Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  Ma’mun flashed a pistol from his jacket. “Don’t get carried away like a typical hotheaded American. Think before you act and have a seat.”

  Craig slowly lowered himself back to the ground.

  “Listen carefully. We know where you live. So that’s that. Our network is large and wide. We can have a team at your house…” he stopped and looked at his watch. “In ten minutes. So I think you should reconsider where your oaths lie. Rachael and Nicholas are relying on you.”

  In a way, Craig felt relieved. Relieved for the cabin and that they had fled in time. He still had some cards left.

  “Just think about what I’m telling you,” Ma’mun continued.

  Craig looked up at him. The light bulb affixed to the ceiling created a shadow on his face. He asked, “Who’s running this organization? Is it Allawi?”

  Ma’mun seemed genuinely surprised. “How’d you know?”

  “I’ve done my research,” Craig said. “That particular Al-Qaeda reject has been on my radar for some time.”

  “Abu Omar Allawi is my brother,” Ma’mun said, his eyes flashing with anger.

  “No offense,” Craig said flippantly.

  Ma’mun grabbed Craig’s possessions, stuffing the pistol and the radio in his pockets, and then turned to walk back up the stairs. He stopped with one hand on the railing. “This will not end well for you, Agent Davis. That much I can guarantee.” He exited the room and walked upstairs.

  Alone, Craig’s mind raced while he considered his options. There had to be a way out. There had to be something he hadn’t thought of yet. If nothing came to him, he knew he was living on borrowed time. The door opened again, and Ma’mun’s two henchmen brought Husein back and threw him on the ground. The two men laughed and walked up the stairs, not even acknowledging Craig.

  Husein lay there motionless, breathing heavily, his hands and feet still tied.

  “What happened?” Craig asked.

  “They’re going to kill me,” he answered. “I know it. They’re going to kill you, too.”

  “That’s why we have to escape.”

  Husein rolled over to face Craig. “How?”

  “I haven’t figured it out yet, but you have to help me.”

  Husein shook his head. “It’s pointless. They gave me one last chance to join. Said I was a special asset being from Chechnya.”

  “What did you say?” Craig asked.

  “I told them to fuck off,” Husein answered.

  Craig couldn’t help but laugh a little.

  The upstairs warehouse floor was abuzz with activity. Television screens, monitors, and workstations were set up everywhere. They contained ISIS sleeper cell members of all ranks and backgrounds, now gathered at one of their main operations depots hidden away in the heavily industrialized and mostly abandoned area of Detroit, Michigan.

  It was where most of their planning took place, hidden behind the legitimate front as a plastics factory. At night, the machines were turned off and the warehouse floor was converted into a strategic headquarters.

  The news of the attacks was on nearly every screen in the room. Rifles, machine guns, grenades, explosives, and tactical gear lay on tables like wares at a gun show. The factory was heavily guarded outside, and the men had been trained to destroy all computers and equipment and flee the grounds at the first sign for trouble. No one was allowed to get caught. They were instructed to fight to the death if it came to that.

  Too many of their brothers had already been caught by the American authorities, and it was considered unacceptable to join the ranks of prisoners. To dispel any notions of surrender, the men were constantly inundated with images of Abu Ghraib prisoners being degraded in Iraq by U.S. soldiers during the American occupation.

  “That is what the Americans will do to you if you’re caught,” their leader, Abu Omar Allawi, told them in a recorded briefing. “A humiliation worse than death.”

  With protocol established, operations seem to run smoothly for some time. The day of the port attacks marked a milestone for ISIS. To their contacts all over the world, they reported with glee the first significant strike against their greatest enemy, the United States. It had no doubt raised morale and recruitment in their ranks. No one, not even Russia or China, had the guts to hit America like ISIS had done, and Abu Omar Allawi couldn’t have been more proud.

  Ma’mun sat at his desk, typing away on his laptop, sending encrypted updates to ISIS commanders in Syria, Libya, Lebanon, and Iraq. Sometimes even he felt overwhelmed with how vast their organization had become in a relatively short amount of time. The momentum was there, heightened by the cheers of his men every time the news displayed graphics speculating about ISIS’s involvement in such bold attacks on the homeland. Qadar approached him, pulled up a chair, and sat.

  “We better take credit for this before someone else does,” he said.

  “Patience,” Ma’mun said.

  Qadar shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Why wait any longer? The damage is done. We have to drive fear into the hearts of the Americans. Isn’t that the point?” Qadar leaned in closer. “Today on one of the cable news programs, one of the pundits speculated that this attack could have come from anywhere. He even mentioned Iran. Are we going to let someone else get the credit for this? It’s madness.”

  Ma’mun turned to face him, picking up his cell phone and scrolling. “Strategy requires careful planning. The Americans want answers. They’re waiting. The longer we keep them waiting, the more our message will resonate with them.”

  Qadar seemed to have conceded to Ma’mun’s point with his silence. The news had already speculated on the “ISIS-inspired attacks,” but they seemed confused that no official statement from the terrorist organization had materialized. Ma’mun set down his cell phone and looked at Qadar, confiding in him.

