Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  “No one needs to kill anyone,” Harper defied him. “We need to assess, find out what they want, and deal with the problem.”

  “How are we supposed to figure that out?” complained James.

  Sawyer smirked. “I have a sneaking suspicion they’ll tell us.”

  The figures stepped forward. Laughter, hooting and hollering, and other exciting cries poured from them. Moving together, the dozens of shadowy figures encircled the wall like a black flood.

  7

  Neighbors

  In a disheveled mass, the strangers walked forward without haste or worry toward Brighton. Their laughter and dialogue faded as they neared the twelve-foot curtain wall. Harper peeked out from the wooden battlement. James breathed heavily as his eyes bounced from stranger to stranger. His warm carpenter palm constricted against Harper’s own. Their connection only lasted an instant before Harper slid her hand away and rested it firmly beneath her cold rifle. Knives, axes, handguns, and other makeshift weapons clacked against the intruders’ bodies as they walked. Though not all were armed, their number caused a shiver to scurry up Harper’s spine.

  Church manned one of the two front watchtowers that stood four feet higher than the rest of the wall. More men climbed up and joined them, filling the wobbly wall-walk with two dozen spectators.

  “How many guns do we have?” Church growled, watching the figures through his sniper scope.

  “Plenty,” Harper replied. “But bullets are a completely different ball game.”

  Dustin bent the bill of his hat and slid it over his greasy head of brown hair. “You tell me where to find ’em, and I’ll get ’em for you.”

  “Are you serious right now?” James exclaimed. “They outnumber us two to one.”

  “Guns are in Trudy’s cellar,” Church told Dustin.

  The country boy nodded and bolted down the stairs, vanishing in the center of town.

  “Yeah, let's shoot at our neighbors. I’m sure that will leave a lasting impression,” Sawyer said sarcastically. “I’m going to check on Karla.”

  Church continued looking through his scope, but his voice was ever commanding. “You’ll stay here until instructed otherwise.”

  Without a word, Sawyer crouched back down.

  Harper moved next to Church and whispered, “I agree with James and Sawyer. Inciting an unnecessary assault seems like a stupid idea. Maybe there’s an alternative.”

  “You vowed that you’d defend this settlement,” Church growled. “And you will defend this settlement.”

  “Church.” Harper grabbed his shoulder. “As your council member and friend, please opt for a peaceful resolution. We are not ready for a fight. Think about your people. Think about the children. Many will die if they’re foolish enough to jump this wall, and people do stupid things when they are afraid.”

  Church glared at Harper until she removed her hand from him. “If we shoot, they scatter.”

  “Maybe,” Harper said honestly. “Or they charge.”

  “Hey,” James yelled. “One of them just raised a white flag!”

  “Let’s talk to them,” Harper said before Church could aim again. “If they're a threat, we take them out. Deal?”

  Church paused for a moment, gritted his teeth, and then nodded.

  Harper and Church moved between both of the watchtowers and looked down at the strangers. Dirt smudged their faces and arms, and mud caked their shoes and socks. Knotty hair twisted in the morning air. Sparse beards, sunken cheeks, and bony ribcages were the first three signs of negligence. The youngest looked to be around fourteen. He had a faint yellow mustache sprouting from his upper lip and a deteriorating bandage wrapped over his left eye. The others had cuts, scrapes, and bruises. A cough spread between them, and a man struggled to get the final drop of water out of his dirty plastic bottle. He failed, letting the bottle fall on wet grass and get trampled underfoot.

  Swaying back and forth, a white T-shirt on a crooked stick poked out from the center. The sun rose from beyond the Earth’s bend.

  “That’s far enough,” Church shouted.

  The strangers came to a shambling halt. The command rippled down the advancing side masses until the people formed a misshapen crescent moon roughly forty yards from the Fence. The flag bounced through the crowd until its bearer broke through the mob.

  He was a tall man with slicked-back blond hair, a shaven jaw, and a large knife sheathed on his belt. Despite seeing the rifle barrels sticking out of the watchtowers, he moved forward while holding the white flag up high. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “I said far enough!”

