Steven Konkoly - The Perseid Collapse

Kate swatted her neck. Not a good sign for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing sucked the life out of you faster than a steamy August afternoon with Maine’s biting flies. Her mind drifted to Alex riding in Ed’s air-conditioned Jeep.

Must be nice.

Mercifully, the road sloped downward, allowing them to glide several hundred feet through East Waterboro’s only intersection.

Nathan Russell took a long swig of cold beer and crumpled the can, whipping it at a nearby light post. He missed, and the flattened can skittered on the pavement to join a dozen empties already scattered beyond the post.

“I’ll take another,” he said, keeping his eyes glued to the intersection adjacent to the empty Hannigans parking lot.

“Here you go, Nate,” he heard, as another sweaty can of Budweiser appeared within reach.

He popped the tab and took a long pull, lightening the can significantly. Now he felt it. He was getting there. Getting into the zone, where he was unstoppable.

“What do you make of that?” he asked.

David Mullins raised his hand over his eyes and peered at the procession of bicycles streaming through the intersection.

“Looks like a bunch of bitches out for a ride,” said Mullins.

Not through my town, they ain’t.

Nathan slid off the hood of the silver BMW SUV and reached through the window to grab a pair of binoculars. He scanned the group, starting at the front and working his way back.

What the fuck?

He drained the beer can and took another failed shot at hitting the light post.

“You see this shit? Two of those bitches are carrying assault rifles. Looks like they’re escorting a bunch of teenagers. Hot ones too. The bitch in the front ain’t half bad either,” said Nathan.

“Gimme that,” said Mullins, attempting to grab the binoculars.

Nathan snatched them away and glared at Mullins. “You do not fucking grab shit from me. Understand?”

“Sorry, Nate. I got excited,” said Mullins, retracting his hand.

“I hate that grabbing shit. You’re like a two-year-old. Grab my shit again, and I’ll bash your fucking teeth in.”

“It won’t happen again, Nate.”

Nathan stared at his friend, wanting to smash his face in anyway. “Get in the car. We need to have a chat with these fuckers about the new firearms ordinance in town.”

“We have a new ordinance?”

“Are you extra stupid today? The new ordinance is what I say it is, and I say nobody rides around with assault rifles through my town. Weren’t you listening to a thing my dad said? We’re the law around here now, so start acting like it,” said Nathan.

“How far is our jurisdiction?”

“As far as we want it to be. When’s the last time you saw a county sheriff’s car or one of those punk-ass staties?”

“I haven’t,” replied David.

“Exactly. Dad says it’s up to us, so here we go. Get in the truck.”

Nathan closed the door and started the engine, sensing that David’s line of questioning would continue. He leaned forward to draw the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans just as David opened his mouth.

“I thought your dad was talking about the militia being in charge. I don’t think—”

Nathan jammed the barrel of the semiautomatic pistol into David’s cheek. “You don’t think what?” he said, fixing a murderous stare.

David shook his head, mumbling, “I’m sorry, man. I promise—”

“This is your last warning, dude. Dad left me with full authority to do what needs to be done around here. He’s a full colonel in the militia, right under my granddad. Why the hell do you think he gave me this car? To run errands? Use your head, man—or fucking lose it. I’m serious,” he said, easing the pressure on David’s cheek.

“All right. Let’s do this,” said David.

“I do all the talking. Play this right, and one of those bitches will be bobbing on your knob. Ain’t nothing free in this world anymore. Gotta pay a toll to use the roads around here,” said Nathan, grinning wickedly.

“I can handle that. I’d love to work those twins over,” said David, touching the denim bulge forming in his pants.

“Don’t get greedy. You keep fucking up and it’ll be one of the boys,” said Nathan.

“I don’t care who it is,” said David. “Let’s get this on!”

“That’s better,” said Nathan, shifting the car into drive.

Shit. Kate glanced at the grocery store parking lot again. The sight of two men surveying their group with binoculars made her nervous. They could be waiting for someone to arrive via the same route, or they might be keeping an eye out for trouble. The mess of beer cans near the light post suggested otherwise.

Keep pedaling. The parking lot would be out of view within a few minutes.

“Kate! They’re coming!” yelled Samantha.

Of course they were. She slowed her bike and watched the black SUV speed across the parking lot toward the shopping center exit fifty feet ahead of her group.

“Linda?” said Kate.

“Got it covered,” replied Linda.

Kate cruised half of the distance to the exit and stopped, dismounting her bike. She swung her rifle forward on its two-point sling, and tried to remember how Linda taught her to transition quickly to a forward position. She knew the strap would switch shoulders, but beyond that she didn’t have enough practice with the maneuver to do it correctly on the first try. The BMW SUV careened onto Route 5 and skidded to a halt twenty feet ahead.

Screw this. She pushed her AR-15 back into position on her back and unsnapped her holster. At this range, she could probably do more damage with her Sig Sauer.

She risked a quick glance back at the group. They looked more exhausted than alarmed by the sudden appearance of the SUV. Linda had already transitioned her rifle and was approaching swiftly along the center median line, keeping her distance from the kids. She knew what she was doing, which was more than Kate could say about the situation. She noticed Ethan fiddling with one of the side pockets on his rucksack. He had pulled the pack off one shoulder.

“Ethan, leave it in the pack. Same for you, Emily,” said Kate.

She heard Linda give the same warning to her daughters, whom Kate knew for a fact were armed. Even the Walker kids carried firearms, though they had never been trained to fire one. If things deteriorated into a gunfight, Kate and Linda would buy the group enough time to find cover, while Samantha helped the kids put the rest of the group’s weapons into action. She turned back to the SUV just as the front doors opened.

Black motorcycle boots and shit-kicker jeans appeared to be the uniform of the day for their welcoming committee. She guessed early to mid twenties, but they both wore that hardened, “up to no good” expression that made it difficult to tell. The passenger swayed a bit after standing. He looked dumber than a rock garden. Drunk and dumb didn’t mix well in serious situations, and this was about as serious as any situation would ever get for these two.

The driver stepped around the hood, staring her down with beady eyes and a twisted smirk. A black semiautomatic pistol grip protruded from his jeans. Beady Eyes was the dangerous one. He would be the first to die if this went badly—and she expected it to. She could think of no logical reason why these two dipshits would suddenly pull out in front of them. They wanted something, and five seconds of observation made it clear that they didn’t want the bicycles. Rock Garden hadn’t taken his eyes off Linda’s twins since he blundered out of the BMW. This would definitely end badly, especially if Linda figured out what Rock Garden had in mind.