Steven Konkoly - The Perseid Collapse

Alex moved his left hand along the hand guard to the vertical fore grip and double tapped the remote switch attached to the rail. A green light spanned the backyard, striking the house behind Michaud. Invisible to the naked eye, the infrared (IR) beam emitted by the Dual Beam Aiming Laser (DBAL) attached to the top rail of his rifle could only be seen using night vision technology. Alex shifted the laser onto Michaud’s head and waited for him to pause at the edge of the Walkers’ mangled deck.

“That’s far enough!” he warned.

Michaud raised the shotgun to his shoulder and aimed into the darkness beyond Alex, craning his head frantically. The green laser remained centered on his forehead. He took another step forward.

“Stop! Right! There!” yelled Alex. “Drop your weapon, and put your hands on top of your head!”

“Where are you?” said Michaud, shifting his aim in Alex’s general direction.

“Last chance, Jeff! Drop the shotgun, or I’ll shoot!”

Jeff Michaud paused, looked to both sides, and lowered the shotgun. Not good enough.

“Drop the shotgun!”

“I’ll leave! This is all I have to defend Jamie and the kids,” said Michaud.

“Either you drop the shotgun, or I’ll help you drop it.”

“I’m walking back to my house, Alex—and I’m taking this with me,” said Michaud.

“I’ll kill you if you take a single step with that thing. Last warning, Jeff!”

“You wouldn’t do that to Jamie and the kids! She’s already lost one husband,” he said, lifting his left foot out of the mud.

The rifle kicked, and Michaud dropped. The suppressor reduced the sound of the gunshot to that of a compressed-air-powered nail gun. With no background noise to compete, the sound would be heard clearly throughout the neighborhood and the street behind the Walkers’, but it wouldn’t register definitively as gunfire. Only someone with experience using suppressed firearms would be able to make the determination based on a single shot—not that anyone could call 911. He turned off the IR laser and stood up.

“You there, Alex?” said Charlie.

“I’m here. Jeff Michaud is dead.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Come out of the back door to the garage. Are we all clear, Ed?”

“All clear on the street, but something’s going on in Jamie’s mudroom. It’s hard to tell, but I saw some movement inside.”

“We’ll take care of it. Be careful by the window, Ed. Do like I showed you.”

“I’ll keep you posted. Are you sure Michaud is dead?”

“One hundred percent. Headshot,” said Alex.

“And we just leave him there?”

“Do you want to give him a proper burial?”

“Not really,” said Ed.

“Alex, was that a suppressor?” added Charlie.

“Let’s not transmit stuff like that in the open. Everyone cut the chatter. I’m headed across the backyard.”

The suppressor attached to his rifle was not registered with the ATF, and would most certainly land him in jail if discovered by authorities. He’d purchased it with a thick envelope of twenty-dollar bills after a gun show, hoping never to need it. He had a feeling it would be prove to be worth every penny in the upcoming days.

“Shit. Sorry, man. Probably just the echo or angle of the sound waves,” said Charlie.

“You done yet?” said Alex.

“Now I am. Out,” said Charlie.

They were using a privacy-coded subchannel within a rarely used public channel that had been silent all evening. He highly doubted anyone was listening, but he preferred they maintain better radio discipline. When they reached Boston, all of the channels would be busy, and finding a clear subchannel might present a challenge. He also wouldn’t be surprised if law enforcement officers within bigger departments were monitoring all of the available channels and subchannels.

With the grid down, handheld radios would become one of the only reliable forms of longer-range communication within the cities. Controlling the handheld channels or monitoring them would become critical. It was something they needed to keep in mind when navigating the city.

He replaced the radio and fought the mud on the flat ground above the easement lip. Tactically, the better move would be to use some of the sloped earth for cover and traverse along the axis of the ditch, but the mud was difficult enough on level ground, and the steep gradient led right into chest-high water. He had no plans for a midnight swim. Alex kept his rifle trained in the direction of the garage corner as he approached. Charlie’s form appeared in the door, and Alex signaled for him to cover the back of the house.

They had worked out very basic military signals for use on their trip. With Charlie aiming in the direction of the deck, he focused all of his attention on “slicing” the corner, finding the side of the garage clear of intruders. He’d patrol the front of the house, sweeping around back and linking up with Charlie. It was the only way to be sure Michaud didn’t have an accomplice lurking in the shadows.

He detected movement across the street, from Jamie’s mudroom stoop, but nobody emerged. It was hard to tell, but the green image cast by his night vision goggles suggested that the mudroom door was open. She was probably waiting for the Jeep to pull out of the garage before she started carting luggage into the driveway. Almost on cue, the front screen door opened, revealing at least two figures carrying luggage onto the stoop. Alex slid along the back of the garage to join Charlie.

“Side is clear. It looks like Jamie is pre-staging luggage for a quick departure,” said Alex.

“Damn,” said Charlie, “what do we do?”

“Send her a message,” said Alex, “once I confirm that we don’t have any more surprises waiting for us.”

Several minutes later, Alex returned to the garage corner with Michaud’s shotgun. “Anything new?”

“Nothing. Jamie’s sitting deep in the mudroom, watching the garage door. The girls are somewhere close by inside,” said Charlie, keeping the night vision scope on his rifle pressed to his face.

“The far side of the house is clear. Let’s send the message,” said Alex.

Alex followed Charlie into the garage and knelt next to the rear left tire of the Walkers’ disabled Honda Pilot. He braced his rifle against the side of the SUV and disengaged the safety. His trip to check the other side of the house had given Charlie enough time to communicate with Kate, who would make sure that everyone stayed clear of the front windows. He had no idea how Jamie would react to this message, and his search of Jeff Michaud’s body didn’t turn up the Glock 19.

Charlie pulled the toggle line connected to the garage door and stepped to the left side of the door. “Ready?”

“Open sesame,” said Alex.

The door jerked upward and started to roll on its track. By the time the door had reached the apex of its journey, Jamie and her daughters had started hauling the luggage off the porch. Alex activated the IR laser and directed the beam at Jamie’s chest. She reached the end of the walkway before stopping to stare at the open garage bay. She waved her hand behind her and hissed something at the girls that caused them to leave the luggage and scurry inside.

Alex guided the bright green beam past her head, placing it on the light fixture attached to the garage behind her. The rifle barked, sending a .223 bullet past her head at 3,000 feet per second. If the crack of the bullet didn’t make an impression, the sudden obliteration of the glass light enclosure should deliver the message.

Jamie lowered her body. Alex fired another round over her head, striking the top of the garage door behind her with a hollow thump. He hoped the Walkers’ garage would channel the sound of his suppressed rifle forward, limiting the directional extent of its detectability. At this point, the repeated sound would draw attention. He waited for her to react.