  He stopped thirty feet from the Fence’s front door and speared the flag stick into the dirt. The white shirt nearly tore free but then fell limp when the breeze ceased. He wiped his dirty hands on his jean jacket. Beneath that was an undone blue plaid button-down and black tee. Harper gawked for moment, taken by surprise as she recalled a troublesome memory.

  “My name is Brandy,” the man said. “I’m looking for a Good Samaritan. Thought you’d be able to help. My friends and I are starving, you see. No water either. We need a place to rest. I know we’re asking for a lot, but without your help, I don’t think we’ll make it.”

  The weary people looked up at them with teary eyes.

  “Help, please.” The plea echoed down the line. The people shambled forward like a troop of living dead.

  Everyone on the Fence tensed up. They exchanged worrisome glances with one another as the horde advanced.

  “There must be at least three dozen of them,” someone said.

  “More,” another farmer added.

  “We’re strapped on supplies,” Church yelled at the crowd. “If you have something to barter, we’ll negotiate. Otherwise, you best back off.”

  Brandy raised his fist. The pleas surrounding him subsided, and the tide of movement stilled only feet behind him.

  “We’re not asking for much,” said Brandy calmly. “Honestly, a meal--cold is good enough--and a night inside shelter would suffice. Then we can discuss a trade. I don’t have food, but I have other goods.”

  James leaned over to Harper. “Can’t we give them something? I don’t know… like a care package. We have the supplies now.”

  Harper shook her head, not removing her gaze from Brandy.

  “No.” Her voice quivered. “We know this man. He attacked our Humvee, James. It’s the same guy.”

  “What?” James squinted at Brandy. “Are you sure?”

  Harper nodded. “The bowie knife in his belt. I remember it. He must’ve escaped Church’s ambush.”

  “Anyone could own that knife,” James argued.

  “It’s the hair, too. Nothing’s changed apart from the bandana. You gotta trust me on this, James.”

  James frowned, sending his beard downward. “Church, what’s the play?”

  Brandy swiveled to the side and gestured to the crowd. A tall woman with long brown hair, alluring eyes, and a thin-strapped tank top stepped forth from the mob. When she came into arm’s reach, Brandy gingerly took her hand. She waddled to a stop next to him, clenching her protruding stomach. He smiled sympathetically at her, raised her hand with his own, and shouted to Church. “This is Mary. She has an innocent life growing inside her. A baby girl. Without food, both of them will die, and I’ll be guilty for not trying to scavenge for food, and you’ll be guilty for not supplying it.”

  Church cocked his rifle. “We know what you are. We know your ploy. You’ll leave. Now.”

  “Your eyes must be failing you, old man. We’ve never met.”

  “Don’t play games with me,” threatened Church.

  Brandy untangled his fingers from the pregnant woman’s hand. “Whoever you think I am, whatever you think I’ve done, you’re mistaken. I’m a leader, like you. I watch over my flock, who are too weak and feeble to take care of themselves. If you were in my situation and I in yours, I wouldn’t hesitate opening that door. If I didn’t, you’d want to tear down that
wall and gut me like a pig.”

  Dustin returned quietly with a wheelbarrow full of shotguns and rifles. He signaled the spectators one at a time to come and collect.

  “Are you threatening me?” Church’s sniper crosshair drifted up Brandy’s head and landed at the point between his sunken blue eyes. His finger curled over the black trigger.

  “Hypotheticals.” Brandy smirked. “So this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to open that door, get me and my friends a hot plate of food, and treat us with a little human decency.”

  “You will turn your people around and walk away. Or we will kill you all where you stand.”

  “A regular cowboy, this one,” replied Brandy. “Is this who you follow? A trigger-happy lunatic more keen on shooting a pregnant woman than helping one?”

  The farmers on the wall-walk turned their attention to Church, awaiting his reply with sullen stares.

  Ferris put his gun down. “I won’t kill an infant, or any woman for that matter.”

  More rifles clacked to the ground. Ferris stood defiantly then led a group of men off the wall.

