The Perseid Collapse (10 page)

“Perfect. Just remember, don’t sweat a perfect tie up. Just get the line secured quickly and head down the pier to grab Aunt Kate’s line.”

“I got it,” said Ethan, staring ahead with a serious look. “Are you going to be able to get us in?”

“I don’t know. It’s not looking good,” Alex said, as his view unfolded.

The term “not looking good” was an understatement. Only Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant vernacular could do the scene true justice. Calling it “a regular shit show” would have been more accurate. Astoria Marina’s vast floating pier system had been swept across the mooring field and sat pinned against what used to be South Portland Yacht Club’s dock. Boats from Astoria were scattered everywhere, some still floating, attached to the dock, most sunk in the shallow water, their masts or flying bridges standing useless vigil, scattered haphazardly across the waterfront. Thick streaks of black oil were evident on every waterline surface, confirming his decision to seek a solid pier.

At sea level from this distance, it was nearly impossible to determine if any of Astoria’s docks were still connected to land. Many of the pier sections had flipped upside down, exposing the massive, petroleum-covered floats underneath the wood, giving him few obvious options for his boat. The eastern half of SPYC’s mooring field had been cleared by the long dock, pushed perpendicular to the rock wall by the tsunami. A combination of roughly forty sailboats and motorboats had been pushed into the shallow water between the rock wall and the dock. A few of the shallow draft motorboats bobbed in the water, while most of the craft lay marooned at odd angles. The smaller marina to the left of Astoria Marina had suffered a similar fate, leaving him with zero options along the entire length of waterfront—aside from the Coast Guard station. He slowed as the
Katelyn Ann
entered the empty half of the mooring field.

At least the clubhouse beyond SPYC’s rock wall looked intact, along with most of the houses and structures along the shore. The wave that had cleared the petroleum tank farm had been limited to the northeastern tip of South Portland, which made sense given the geography of the peninsula. The tsunami wave released by the blast would strike the southern-facing shoreline, causing the biggest pileups of water along the beaches in Cape Elizabeth and Scarborough, miles away, closer to their house.

“What do you think?” he yelled to Kate.

“You might be able to pull into one of those slips,” she said, pointing at Astoria’s mangled dock, “but I can’t tell if it’s connected to land. I can see at least a dozen boats under the water and a ton of other shit! Go to the Coast Guard station!”

Alex steered the boat to port, passing by several empty mooring balls, and increased his speed. A few minutes later, they approached the seemingly undamaged station, which stood on a raised concrete platform that jutted six hundred feet into the harbor. Coast Guard personnel on the easternmost concrete pier waved urgently at him. Oddly, their gestures didn’t appear welcoming to Alex. It almost seemed like they were trying to wave him off.

Fuck that. Their job is to help vessels in distress, and this is about as distressful as it gets
.

He slowed to bare steerageway and searched for a place along the fifteen-foot-high pier that had a ladder or an access dock lower to the water.

A large Buoy Tender occupied much of the water between the eastern and western piers, blocking his view of the inner pier area. He knew that the station boasted a forty-five-foot Patriot Class Medium Response Boat (RB-M), in addition to at least two twenty-five-foot Defender Class Small Response Boats (RB-S), so it made sense that they would have a lower pier to accommodate the craft, maybe on the outside of the western pier. He altered his course to starboard and edged closer to the station. At this point, he could clearly tell that the station personnel did not want him to approach any closer. Dressed in dark blue uniforms with body armor, at least two of them carried carbines slung across their chests. As soon as he saw the rifles, his mind flashed to the drop-leg holster snugged against his upper right thigh.

The holster faced away from the pier, which gave him hope that it hadn’t been spotted. He couldn’t imagine that they would be happy to see someone openly carrying a firearm on the water. The state of Maine had no prohibitions against openly carrying a firearm, and he was licensed to carry a concealed weapon in the state, but he had no idea if bringing a firearm on the boat in coastal waters was legal. He’d never given it a second thought. He decided that this wasn’t the time to push his luck, so he reached down to start the process of removing the holster.

