Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

“Please do. I don’t want you doing this alone,” she said, and heading toward the cabin in haste.

  “Hey, wait,” Craig said. He grabbed her arm, pulled her closer, and hugged her. After brief hesitation, she hugged him back.

  They broke away and Craig dialed his supervisor, Agent Vince Walker. While waiting for Walker to answer, Craig glanced at the screen. One lone reception bar flashed. If he got through, he’d need enough time to explain that he was alive and that he had information. If the files were encrypted, the FBI would need to send technicians to the cabin immediately. There was a lot riding on his assumptions.

  Craig put the phone on speaker and held it up in the air. Finally, a confused Walker answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Sir, it’s me. Agent Davis.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Davis? You’re alive. Oh thank God. We—uh. We didn’t know what your status was.”

  “I’m fine. Reception’s going in and out, but I have some important information. Are you prepared to copy?”

  “Yeah. Go,” Walker said.

  “I need an analyst team here. I’ll send over my coordinates.”

  “Analyst team? You have information?”

  “I have a laptop that belonged to a high-ranking ISIS member.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but this country isn’t fit to handle a tornado in the Midwest right now, let alone another terrorist attack.”

  “I understand that, sir. That’s why we have to do our best to stop them.”

  “Where are you?”

  Craig held the phone down and began typing. “Hold on, I’m sending you the coordinates now.” As he typed, the signal went out again and then dropped completely just as he hit send.

  “Sir?” Panicked, Craig tried to call back but couldn’t get through. He scrolled through the phone call log. Ghazi’s call had taken place ten minutes ago.

  Craig hurried back into the house and found Nick and Husein rifling through his crate.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “Did I say you could look through there?”

  They jumped up startled. The crate was full of weapons and other ordnance: a case of 9mm ammo, a small shovel, nails, mini sentry traps, trip wire, .22 rounds for the traps, a chain saw, and a weapons case that held a 9mm Beretta pistol. It was Craig’s secret stash to be used in case of an emergency. If there was ever a time to utilize the equipment, the time had arrived.

  “What is all this stuff?” Nick asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. I’ll need your help setting everything up. We don’t have much time. Where’s your mom?”

  “She went into the bathroom.” Nick looked around and then spoke quietly. “Said she had to wash her face. I think she was crying.”

  “Just give her a minute. She’ll be fine.” Craig looked to Husein. “Are you ready?”

  Husein’s eyes met his. “I guess so. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just help me set some traps. You know what these terrorists are capable of.”

  “How did they find us?” Husein asked.

  “Yeah, how’d they do it?” Nick asked as he brushed his blond bangs away from his forehead.

  “They just did,” Craig answered, sparing them the details, but then wondering if he’d been too abrupt. “I don’t know,” Craig said. “I’m sorry.”

  The bathroom door opened and Rachael stepped out wiping her eyes dry with tissue.

  “You okay?” Craig asked.

  “Yes. I’m ready to defend the cabin. It’s the only way.”

  “Defend the cabin?” Nick said, confused.

  Craig turned to him, stern and emphatic. “You and your mother are going to stay in here while I meet with these men. I’m going to make a deal with them and everything will be okay.”

  Craig unslung the rifle from his shoulders and handed it to Husein. “Husein, you’re going to cover me.”

  “Why him?” Nick groaned.

  “Have you ever fired a gun before?” Craig asked.

  “No,” Nick answered, like it didn’t matter.

  “Well, now is not the time. You’re staying here and that’s final.” He turned to Rachael. “You know what to do if anyone comes through that front door.”

  She nodded holding up her .38 revolver.

  Craig pulled his pistol case from the crate. Inside was a 9mm Beretta handgun. He loaded a magazine into it and dug the pistol into the back of his jeans.

  Before walking outside, he stopped and turned to Nick, as if remembering something.

  “There’s one last thing I need from you.”

  “What?” Nick asked.

  “Your laptop.”