  “Your people are abandoning ship, Captain,” said Brandy, taking a step forward. “Maybe you should join them before you go under.”

  Church frowned. He didn’t take his finger off the trigger, but he didn’t shoot either.

  Harper rose from her cover. “If you really care about your people, you’ll walk away. Whatever you think we do and don’t have isn’t worth the bloodshed. There are a number of small towns nearby. Admittedly, most are slim pickings, but the Piedmont is rich with fertile soil and acres of farmland. With a little hard work, you’ll be able to make a life for yourself.”

  “Answer me this, sweetheart. How many of us do you think your old man could drop before we climb that wall?” asked Brandy. “I’m only going to ask one last time. Open the gate!”

  The dozens of strangers planted their feet, readying for a sprint. Their hands slid over the handles of their weapons.

  Trembling, the farmers on the wall took aim, forming a firing line with guns only holding a shot or two each.

  Harper supported her rifle on the top of the battlement. “I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.”

  Brandy chuckled. He yanked the yielding stick from the dirt, smiled at Harper, and smashed it over his knee. Wood splinters exploded in the air. Casually, he dropped the two halves. The white shirt sunk into soupy mud.

  “In twenty-four hours, that gate better be open. If it’s not…” Brandy clicked his tongue a few times. “Unlike your mayor, I don’t make empty promises.”

  He twisted his back and cut through the crowd. Mary followed behind him, blocking any shot Harper or Church could’ve made. Brandy’s people funneled in behind him. After a moment, Brighton’s neighbors had dissolved from view, leaving trampled grass, crinkled trash, and the presence of foreboding fear.

  8

  Quiet

  Quiet ruled the Fence. The farmers of Brighton lowered their weapons and stood from cover. The sun cast its crimson-and-orange rays across the silver clouds while the moon lingered for a little while longer. Church slung his tactical rifle over his broad shoulder. Stringy gray hair stuck to his temples, jaw, and neck. The large man turned to Harper. “Town hall. Bring everyone.”

  He stomped down the stairs. Each wooden step creaked under his heavy-duty boots. No one else moved or even dared trade a glance. Harper clicked the safety on her rifle. “You heard the man. Get moving.”

  The men clambered across the wobbly wall-walk and dashed down the stairs. One farmer dipped his gun back into Dustin’s wheelbarrow. Harper caught his tan forearm. “You’re going to be needing that.” She turned to the people. “All of you are going to be needing your weapons! Do not surrender them. If anything, you should be arming yourselves more.”

  James dragged his feet to Harper. “How--”

  Harper put a hand up. “We can talk later. Right now, the meeting.”

  “I’ll get Eli.” Her husband’s lazy walk formed into a jog toward the motel.

  Harper ran her hand up her hair, feeling her auburn roots, as she observed the twelve-foot wall. For a moment, the patchwork appeared janky, and the stature left something to be desired. She bit her cheek and headed for the town hall. Tables, stacked chairs, smoking hearths, and the smell of charred squirrel stayed in the street’s center. The out-of-place Christmas banners flapped between power lines, and the laughter that filled the kids’ section was replaced by eerie silence.

  Trudy held the town hall doors open in the same fashion she did with Pastor Bruce’s chapel. Only this time there weren’t service pamphlets, only dreadful frowns.

  Light spilled from the tall windows, revealing dusty particles dancing in the air. The residents of Brighton tracked mud over the red carpet and planted themselves into the two columns of padded chairs. Harper spotted James and Eli sitting in the front row. They saved her a spot, but Church grabbed her attention from behind the curved council desk on the raised floor that overlooked the people. Harper smiled sadly at her son while she climbed the steps and took a seat at Church’s right side in the same chair Levi had once claimed. Sawyer and Karla snuck into the back row.

  Trudy closed and locked the doors behind her with a loud click and made her way up to the council desk. The people traded whispers and yawns. Some were still sobering up and fumbled in their chair.

  Harper bounced her leg beneath the council desk. Dustin noticed and gave her a look.

