boston was absurd. The fact that none of the students seemed to understand this reality made it even more ludicrous. Most of them were still wearing shorts and T-shirts, in a building that could collapse or catch fire at any moment. They were clueless.

But they’re kids—and you’re a parent.

He felt responsible for their safety on some basic level, but rationally, he couldn’t justify the risk. Ryan and Chloe were his sole responsibility right now. He had to let these kids look out for themselves.

“That’s it. I’ll do a radio check at the top of the hour. Then I’m gone.”

EVENT +46:52

Harvard Yard

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Ed dropped his backpack on the wet grass and collapsed against a tree trunk, staring at Hollis Hall’s shadowy facade. The steady hum of the battalion’s generator pulled at his eyelids. He’d have to sleep soon. There was no way to avoid it. He just needed to hang on for another eight minutes to catch Alex’s first broadcast on the stolen Motorola. He wished they could talk, but Alex explained why it had to be a one-way broadcast.

All transmissions sent from one of the battalion’s handheld radios triggered an encryption protocol, even if Ed used one of several “uncovered” channels, and could be monitored by the communications platoon. If they discovered an unauthorized conversation emanating from one of the battalion Motorolas, they would block the radio and trace the source.

Alex assured Ed that he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that search. Ed would only transmit if the situation deteriorated enough to affect Alex’s timeline. Alex agreed to keep his radio in “sleep mode,” which scanned for channel activity on their preset frequency, alerting him if Ed transmitted for longer than three seconds.

Just thinking about Alex’s transmission energized him. By now, Alex should have reached Ryan’s dorm room. Everything depended on what he found there. Ryan was supposed to travel to Chloe’s apartment in the event of an emergency, where they’d wait for their parents. He desperately needed to hear that Ryan wasn’t in his room. It meant that Chloe was safe. He knew the discovery would be tough on Alex, but it represented the best chance that both of them were safe.

Ed unzipped the top of his pack and dug into one of the internal compartments for the hidden Motorola. He turned it on and inserted one of the earbuds, hearing the typical back and forth military chatter he’d been treated to every time he scanned the channels. He had no idea what they were saying most of the time; the marine lingo was as foreign to him as Chinese. SITREPS. POSREPS. SPOTREPS. None of it made sense. Line Alpha. Line Bravo. All nonsense. He wasn’t sure why they bothered to use encrypted radios. Nobody could figure this shit out.

All he knew at this point was that “Shadow” referred to the Harvard Yard security detachment, “Striker” meant any of the units in the city, and “Raider” was the group along the river. He learned most of this by eavesdropping in the battalion headquarters tent. Sergeant Walker hadn’t been totally useless. He leaned his head against the harsh tree bark and pressed the scan button, jumping to the next encrypted channel. The orange LED read “Shadow.”

“Shadow Actual, this is Shadow 3. SPOTREP. I have four possible hostiles moving south across the Cambridge Street overpass, headed in our direction. Request permission to engage, over.”

Cambridge Street? His head came off the tree.

“Shadow 3, can you confirm weapons?”

“Affirmative. Rifles. They’re halfway across. We’re gonna lose them behind Holworthy.”

Holworthy Hall?

“Stand by, Shadow 3.”

“This is Shadow 5! We have six—contact! I say again, contact! Taking automatic fire from the southern end of the old yard!”

Rapid, sustained gunfire erupted in the distance, followed by an overhead snap.

“What the…?” Ed muttered, rolling on his stomach.

A hiss passed to his right.

“Oh shit,” he said and pressed his body flat against the ground.

“All Shadow stations. You are cleared to engage.”

Flashes filled the darkness between Hollis and Stoughton Halls, followed by the staccato hammering of the M240G machine gun. Red tracers stitched outward, floating deep into the campus. The marines between Hollis and Harvard Halls fired their rifles at the same time, barely beating the 240 deployed between Stoughton and Phillips Brooks Hall. The thunderous gunfire masked the frantic reports streaming through Ed’s radio earpiece. The marine perimeter was under attack from all sides! The shooting slackened several seconds later, and he could hear the different perimeter stations reporting.

“Shadow 5 reports three, possibly four enemy kills. Hostiles have stopped firing.”

“Shadow 5, this is Shadow Actual. Copy report. Continue to engage any hostiles in the open.”

“Shadow 3 reports two enemy kills on the Cambridge Street overpass. One enemy wounded was carried out of sight behind Holworthy.”

“Copy, Shadow 3. Scan the windows and watch the corners. All units cease fire and pass your SITREP. I say again. All units cease fire and pass your SITREP. Shadow Actual, out.”

The firing died out just as suddenly as it had started, yielding to the occasional distant gunshot. Ed pulled the radio out of his backpack and shifted to the “broadcast” preset channel programmed by Alex. He pressed the transmit button, fairly confident that an all-out attack on Lieutenant Colonel Grady’s command tent qualified as an event that bumped up the timeline. Alex had overestimated the time it might take for the city to implode. Ed couldn’t imagine they had more than twelve hours until the marines had no choice but to withdraw.

“Durham Three-Zero, this is Durham Three-Two. Come in, over.”

EVENT +46:55

Boston University

Boston, Massachusetts

Alex felt one of his chest pouches vibrate. Checking his watch, he muttered a few curses. Ed couldn’t wait five minutes? He really hoped the marines were too busy to notice an unauthorized transmission go out over one of their encrypted Motorolas. It wouldn’t take Lieutenant Colonel Grady more than a few seconds to figure out who had swiped the radio. He opened the pouch and removed the radio, switching it out of “sleep mode” and inserting the earbud. Maybe it wasn’t Ed.

“Station sending on this channel, please identify,” said Alex.