Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  “It beats the car, I guess,” Eli said, taking in a mouthful of egg. “No more driving.”

  James pointed his fork. “Did you hear what Church said? He wants us to fight for him. I’ll tell you what, he’s a far cry from that jolly fellow in his portrait.”

  Harper put down her silverware. “If we want to survive, we need to work together. That means compromise. It’s been a week. We don’t know when the army or the government is coming, or if they even will. Brighton, as small and as oddly managed as it may be, is our current residence. We need to start acting like it.”

  James paused for a moment. He looked at his plate. “I’ll do my best, all right? Let’s just pray it is not forever. Eli must be dying not being able to play his video games.”

  “Ugh.”

  After they finished eating, Trudy gave them the Brighton tour. They walked down the sidewalk lined with old buildings commonly seen in a city’s downtown, only on a much smaller scale. Brighton Books, a homely building with an elderly owner, had become the town’s main entertainment hub along with Finley’s. A family of Irish immigrants, the Doyles, started the pub after losing a bet. Harper felt a certain kinship to the out-of-place pub. Both she and James had Irish blood.

  The church was the next biggest attraction. With services every Sunday and Wednesday, it was the oldest building and the iconic element on the town flag. Trudy told them it was the best place to meet the townsfolk, a not so subtle hint for “I expect to see you there.”

  There were a few houses up and down the street. Unsurprisingly, the families that worked in or around the town hall occupied these. Washers, an old Laundromat, sat abandoned near the Green Leaf Motel, the Murphys’ new home. It was said to be haunted after someone caught it on fire, killing the husband and wife that owned the place. No one was ever prosecuted. When asked, Trudy shrugged off the question and moved to the next destination, the General Store, the place where the locals bought the basics. Most residents went to the nearby town of Briersville for their convenience stores and chain restaurants. Brighton had two mom-and-pop restaurants for those tired of the diner named The Diner. The rest of the buildings consisted of a hardware/hunting shop, a flower shop that bought and sold, and an antique store full of old farm equipment and other rustic artifacts.

  It was nearly noon when Trudy led them to the Fence. Men of various ages hammered away in the sun. It was not much more than a wooden frame at this point, and Harper had a hard time envisioning the final product. Around them, people sawed away at two-by-fours stripped from old houses.

  “Your people are handling it pretty well,” Harper said honestly, watching the small community working together.

  “Lots of these folk come from long lines of farmers,” Trudy pointed out, wiping her sweaty palms on her pant thighs. “Yeah, the blackout hit us hard, but we’re resilient. It’s in our blood. That and Church keeps us motivated.”

  Turning his head up from a hand-drawn blueprint, Levi waved them down. Sawdust sprinkled his shirt and shoes. “James. Could you come and look at this?”

  James shot Harper a glance, but at her look, he reluctantly journeyed to the bearded carpenter. Across a wooden table, Levi rolled out the blueprint fully. “What do you think?”

  With a crinkled brow, James gave a long look. “See this. That’s not going to work. It’s not structurally sound.”

  “What would you do?” Levi asked.

  Curious, James rubbed his chin. “Have a pencil?”

  Levi signaled one of the workers working near the table. The man nodded and headed off to the heavy-duty metal toolbox.

  “Ready?” Trudy asked.

  Harper watched her husband, who seemed completely focused on the blueprint, pointing out features to Levi.

  After a moment of James not noticing her, Harper grinned and nodded to Trudy.

  They dropped off Eli with Dustin back at the motel, standing in the doorway with two tin buckets. His opening words were, “Ever milk a cow?”

  Eli acted like it was lame, but Harper could tell that he was genuinely curious. Eli followed Dustin out.

  “It ain’t the best thing in the world,” Dustin explained as he and Eli walked down the center of the road. “But it impresses the ladies. Trust me. Every woman wants a country boy.”

  Their conversation became indistinguishable as they headed out of earshot. Harper and Trudy stood by the motel with hands in their pockets. “Your boy will do fine around here. Shame about his arm.”