  He looked at Craig jokingly, but his smile dropped when he saw that his father was completely serious.

  Twenty minutes later, Craig and Husein had set up trip-wire traps around the entire perimeter of the cabin. The thin fishing line tied from tree to tree was obscured by grass and was virtually invisible. Several brass sentry traps, loaded with a cotter pin and blank .22 charge, had been fastened to the lower trunk of each tree. When breached, each trap was rigged to blast, alerting anyone inside the cabin of advancing intruders.

  They all went back inside, to get out of the sun, and wait.

  “Wish I would have gotten a minute to enjoy this place,” he said. He hugged Rachael tightly.

  “How long will you be gone?” Nick asked. “What if they try to hurt you?”

  Craig went to Nick and hugged him. “Not long. Everything is going to be okay.” Craig didn’t know how else he could reassure him. “It’s not the best plan, but it’s our only option.”

  “And you’ll bring my laptop back?” Nick asked.

  Craig laughed slightly. “Yes, I’ll bring it back. And your mom’s phone, too. Eventually.”

  With that, Craig said goodbye and he and Husein started toward the back door.

  “You both be careful,” Rachael said. “I mean that.” She rushed toward Craig to give him one last hug. He took in the scent of her hair and spoke softly. “Be back soon.”

  As they walked outside and down the steps, Craig could sense Husein’s apprehension.

  “Don’t worry,” Craig said. “I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

  Husein’s eyes remained fixed as they walked past the rear of the cabin and over the trip-wire that had been set between the trees.

  “It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s you,” Husein said. “These men will stop at nothing to kill you. And if they catch me, the torture will be endless. They must know that I killed Ma’mun by now.” Husein suddenly stopped walking, as if having second thoughts. “Can’t we just run? Do we have to face them?”

  Craig stopped and turned toward Husein. “They may have Rachael’s parents. Besides, they’ll never stop pursuing us.”

  Husein grew agitated. “I think that you want to face them. Some American code of honor thing. Do you really think you’re going to take down their entire organization?”

  Craig took a few steps closer to Husein and spoke calmly. “I don’t expect to do anything beyond protecting my family. All I’m asking from you is what we discussed. Take a concealed spot and cover me. If it looks like I’m in trouble, aim and shoot. Just like before. I just need enough time to recover my pistol. The first wire trap will startle them once breached. They’ll panic. That’ll give us a moment to engage. Every one of them has to die. No exceptions.”

  “But more will come. You must know that.”

  “I do, but—”

  Suddenly, Rachael’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Craig clutched the phone and pulled it out. It was his number on the screen. Ghazi was near.

  “Yes?” he said.

  Heavy static filled the line as Ghazi’s voice came through. “Where have you been? We’ve been calling you.”

  “Terrible reception out here,” Craig answered.

  “I trust you haven’t been on the phone with the FBI or anyone else since last we spoke.”

  “I wouldn’t be
able to if I tried.”

  “For your sake, I hope that’s the case. We have your handheld radio. Maybe that would suit you better.”

  “That’s fine. I have one here,” Craig said, looking around. He covered the phone and asked Husein to run back and get a handheld from Rachael. Husein sprinted off as Craig held the phone to his ear.

  “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” Ghazi said. “Make sure you have the radio on you.”

  “Are you close?” Craig asked.

  “Do you have the laptop?” Ghazi asked.

  “Yes, but remember what I said. My family is off-limits.”

  “Yes, yes. Keep up your end of the bargain and we shouldn’t have a problem.”

  Craig knew that they were both lying to each other, which more than justified his plan to fight back. He didn’t believe for a minute that they were going to spare his family.

  “I’ll be standing roughly a quarter mile from my cabin in an open clearing, waiting for you. Are you still on the road?”

  “We are close.”

  “I’ll be here. Just me and the laptop.”

  “Good.” Ghazi said. Then he hung up.

  Craig lowered the phone and looked up as Husein came running back with a radio in hand.

