Steven Konkoly - The Perseid Collapse

“It’s not that you’re micromanaging—” started Ed.

“He’s babying us,” Charlie interrupted.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” said Alex.

“It’s pretty bad,” said Ed, “but we’re sunk without you. I’m sure as shit not going to get us across Boston.”

“And Charlie wouldn’t last two city blocks on his own—with his bad health and everything,” said Alex.

“Damn it, I’m fine!” Charlie snapped.

Ed broke out into laughter before Charlie finished his tirade.

“I was kidding,” protested Alex.

“More trees,” said Ed, maneuvering the Jeep into a field to avoid a large Silver Maple that had upended.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to approach Boston on anything too rural,” Alex said. “We might need to rethink our plan.”

“Route 125 is a four-laner. About the best you’re gonna do without linking up with one of the interstates. The 93 would take us down to the northern edge of the Middlesex Reservation. There’s an exit in Stoneham,” said Charlie.

“What do you think?” asked Alex, looking at Ed.

Ed raised an eyebrow without looking in his direction.

“Hey, I’m trying.”

“Just messing with you.” Ed chuckled. “I think we should try to stay off the interstate system if possible. If the roads become impassible, we might have to reconsider that. The less police attention we attract, the better. A shot-up Jeep might raise some eyebrows heading south,” said Ed.

“ An y car heading south should raise eyebrows—and questions of sanity,” said Charlie.

“That’s the truth,” said Ed.

“Is anyone opposed to me guiding us to the 125 from here, even if it means crossing the bridge at Haverhill?” asked Alex.

“I think you’re making a bigger deal out of Haverhill than you need to,” said Charlie.

“You’re the one that got me worried about it in the first place, Charlie. You said something about too many people.”

“Did I say that?” said Charlie.

“I remember it,” said Ed.

“Well, compared to what we’ve seen so far, it’s a lot of people,” said Charlie. “There’s really not that much by the Basiliere Bridge. A couple of apartment buildings and a small industrial area. It’s a wide bridge. No way that sucker is down.”

“Then it’s off to Haverhill—with your approval, of course,” said Alex, turning to Ed.

“You’re pushing it,” Ed grumbled.

“That’s what Kate always tells me.”

“Maybe you should listen to her a little more.”

“Touché,” remarked Charlie. “The truce lasted a whole three minutes.”

EVENT +35:04 Hours

Stoneham, Massachusetts

The outskirts of Stoneham reeked of campfire. Alex swept the southern horizon with binoculars, seeing nothing but scattered billows of gray and white against a sun-bleached sky. If Boston had been set ablaze, they should be able to see it from here.

Ed squeezed the Jeep between a downed tree and a stranded delivery truck. Like most of the trees they had seen south of the Merrimack River, the leaves had been stripped from the few remaining branches. No effort had been made to clear any of the obstacles. Damage to the buildings and houses remained subtle—shattered windows, peeled paint, and an increasing number of roofing tiles on the ground—but Alex could sense there was more. They were getting closer to the impact area.

A red Audi sedan approached from the south, swerving into their lane to avoid a distant tree.

“Slow down,” Alex cautioned. “This idiot’s all over the place.”

“I don’t like stopping with all of these peop—Shit!”

Alex slammed against his seatbelt, losing his grip on the binoculars. The Audi veered left across the centerline, missing them by less than a car length. Beyond tinted glass, he caught a glimpse of a young couple arguing over an unfolded map. A rear-facing baby carrier sat stuffed between tightly packed bags and gear. The sedan scraped the branches of the tree behind them, barely squeezing through the same opening Ed had just navigated.

“Fucking idiots,” hissed Ed.

A smaller group of people broke out of the thick stream of people several feet away. Alex stuck the barrel of his rifle through the window, making sure it couldn’t be missed. The sudden appearance of a military-grade rifle stopped the men at the curb.

“Ed, get us out of here, please.”

Beyond the Interstate 95 overpass, Route 28 widened into a four-lane road separated by a grassy median. Trees flattened by the east-to-west wind lay across the northbound lane—only the tallest reaching into the southbound road. They drove unopposed until the road narrowed, channeling them onto Main Street. Three-story, red-brick buildings lined the street, pushing the dense parade of refugees off the narrow sidewalks into their path. Ed drove slowly through the sea of people. The evacuees focused their energy on keeping their families and possessions together, jostling between parked cars and decorative light posts toward perceived safety. An occasional belligerent emerged to find the barrel of a “black rifle” pointed at their head.

An undercurrent of fear and tension crackled just below the surface. Alex had seen all of this before. Furtive looks and quick movements—the body language. He could feel it, and the exodus was in its infancy. Blue and white flashing lights peeked through the swarm of moving bodies. Alex lowered his rifle.

“Police at the intersection,” he said.

Main Street opened into a wide intersection bordered by a small common area featuring two green benches under branchless trees. The Town of Stoneham police cruiser sat facing them in the middle of the intersection. Alex passed his rifle to Charlie, keeping it low.

“Bury the rifles fast! Go to the right of the car,” said Alex.

“Shouldn’t I stop at the intersection?” said Ed.

“The light’s been torn off the pole. Just keep going.”

The cruiser’s siren stabbed the air, thinning the crowd between the two vehicles. Another shrill burst emptied the intersection. Two police officers stood to the right of the vehicle, behind the open driver’s door. The closest officer stepped in front of the door and motioned for them to pull up while his partner pulled a shotgun out of the front seat and leaned it against the top of the door. Alex opened the glove box and grabbed his pistol, tucking it behind his back.

“If this goes bad, it’s on me. You just get as far away from the shooting as possible,” whispered Alex.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ed hissed.

“That’s good right there!” said the officer, resting his right hand on his holster. The officer walked forward, stopping even with the driver’s-side window. “Not a good time to be heading south, gentlemen.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Officer, but our kids are trapped in Boston. We want to bring them home before things get crazy,” said Ed.

The cop took a few more steps and looked into the back seat for several seconds. Alex hoped he didn’t walk around the Jeep. The back and passenger side sported several bullet holes that would attract far more attention than a full complement of busted windows.

“I’m just keeping these two out of trouble,” said Charlie, holding his hands up.

“Doesn’t look like that worked out so well,” he said, sticking his hand through the window behind Charlie.

“We ran a militia checkpoint at the Maine border,” blurted Ed.

“These people are headed for a frosty reception up north,” added Charlie.

“Everyone remembers the fires that broke out during the pandemic. The riots. They’re trying to get ahead of it this time,” said the officer, motioning to the crowds.