Before he could pull the first Velcro latch from his belt, one of the Defenders roared into view from behind the western pier. Alex moved his hands away from the holster and placed them at the top of the boat’s steering wheel. The Defender’s forward-mounted M-240B machine gun remained trained on the
Katelyn Ann
as it closed in on the sailboat’s starboard side. Kate raised her hands, which set off a chain reaction of hands-raising throughout the boat. The Defender’s roof-mounted loudspeaker roared.

“Put your engine in neutral, and place your hands on your head!”

Alex quickly complied as the Defender came alongside, facing aft, disgorging its armed boarding team onto the sailboat’s deck. Dressed in blue digital camouflage uniforms and full ballistic body armor, the four-member team split up. One group moved toward the bow, approaching Kate and Emily, pointing their weapons at them. The second group immediately secured Alex and Ethan, removing Alex’s pistol and pushing the two of them into the portside cockpit seat. The petty officer manning the M-240B kept it trained on Alex the entire time. When the boarding officer was satisfied that the boat was in neutral and that everything appeared under control, she signaled for the crew of the Defender to lash the sailboat securely to their craft. Without glancing in Alex’s direction, she tossed the pistol over the stern.

“Was that really necessary?” asked Alex.

“None of this would be necessary if you hadn’t insisted on approaching the station. You were warned repeatedly,” she replied.

“My car is over at the yacht club. We couldn’t go pier side anywhere but here. I apologize for putting you in this position. I imagine the station is dealing with a lot of shit right now. Do you know what’s happening? I’m pretty sure we were hit by an EMP.”

The boarding officer glanced at the other petty officer, who shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

“Boarding team, stand down! We’ll tow them back to the station. Let’s go!” she announced, turning her attention back to Alex.

“We don’t know what’s happening, but the National Terrorist Advisory System issued an imminent warning, with no threat specifics.
The station went dark at about 0500, damage to the systems onshore and onboard our vessels was consistent with your assessment of an EMP. We have our hands full, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to bring you pier side for two minutes to offload. After that, I’m putting her on the nearest mooring.”

“So I guess a harbor cleanup isn’t high on your priority list?” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“We have some buckets and a row boat if you’re volunteering,” she said.

“Don’t piss her off, honey. Please. We’re very grateful for your help,” said Kate, approaching them along the port-side deck.

The petty officer nodded and turned to board the Defender, stopping briefly to address Alex.

“Sorry about the pistol, but the NTAS warning came with orders to disarm civilians on sight. I think it’s bullshit, but not everyone agrees with me. Either way, you weren’t getting on the station with that pistol. I’d be a little more discreet next time,” she said.

“Disarming civilians is a little strange, don’t you think?”

“I have the distinct feeling that we haven’t seen the beginning of strange yet,” she said.

Chapter 11

EVENT +04:38 Hours

South Portland, Maine

Kate stood facing the chain-link gate, staring at the water-swept, gravel parking lot. The cars had been rearranged, and damage to the clubhouse appeared more extensive than they had observed from several hundred feet away on the water. Structurally, the one-story building looked intact, but all of the windows had been shattered, and part of the steward’s shack had been swept off its foundation. The small wooden shack sat teetering on the edge of the rock wall facing west toward the Coast Guard station. She peered through the fence, scanning the parking lot one more time. They would have to walk home.

Alex removed his backpack and grabbed the fence with both hands, gauging its steadiness.

“I don’t think there’s any point,” Kate said.

She didn’t want to waste any more time getting back to their house. The car had been parked along the seawall, several feet from the edge, along with the rest of the cars that were either missing or sitting ass-up in the water. The cars in the lot had all been shifted at least twenty feet by the water, which would put their SUV in the oily soup mixture that now constituted Portland Harbor. She didn’t even see its tailgate, so there was no reason for Alex to climb the fence and confirm the obvious.