  “Thank you,” Craig said. “Now let’s find you a good spot and do this.”

  The fifteen-passenger van slowed to a halt at the bottom of a hill where they saw another familiar-looking van of their own parked to the side of the dirt road. Ghazi instructed the driver to pull up behind the abandoned vehicle and park.

  Accompanying him were ten other militants who had taken the long ride from their headquarters in Minneapolis to Craig’s house in Rockville, Maryland. Initially tasked to assist the other stakeout team in finding Craig, they were alerted to his precise location by a tracking device in Ma’mun’s laptop.

  At headquarters, they had lost contact with the team watching Craig’s house, and feared the worst. Omar was beside himself, shouting into Ghazi’s phone, threatening the harshest punishment if they failed to bring Craig to him. Nothing, it seemed, was more important.

  Ghazi had it all planned out. The bartering of Craig’s in-laws. The threats against his family. All of this would bring Craig out of hiding.

  They had lost the trace on Ma’mun’s laptop—Craig had since shut it off—but they had a general idea of where he was. And with the discovery of the stolen van, Ghazi knew that they were close. The heavily shaded woods provided cover, but it also gave Craig a similar advantage. Ghazi knew this. As they parked, he turned to his men—young men, all of them armed and wearing camouflage clothing, bullet-proof vests, and black bandanas. He spoke softly.

  “Keep your eyes open. Stay alert at all times. The American is near.”

  The men, all quiet, nodded. Ghazi took a red bandana and wrapped it around his head. He glanced down at the open laptop resting on his knees and studied the map showing on the screen. A single yellow dot remained—the last known signal from Ma’mun’s laptop.

  The driver, a tall, skinny man with a goatee opened his door. One of the men in the back opened the rear double doors as they all gripped their weapons, ready to get out. Ghazi turned and pointed a finger at them.

  “Don’t take this man for granted, mark my words. He’s a trained killer.”

  “We can take care of him, don’t worry, brother,” said a young man with a scruffy chin beard named Hafan. From the back, several of the others joined in, laughing.

  Ghazi’s tone grew more angry and forceful. “You fools have the memory of a fish. This American killed over twenty of Ma’mun’s men in Detroit. You saw with your own eyes what he did to the men watching his house.”

  “But you forget one thing, dear Ghazi,” Hafan said. All eyes turned to him.

  “What is that, Hafan?” Ghazi asked.

  “That you’re with the best now,” he replied, high-fiving a man sitting next to him.

  Ghazi wasn’t amused. “You won’t find it very funny being dead, I can tell you that now.”

  The militants then piled out of the van, paying his warnings little mind. Frustrated, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone and then dialed, waiting with it pressed against his ear. Finally, someone answered.

  “Yes, this is Ghazi. Do we have the parents?”

  There was a slight pause as the man on the other end explained. Ghazi’s mouth dropped.

  “What do you mean they disappeared? How?” His face flushed as the man continued to explain.

  “I don’t care if they’re no longer in the house. Search the entire neighborhood if you have to.”

  The man interrupted him, trying to defend himself. Ghazi would have none of it.

  “If you didn’t see anyone leave, that means they’re still in there. And if they’re not there that means they slipped out somehow. I don’t think I need to remind you of the consequences of losing them.”

  The man continued pleading his case and making excuses. Ghazi shut his laptop and stepped out of the van. He cut the man off and shouted into the phone. “Everything we’re doing right now is tied to this. If your team fails, Omar will have your heads. That, I guarantee you!” He hung up in anger. His blood pressure was already rising and they hadn’t even found Craig yet.

  “Move out!” Ghazi shouted, slamming the van door shut. He felt along the bulky green-colored camouflaged vest he was wearing. There were plates on both sides, shielding his chest and back. The weight of the vest bore down on his shoulders, but the discomfort, he felt, was worth it.

  After seeing the bodies following the Detroit factory shoot-out, they would have to be crazy not to take precautions. He took his Glock pistol from his side holster and pulled the slide back, chambering a round.