  “We have twenty-four hours.” Church’s voice reverberated off the corners of the tall room, and the low chatter ceased. “Before an army marches against our walls. Twenty-four hours to fortify our homes. Twenty-four hours to prepare for war.”

  Pastor Bruce jumped from his seat, Bible clenched in his hand. “This is abuse, Jonathan! We’re farmers, not fighters. Most of us hunt, of course, but let me tell you truthfully, brothers and sisters, killing an animal is a far cry from killing a man. Why wage a war when we have the means to prevent it? The boon from the other night shouldn’t be hoarded but shared with the needy. We sacrifice a small sum and make friends for a lifetime.”

  “Pastor’s right,” Ferris yelled from his seat. “We should give them what they want. They have a pregnant woman, for heaven’s sake!”

  “Yeah,” yelled a woman. “You said it yourself, Mayor. We have supplies to last us months. I’d give my portion if it means no one has to die.”

  A few more women nodded in agreement.

  Church hammered his fist on the desk with an echoing thud. A pen rolled to the floor. “We will not waste our time bickering!”

  “Listen to your mayor,” Trudy commanded. “Without him, there wouldn’t be Brighton.”

  “I may be in the minority here,” Sawyer yelled from the back. “But how do we know this is isn’t just an idle threat? And if the threat is true, I’m sure we can pack up and move out fairly quickly. Brandy, the bad man, strolls into town, realizes it's not that impressive, and leaves with his friends. We return after and live out the rest of our humble lives in peace.”

  “And give up Brighton?” Church shouted. “This town is all we have!”

  “All you have, perhaps.” Sawyer grinned. “My daughter’s life matters much more than a few buildings and a pesky wooden wall.”

  Church’s seat scraped across the wooden floor as he jolted to his feet. “I gave you and your daughter a home, fresh clothes, and food in your bellies, and you’d throw it all away. For what?”

  Sawyer crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. “My life, obviously. I’m sure most of the people around here would do the same.”

  “Listen up!” Harper interrupted. “Whether or not Brandy’s threats are true or false matters little because even if he doesn’t attack, someone else will. Most of you have been in Brighton since before the blackout. As someone who's been outside these walls, I can testify that the world has changed. People kill each other over scraps and tickets. How much more are they willing to sa
crifice for a fortress full of food? We’re in for the long haul. Even if power returns this instant, it would take months, even years for us to recover. So this is what I suggest: we defend what’s ours. Even if that means wars. Because if Brandy wins, he won’t just be taking our stuff. He’ll take our lives and much, much more.”

  The crowd grew quiet.

  Eli stood and brushed his thick bangs away from his eyes. He shot his mother a quick glance, took a breath, and turned back to the crowd. “Last month, I didn’t have a home. I had a broken family and wasn’t sure if I’d make it after what happened in DC. But since I’ve been here, my parents have reunited and I’ve been part of something bigger. Brighton is my home now. My family. Anyone who stands for that, stand with me, stand with Mayor Church, and stand with my mother, the woman who provided for us at the most critical time.”

  Harper smiled at her son and to herself. Immense pride circulated in her being, and she stood, followed by James, Trudy, Dustin, and Dr. Hanson. Then the carpenters and the farmers, the hunters and the gatherers, even Pastor Bruce. Eventually, Ferris and his followers stood. Much to her father’s surprise, Karla stood, too. Harper read her lips as the skinny teenage girl spoke. “I’m tired of hiding, Dad. Let’s actually do something.”

  Groaning, Sawyer got to his feet.

  Church looked out upon his people. “They may have numbers, but we have the skill. Let’s show them what we do to those who threaten our home.”

  Though fear was palpable, the people mustered a courageous cry, and there wasn’t an occupied seat in Brighton.

  Harper, Trudy, and Church took charge.

  They scoured the supply logs, store closets, and basements packed with weapons and other loose items while the rest of the people went to their homes, gathering any useful supplies. Altogether, Harper counted seven pump-action shotguns, nine rifles, a duffel bag full of M16 assault rifles, and a handgun. There were twenty-two shotgun shells, nineteen rifle bullets, zero M16 rounds, and nine shots for the handgun.