  “DC took a toll on all of us,” Harper said, getting quick flashes of the death and chaos that ran rampant in the streets. She found it hard to escape the thoughts once the door was opened to them.

  “Brighton ain’t much of a town, but it's manageable. That can’t be said for many places with our nation’s current climate.” Trudy started down the street. “Come on, I’ll show you the cellar.”

  Trudy led Harper to the two largest houses in the town, only differentiated by a slight size difference and the decor. Both were two-story colonial-style houses with balconies. They faced each other from opposing sides of the street at the far end of the six-block commercial area.

  Trudy pointed up to the one they neared. Fluffy clouds coasted over the peaked roof. “This one’s mine. The other, bigger one is Church’s. Our families have been here since the mid-1800s, when Brighton wasn’t anything more than a few farms. These houses have been renovated, torn down, remodeled. You name it, it's happened. We got a basement put in ours. That’s the main difference.”

  “Lot of room for one man,” Harper said as they moved around the side of Trudy’s house.

  “Wasn’t always that way.” Trudy reached down and yanked open the cellar doors. With the sun at her back, she wandered down the rickety stairs. Harper followed behind, using the handrails as they plunged into the darkness. Midway down the old wooden steps, Trudy fetched a lantern dangling from the ceiling and lit it with a lighter. Long shelves ran the length of the room in rows. They were partially full of canned goods, mason jars, and water bottles.

  Harper took a moment to familiarize herself with the plethora of fruits, jams, and vegetables.

  “This is what we salvaged from the general store and what was donated from the farmers,” Trudy explained. “We got more in the sheds out back and are in the process of building a springhouse to keep the meat from spoiling. Right now, the meat is in the diner freezer, but that is practically useless now.”

  Harper walked down the rows of shelves, passing by a few cardboard boxes filled with fireworks. Tucked in a corner, a wooden crate caught her eye. The word Explosives was stenciled on it.

  “Used to have dynamite,” Trudy said. “My man’s secret fishing bait. Before you ask, I don’t know where the hell he got it. Rather not, quite frankly.”

  “Your husband still lives around here?”

  “Nah. Passed me up for a new model. Probably in Vegas somewhere, burning away his inheritance on slots and outfits for his lady friend.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m sure the EMP got him back.”

  Harper left the crate alone and picked up a jar of blackberry jam clothed in a thin coat of dust. “With some note cards and Sharpies, we can label this stuff. Also, with a legal pad, I can start counting what we have.”

  “Glad you said that,” said Trudy. “I’ve not had time to count it all by myself.”

  “We can jot down anything else the farmers harvest, too. Maybe they donate three quarters of their vegetables and save the rest for their families. If we reach a tight spot, Church can request them to give more. From what it looks like right now, we can last a good two weeks without serious rationing. More with the incoming crops. Have you had a chance to clear out the surrounding buildings?”

  “Started on it,” Trudy said, still standing at the bottom of the stairs. “The Fence has everyone busy, so we’ve been working day by day.”

  Harper put back the jam and returned to the woman. “Tell me what I need to do.”

  Wi
thin three days, Harper had seen everything that Brighton had to offer. From fertile farmland to the animal husbandry two miles away, she’d counted corn, tomatoes, green beans, cows, chickens, firearms, first aid, and everything else that could be consumed or stored. Harper’s life was nothing but numbers, charts, and the occasional casual conversation, and she was completely fine with that. Every can shelved or vegetable recorded stole her away from the world without power and the nightmares that plagued her sleep. Eli and Dustin had become good friends, and James worked feverishly on the wooden wall.

  By day seven, the Murphys knew everyone’s names, the wall’s plank foundation ran around the entire town, and gardens were set up in any grassy patch available. She learned that Church and a few others would go out past the fields and into the woods to hunt. They’d come back with bundles of squirrels and rabbits. Some mornings, he’d load into the Humvee with Levi and a few others and leave the town. Though not spoken about, everyone knew that they were slowly “securing” the roads. Nothing else explained the slew of backpacks, weapons, and clothes they would return home with.