Just their luck, too
.
Finding a spot for their SUV in the less cramped, outer edge of the parking lot on a clear Sunday morning had been a stroke of fortune yesterday. Now they faced a wonderful five-mile walk with overstuffed backpacks in the stifling heat that would only get worse as the day progressed. Alex either didn’t hear her or was purposefully ignoring her. Neither possibility pleased her.

He’d already put them more than an hour behind schedule by confronting the Coast Guard station’s commanding officer about the lost pistol and the fact that they were treated like terrorists while approaching the station in a “sailboat.” It didn’t matter anymore, but he couldn’t let it go.

Under normal circumstances, she appreciated his proactive approach to sticking up for the family, but this was far from an ordinary dilemma. They could have walked right from the pier to the front gate in five minutes, but he kept pushing, and they were detained while their credentials were verified. It was pure harassment, infuriating and unnecessary, but Alex should have known better than to push their buttons.

Now it was hotter outside, and her last vestige of patience was about to be completely erased by Alex’s Spiderman routine. The quicker they got home, the sooner they could figure out how to get Ryan out of Boston. They needed to stay focused on that goal. Climbing a fence to confirm the obvious wasn’t on her list of shit to do right now.

“The car’s gone. We’re heading out,” she stated, signaling for Ethan and Emily to follow.

She took several steps down the road before hearing Alex’s footfalls approach from behind.

“Take it easy, Kate. We’re on the same page here. I just thought we might be able to salvage something from the car if it was sticking up from the water like some of the others,” said Alex.

She softened the look on her face and turned her head. “We can’t carry any more crap. It’s hot, it’s humid, and I want to get home so we can come up with a plan to get Ryan. We have everything we need at home.”

“If our house is still there. These packs might be it. We have to think worst-case scenario,” he said.

“Every house is still standing. Even the clubhouse on the edge of the water. I’m sure our house is intact,” said Kate, picking up the pace.

“You’re going too fast for the kids. A regular walking pace would be best, especially with the heat. These packs will feel twice as heavy by the time we reach Highland Avenue.”

Kate sensed that he didn’t want to fight, so she accepted his suggestion and slowed the pace. He could have argued the physics of how the tsunami might have reached their house with more force, or continued on the all-or-nothing survivor mentality track, but he had opted for more constructive counsel. After more than twenty years of marriage, subtle shifts in tone and commentary often carried more meaning and significance than an obvious, outward expression. In this case, she interpreted it as a temporary concession. She’d take it. They needed to work together from this point forward.

“Yep. I can feel this damn thing digging into my shoulder already. They’re not exactly the most comfortable packs. How long do you think it will take us to get home?” she asked, slowing down to fall into step beside him.

“Five miles? I’d say two to three hours, depending on the burden of these packs and the temperature. That’s assuming we can follow the usual roads, which is a fair assumption. Even if the water made it that far inland, we shouldn’t be looking at anything more than an occasional downed tree or power line—maybe some debris. We should be home before the day gets ridiculously hot.”

“Sounds like fun. This isn’t exactly the weight-loss plan I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get,” Kate said, adjusting the pack on her shoulders.

Kate wished she had taken the time to pick out a more suitable backpack. Alex had given her the opportunity to look through options, but she had deferred the decision to his judgment. Working through the different choices presented by Alex could occupy most of her waking hours if she allowed it—and it never ended. Out of necessity, she gradually took on more of an observational role and let him run the show. Once Alex formed an idea, he could be relentless and impatient about getting it done. She had decided to go back to work at her accounting firm, and the last thing she needed at the end of each day was another deadline. Less than a quarter of a mile into their trek, she regretted not taking a little more interest in the backpack he had chosen.

He had selected the same design for everyone, opting for an OD green, military-style, three-day assault pack. From a purely practical standpoint, the assault pack met their requirements on every level. The “three-day” designation referred to sustained combat operations, where a soldier would carry large quantities of additional ammunition, radio batteries, and other squad- or platoon-based items, in addition to food and water, taking up most of their “personal” space. Alex had chosen the assault pack for its large cargo-carrying capacity and unique interior arrangement.