  “My brother gave me the responsibility of handling our current phase and of delivering our message to the world. A true honor. And I want nothing more than the American FBI man’s cooperation. Imagine…” Ma’mun tapped the side of his head with his finger. “Imagine if our message was delivered by our American hostage. Can you see how significant that would be?”

  “No one is preventing you,” Qadar said.

  “Only his own refusal. This is the man responsible for stopping our mall attack in Richmond. If not for him, Darion would have completed his mission. And now we have him. This is destiny, my brother.”

  Qadar nodded in understanding. “So what do we do next?”

  “He will refuse us. We will torture him and eventually break him. Or we can figure out another way. I noticed a connection between him and our Chechen prisoner.”

  “Husein?”

  “Yes. I’ve already had a team raid the American’s house. His wife and son are nowhere to be found.” Ma’mun thought to himself for a moment, then looked up. “Of course, he doesn’t know that. We can always tell him that we have his family. How would he know any differently?”

  “Ah. Brilliant,” Qadar said.

  “If that doesn’t work, then we’ll use Husein.”

  “You really think he cares about the boy?”

  Ma’mun leaned forward with a satisfied expression. “Whether he does or not isn’t the point. We have to discover his weaknesses, exploit them.”

  Qadar shifted in his chair, trying to consider the effects of Ma’mun’s plan. “I will only say that there’s a lot riding on this. I hope you’re right.”

  “I’ve seen proud men reduced to blathering infants before my very eyes. I think I know what I’m doing.”

  Suddenly cheers erupted throughout the room. Ma’mun and Qadar looked up. The news had proclaimed the attacks as perpetrated by ISIS, linked to their hacking of government networks.

  “So much for speculation,” Qadar said.

  It’s all just meaningless noise until we deliver our message.”

  “Fair enough,” Qadar said.

  “Go get the general. We have work to do.”

  Qad
ar nodded and stood up from his seat. He looked around the warehouse floor, searching among the men—some dressed in black, others in desert combat fatigues. The general was talking, seated in a circle with several young men, not a day over twenty. He never missed an opportunity to reminisce about his past as a personal guard to Saddam Hussein.

  Many of the ISIS fighters were too young to remember the dictator who had ruled Iraq for two decades. The general provided them a fascinating insight into what it was like working for the insatiable tyrant. They hung on his every word. When Qadar approached to tell him of their plan to use the American FBI agent to deliver the fatwa against their enemy, the general couldn’t have been more enthused. It was a done deal.

  Ma’mun watched them from afar, feeling satisfied with everything they had accomplished thus far. Tomorrow was a new day, and it was best to leave the American public hanging. They would receive all the answers they needed soon enough.

  Hours, it seemed, had passed. Craig had no idea what time it was or whether it was daytime or night outside. The darkness of the basement was disorienting. He wanted nothing more than to talk to Rachael. Fear told him he might never see her again. He yearned to hold her, to look into her eyes and kiss her. Through it all, he could still feel her, no matter how great the distance. He thought of Nick. Had he failed his son? What kind of world were they living in now?

  He was supposed to have stopped the terrorists and prevented the attack. Patterson was still in the hospital, and the last FBI agents he had worked with were all dead. As doubt crept in, Craig fought against it. Now was not the time to feel hopeless or defeated. He had to fight back, if not for anything other than seeing his family again. A plan had begun to take shape. He looked at Husein, lying across the room. The boy was nodding off.

  “Husein, listen to me.”

  He lifted his head. “What is it?”

  “We have to get them to lower their guard. Trick them, much like your aunt tried to do with the FBI.”

  “How on earth do you expect to pull that off?”

  Craig took a breath, hoping what he was about to say sounded convincing, and began. “This is our story. We’re enemies. You hate me and I hate you. I’m distraught over the safety of my family. I’ve lost it. You, on the other hand, have seen the light. You don’t blame them for what they did to your aunt; you blame me. You have information to give them, things Malaka told you in confidence, and you insist on talking to Ma’mun alone.”

  Husein was trying to follow his line of thinking. “Then what?”

  “You earn Ma’mun’s trust, then kill him.”

  Husein recoiled and shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Husein…”

  “I can’t physically kill someone. I’ve never even been in a fight before.”

  “You’ve survived so far,” Craig said. “You’re stronger than you think.”

  “But such a thing will be impossible. If one thing goes wrong…”

  “Then we die. If we do nothing, we die. Our options are limited here.”

  Husein continued to shake his head in doubt with a conflicted, torn expression.

  “Just get me loose and give me a weapon. I can do the rest.”

  Husein leaned forward, astonished. “There’s over fifty men up there. How are you possibly going to fight them all? What if they don’t believe us?”

  “We have to make them believe. Starting now.”

  Craig took a deep breath and looked at Husein with searing anger and then shouted. “You worthless piece of trash!”

  Husein looked confused.

  “I’m going to kill you!” Craig shouted again. Husein’s expression seemed to change. Craig shifted his position and struggled to get up on his knees.

  “You’re a coward!” Husein yelled, with him now.

  “Louder…” Craig whispered.

  `“I said you’re a coward!”