  By the middle of week two, the first fight broke out. Someone stole something and got beat up for it. Church rationed more strictly, upped his night guard, and let the man off with a strict warning. He declared that anyone who stole would be shot without trial. With his frequent journeys to the road, no one doubted him or his ability to pull the trigger.

  Every Sunday and Wednesday, the community would fill the chapel. There were a lot of attendees the first two weeks, but by week three, the numbers dropped. Much to Harper’s surprise, James liked going. Indeed, he worked alongside Pastor Bruce at the wall, but it seemed like he was starting to get into the religious aspect. He didn’t swear as much and was thankful for more. Every morning, the people of Brighton would pray for someone to restart the power. They’d pray for their distant loved ones, and they’d pray most of all for hot water. No matter how many times they’d boil the buckets of water, nothing came close to a real shower.

  On the fourth week, Harper was an expert at washing her family’s clothes using an antique washboard, the wall was nearly finished, and supplies were dwindling at a rapid pace. The biggest hit came when a pack of wild dogs attacked the cows and chickens. Most were just injured, but without the right medication, it was enough to kill them. They had dog meat for the next two nights.

  No communication filled the airwaves, no planes coasted in the horizon, and after the first man hanged himself in the motel, everyone realized that help might not be coming.

  Surrounded by a twelve-foot wooden wall and with not a peep from the outside world, Brighton had become the loneliest place on earth.

  That was when Church asked for Harper. Personally.

  They met in the town hall boardroom. The small office had two windows on the outer wall, a square table, and paintings of the rural Virginia Piedmont hanging about. Candles dripped wax on the window frame. Their small fires flickered when the door opened and closed. At the center of the table were a few more candles of various shapes and scents gathered from different homes. Some were thick violet cylinders, while others were like towers weeping blue tears. If it weren’t for their clustered formation, it would’ve looked like they were part of some sort of séance.

  Harper claimed the wooden chair, not knowing at the time that its front leg was cut a tad too short. Rocking slightly, she planted her feet on the dusty carpet. Trudy, Levi, Dustin, and Church sat around her. The past thirty days had changed them. Trudy’s once-tight bun was a stringy mess of gray wiry hairs that escaped in odd directions. Like the rest of the women, she had run out of makeup weeks ago. Her skin drooped around her piercing blue eyes that had probably turned heads in her youth. Faint wrinkles snaked across her tanned forehead, but the rest of her face was tight and moistened by her collection of oils. Trudy’s no-nonsense attitude had escalated but not to the point of being unwelcoming.

  Since he was the only barber in Brighton, Levi’s head hair remained short and styled. A dark gray, it was gelled and had faded sides that eventually blossomed into his immaculate beard. With its curved tips bowing to the left and right, the well-maintained beard hovered over his pocketed shirt.

  The same maintenance could not be said for Church. Over the course of the month, his round jaw and chin had turned into a salt-and-pepper Brillo Pad, completely untamed until the bend of his faint cheekbones. His short hair had turned into a wild mess that parted over his forehead and stringed over his ears. His eyes had grown colder, dark and hardened, like a man who’d come out of the other side of a war. A lot of his fat had left him, leaving behind a thick skin and iron muscles.

  Dustin was the only one who looked the same. His curved-bill cap was slightly more faded, but his hair remained short. Honestly, it would have taken a before-and-after photo to spot any real difference.

  Harper could feel the difference but not exactly see it on herself. Her purple bruises had disappeared, and her cuts had turned to scars. The most prevalent, a thick slash just above her right cheek that looked like a welder’s mark. Her army-style hair had grown, and now she wore a tight auburn ponytail out of convenience. Her lips were still slightly chapped, and she could feel that rationing had burned some of her fat. Her muscles had toned out, and a farmer’s tan made for an interesting juxtaposition between her bronze arms, face, and neck compared to the rest of her pale body. Thankfully, the sunburn peeling had stopped last week.

  Reminded of her time with Commander McCulloch at the DC reserve center, Harper looked eye to eye with the Brighton leaders. Instead of hand-cranked lanterns and duty, it was the dance of candlelight and community that united them.