  He brought his sunglasses down from their resting position on his forehead and then joined his team, gathered at the tree line on the other side of the van. He held his cell phone out to see how many bars he had. Only one remained. It was time to switch to the handheld radio.

  He stuffed his cell in his right pocket, holstered his pistol, and pulled the radio out. The men cocked their rifles with carefree smiles on their faces. Ghazi turned the radio knob and heard crackling static. He pressed a side button with his thumb and spoke. “Hello?” All he could hear was more static.

  Their driver, Nidal, casually leaned against the hood of the van holding a shotgun. He watched as Ghazi puzzled over the radio. “Do you need help with that thing?”

  Ghazi flashed him an annoyed look. “No, I can work it just fine. The American might not be in range yet.

  “So what do we do now?” Nidal asked.

  Ghazi pointed to the forest. “We travel west to their cabin. He will be waiting for us. This way,” he said, walking toward the tree line where the other militants were standing in the shade, waiting.

  “We cannot fail this mission,” Ghazi warned. “I want everyone spread out and keeping their proper intervals. When we encounter the American, no one is to shoot him. He is to be taken alive.” Ghazi looked around. “Understood?”

  The militants grumbled in unison. Hafan raised his hand. He had a snarky expression.

  “What is it?” Ghazi asked.

  Hafan looked around first, ensuring that he had the attention of the group. “What if he fires at us first? What are we to do, stand there and take it?”

  Other militants murmured in protest, looking at Ghazi, demanding answers. Ghazi waited for them to quiet down before he spoke. When the words did come, he spoke calmly and slowly as if they were students in a classroom. “First of all, the deal was that he would be unarmed. Now we know that to be very unlikely. So what do we do?”

  The militants looked at each other, but Ghazi answered before anyone could respond. “We cover him from all sides and be prepared to defend ourselves if necessary. Your first move should be to subdue him. From there we take him to the van, kill his family and the Chechen boy and bring their heads back to show him.”

  Hafan raised
his hand. Ghazi looked further annoyed. “Yes?” he said.

  “Why not take the Chechen boy, too? It was, after all, him who killed Ma’mun.”

  “Yes. I too have heard of the small bloody footprints found near Ma’mun’s body, but have not received instructions about the boy, only that he is to be killed like the others.”

  “Nonsense,” Hafan said. “He should be kept alive and tortured for his treacherous role against us. It wouldn’t be the first young boy you’ve done that to, would it?”

  The other militants nodded along and voiced their support. Nidal, the driver, stepped forward.

  “I do believe Brother Hafan has a point. This Chechen is as deserving of vengeance as is the FBI man. It would be a shame to send him off prematurely.”

  “We’re here to follow orders, not dictate our own terms,” Ghazi protested.

  Hafan cut in. “What difference does it make? We kill him now, or we kill him later. Omar won’t care either way.”

  Feeling outnumbered, Ghazi gave in. “Very well. If he can be taken alive, do so. But shoot him on sight if you must. The priority is the American.”

  Now in agreement, the men covered their faces with black ski masks and marched off, with Ghazi leading the way. They spaced themselves at wide intervals in a single flank, intent on covering more ground with the greater distances between themselves.

  Ghazi was pleased to see them coming close to their goal, but his eyes remained fixated ahead, past the trees with their heavy branches and thick vines. He believed that, if given the chance, Craig would ambush them. His pistol was drawn. His finger caressed the trigger. In his other hand he held the radio, trying again to reach Craig. A faint voice finally crackled through the speaker. Nidal, walking closest to him, took notice.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked. “It’s him. I heard a voice.”

  Ghazi held the radio to his mouth and pressed the button. “Come in. Hello? Speak louder. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes…” the distorted voice said.

  “We’re headed west toward Lake Hewitt. What is your current status?”

  There was a slight pause, then the voice came in. “You should have close to a two-to three-mile walk from where you’re at. I’ll be here. Waiting…”