  “If I wasn’t tied up right now, I’d come over there and beat the life out of you!” Craig shouted.

  “I’d like to see you try!”

  Craig moved on his knees along the cement floor, yelling at Husein along the way. “I’m gonna rip you a new asshole!”

  The upstairs door suddenly opened. The general started to rush down the stairs with three armed men close behind him, dressed in desert combat fatigues, vests, and scarves—ready for war.

  “What the hell is going on down here?” he shouted, his accent thick and heavy.

  Craig moved toward Husein on his knees, shouting obscenities, just as the men stormed down the stairs.

  “You killed my aunt! It was you!”

  “I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you and that bitch!”

  Husein felt genuine anger at Craig’s words and did not have to extend himself much to play along. “Go to hell, you American scum!”

  “You wanna say that to my face?” Craig shouted, moving in.

  At the bottom of the stairs, the general crossed his arms and shook his head. “All right, break those two up.”

  His men moved forward and began to kick Craig away from Husein. Their boots came down on him hard and fast, knocking him to the ground. Next thing he knew, two arms were around his own, dragging him to the other side of the room.

  “Get that American pig away from me!” Husein shouted.

  The general towered over him and raised a hand. “That’s enough. What has gotten into you, little one?”

  The general looked old enough to be his grandfather.

  “I don’t want to be in a room with him any longer,” he said.

  The general ran his hand over his face and sighed. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. Both of you need to calm down, or I will do it for you.”

  “My wife!” Craig cried out as the men dropped him on the ground on the other side of the room. “What have they done to my wife?”

  “What is he talking about?” one of the men asked.

  “Ma’mun sent a team to get the American’s family.”

  Craig looked up with a distraught expression. “Did they take them?”

  The general hesitated. “Uh. Yes…”

  Craig lowered his head. “This can’t be happening. Please don’t hurt them.”

  “No harm will come to them as long as you do exactly what we say.”

  “Don’t trust the American,” Husein said. “He’s a liar and a fool. He was just telling me how he’s going to try to escape and kill you all. He threatened to kill me.”

  “That’s enough out of you,” the general said. “I know enough about Mr. FBI, thank you. Real slippery, this one.”

  The militants looked at Craig in confusion. They had been told of a proudly defiant man who would resist their every demand. The sad lump before them wallowing in tears was not at all the man they had expected to deal with.

  “I need to talk to Ma’mun,” Husein said.

  The general turned to him with a raised brow. “What did you say?”

  “I said I need to talk to Ma’mun. Now.” His tone was forceful and full of conviction.

  The general took a step forward, raised a boot in the air, and pushed down on Husein’s chest. “You are to make no demands of us. Who the hell do you think you are? You are our prisoner. Nothing more.” He pulled out a long knife sheathed on his belt and held it in front of Husein’s face. “I could cut your eyes out right now, and no one would object. Be careful who you shout demands to.”

  Husein tried to look unafraid even as his heart beat rapidly. “I have information my aunt told me in confidence. About spies in ISIS. She had a list. I still remember their names.”

  The general tilted his head back and laughed. “Why should we believe anything that you say? An hour ago you refused to join our cause. In a very vulgar way, if I can recall.”

  “I don’t know what I want,” Husein said. “But I know that I don’t want to die.”

  The general smiled as if realizing Husein’s motivation. “Ah. I see. You hope that this information will spare
your life.”

  “Yes,” Husein said.

  “And you hope that we’ll be so grateful for the information that we’ll take you back in with open arms.”

  “No.”

  “No?” the general said, perplexed.

  “I don’t want to join you. But I don’t want to die. The information for my life. That is what I want.”

  The general scratched his scruffy beard, trying to assess Husein’s angle. “You really don’t know what you want, do you?” He looked over at Craig and pointed. “What about him? Do you think we should spare his life as well?”

  “I don’t give a damn about him. Because of him, my aunt is dead.”

  “You blame him?” the general asked, surprised.

  “Yes. With every ounce. Now please, let me speak to Ma’mun.”

  “Tell you what,” the general said. “Tell me the names and I’ll see what we can do about this arrangement of yours.”

  “I need to speak to him and only him. By telling you the information, I forfeit any collateral I have.”

  “A negotiator, I see. Trust me, boy. You have no collateral.”

  “Just get that piece of shit out of my face before I kill him myself!” Craig shouted.

  In a flash, boots came down on him, kicking him in the ribs. Craig howled in pain and thrashed and scratched the ground like a dog.

  The general looked back to Husein, the knife still gleaming in his hand. “I will tell Ma’mun of your request. Whatever he wants to do is up to him.”

  He then shouted at his men to stop kicking Craig. “That’s enough. We don’t want him unconscious on camera.”

  The men stopped, then lifted Craig to his knees and slammed him against the wall. The general walked over to Craig and thrust a sheet of paper bearing lengthy typed paragraphs in front of his face. Craig glanced at it and then stared up at him.

  “What is that?”

  “The words you will read if you want your family to live.”

  Craig looked at the sheet through his good eye. They were words he could never imagine himself saying. He only hoped his plan would work before he was forced to do the unthinkable.

  A Message to America