  “We aren’t going to survive if we don’t expand. Period,” Church stated, forgoing all tact.

  “Are, uh, we talking size?” Levi asked. “Trudy, what’s the population again? Forty-seven?”

  Trudy nodded. “We’re stretched thin, even with that amount.”

  “I know,” Church growled. “We need resources, not more people. Our medical supplies were used on the livestock, and that couldn’t save them. We are also short on ammo and canned food. Even with the seven gardens we’re nurturing, our crops are not growing fast enough to sustain our population.”

  “You mentioned Briersville a while back,” Harper stated. “Do you think that’s a viable option?”

  “It’s our only real option. If we take the Hummer too far out and it breaks down, we need to make sure the rest of you can get home safely. Briersville is only fifteen miles.”

  “I don’t like it,” Dustin said. “We’ve spent all this time building up a half-decent defense grid, and now we are going to run out into the wilds. Seems counterintuitive.”

  Orange flame bounced up Church’s hard face. “That’s why I’m putting together a splinter team. Hunters and gatherers.”

  “I used to be sweet on a girl from Briersville,” Levi said with a smile. “I know the town like the back of my hand. As for the Fence, James can finish it up.”

  “I’m too old for this kind of shenanigans,” stated Trudy. “And you are, too, Church. We need to pass the torch.”

  Church frowned. “I can do this.”

  Trudy glared at him. “No. You can’t. This town needs you here. So no more road clearing. No more hunting. No more leaving. We got plenty of young guns wanting to help.”

  “They don’t have the tenacity to pull the trigger,” Church grumbled.

  “They can learn.”

  After a long stare down between the two, Church spoke up. “Levi can lead. Dustin, Harper, and a few others will help him out.” He turned to Harper. “Didn’t Eli just get his cast off?”

  4

  Bricks

  With the afternoon sun beating down on their backs, they moved in a wedge. Leaves, twigs, and glass crunched beneath their boots. A gentle breeze caressed their hair like a lover’s touch. It tossed weathered shopping bags over the quiet street and against chipped light posts. Levi led the spear poin
t, twisting his hips and craning his neck as he turned his semiauto rifle from building to building. Harper and Dustin made up the right wing, while Eli and a city boy named Charlie followed on the left. They grasped hunting rifles and shotguns and kept the safeties off as they stepped stealthily through the ghost town once called Briersville.

  Eerie quiet moved with them as they passed cars, trucks, and other neglected vehicles locked to the cracked concrete by flat tires and dead engines. Harper stepped around a blue sedan, peeking through the fogged glass. Below the fuzzy dice dangling on the rearview mirror sat a picture of a seven-year-old girl. Freckled and in a yellow dress with black polka dots, the girl smiled ear to ear. Where she was now, where her parents were now, only God knew.

  The nearest minivan had its back door wide open. A suitcase filled with mildewed clothes spilled out across the road. Eli knelt down and sifted through the damp pile. Suddenly, he was jumping back and aiming his shotgun. A large brown and glossy centipede slithered out of a shirt’s sleeve and crawled under the car. They re-formed into the wedge that Harper had taught them.

  Soggy cigarette butts, rotting Styrofoam cups, and a few 9mm shell casings clumped in disgusting trash piles where the street rose into sidewalk. On the brim of the tall redbrick buildings that surrounded them, lines of black birds watched them with cocking heads and squawking cries.

  They’d explored the town for over an hour and found no human life.

  “Rapture came early,” Harper said, and no one disputed her.

  Glass spilled from most of the buildings and the gas stations’ jagged window frames. An ajar restaurant door moved slightly, and all guns went up. Holding her breath, Harper watched for a moment. She felt the wind brush her cheek. The door’s hinges creaked again. Rifles ready, they stepped inside.

  The restaurant stunk of sharp death and putrefying rot. They moved through the dark room. Dust twisted in the stinky air. In between tables, a busboy’s cart held a glass pitcher filled with green water. Wormy mosquito hatchlings writhed on the liquid’s surface.