Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  James and Harper traded looks. She took his hand in her own, intertwining their fingers and gently squeezing. Slowly, they left the asphalt and bumped up a shallow hill, catching brief glances at the five decayed cadavers that wasted away on the roadside. With keen and cautious eyes, they rolled around the vehicle blockade and back to the road. Memories of their first encounter with Church lingered as the Humvee climbed farther up the Smokies. The barometer dropped into the sixties, and fog lingered in the air like God’s smokescreen. Trailing upward, Hamsburrow entered their sight.

  No more than four roads, a handful of eateries, and a Baptist chapel, it was a blip on the map much like Brighton. The town started where the mountain dipped in on itself, forming a forested valley with two steep sides. Beyond the point-peaked homes and flat-roofed buildings, the main street continued to a place only the locals knew. Porches jutted from the trees of the valley walls. The concealed and elevated houses stemmed from hidden driveways invisible to trespassers.

  Harper heard clicking sounds from the backseat and two assault rifles passed between the front seats, landing in James’s grasp. He slid the weapons between his legs, keeping the safeties on and barrels to the ceiling.

  The Humvee bobbed off the road, trucked over uneven earth, and dodged trees. It maneuvered down a shallow dip and curved behind a cluster of oaks and thorns. Quietly, Cowl and Sawyer exited the backseat and fanned out. Dustin slinked down from the gunner station, grabbed the final M16, and joined them in their triangle formation. After a moment, Cowl gestured to Harper, who nodded at James, and together, they left the Humvee. Popping the hood, they removed the battery, slid it in the potato sack, and buried it. Once dirt concealed the battery and the disguisable rock marked the top, the party hacked at low-hanging branches and ferns, creating enough camouflage to mask the Humvee’s sandy exterior. Though not perfect, the earthy facade would hide the vehicle from most unaware hunters.

  “Expect resistance,” Harper reminded her squad as they moved through the often sloped and unpredictable terrain. “According to Howie, Brandy’s people have this place on lockdown by now. We need to make sure the locals know that we’re the good guys.”

  “We are the good guys,” James said as he skipped over a large rock.

  “Not if we gun down our adversaries without mercy,” Sawyer added.

  “As a lawman,” Cowl interjected. “I see it as delivering Texas justice.”

  “Brandy’s folks don’t stand a chance.” Dustin filled his lip with tobacco dip. “They’ll break quick when they see our weapons. We scare ‘em and the place is ours.”

  Through the surrounding tree line, Hamsburrow grew into view. At its front entrance, two tall watchtowers--erected from plywood--flanked the road. Empty paint cans rested beneath wooden slabs on the tower’s faces. “No Trespassing,” it read in yellow letters that dripped bright tears.

  Harper and the others dropped to their bellies. Held breath and beating hearts, they waited for a moment. When no alarm bells rang, Harper mustered the courage to crawl to a tree trunk and draw out her binoculars.

  “See anything?” James asked in a whisper

  Harper let her magnified sight wander from tower to tower and across rooftops. “Two snipers; one in each tower. They have scoped hunting rifles.”

  “Could they have seen the Humvee?” James asked.

  “Not sure.”

  “In a valley like that, I bet they heard our truck in their basements,” Cowl remarked.

  Dustin armed his assault rifle, readjusting the elevate knob on the sight. “Helluva shot, but I think I can drop ‘em with burst fire.”

  Harper pondered for a moment. “No. We’ll find another way inside and take them from behind. Best-case scenario, they surrender without casualties. Worst case, we’ll be hitting their flank.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” Sawyer asked with an outstretched hand.

  Harper surrendered the binoculars and let the roguish man do his thing. “Huh, they have some kind of cable running from the outlying houses and into the town.”

  “It couldn’t be electrical cables, right?” Dustin asked.

  Cowl shook his head. “No, the EMP finished that noise... unless they're running on some kind of jerry-rigged power generator.”

  “Seems impractical, don’t you think?” James said.

  “Practicality doesn’t apply to most people,” Cowl replied. “‘Sides, if you could have power, wouldn’t you?”

  Sawyer lowered the binoculars and blew a bang out of his turquoise eyes. “It isn’t too late to turn back. We can get some beauty sleep before tonight.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Harper said, as more of a demand than reassurance, and reclaimed the binoculars. She carried her gaze up from the town’s buildings to the porches protruding from the distant woods.

  The hike left their knees aching, clothes sticky, and hair sprinkled with barbed seeds. They stepped onto a hidden driveway that curled up the valley. Looking both ways, they crossed the asphalt and snuck toward the house’s front door. Two stories high and coated in flawless paint, the house appeared to have been constructed within the last ten or twenty years. Perhaps a summer home? Harper peeked into the window and at the large den with a couch, TV, and French doors to the balcony. No movement. No candlelight. She turned the knob.

  Unlocked.

  The men shuffled beside the door in a disciplined riot formation. Harper opened the door a quarter way before slamming her shoulder against it and swiveling inside. The M16 barrel moved across the room. She treaded lightly, suspicious of any creaking floorboard or closed doors. Fully alert, Sawyer, James, Cowl, and Dustin stepped in behind her. After a few hand gestures, they branched into the kitchen, bathrooms, and bedrooms alike.

  Harper moved throughout the home, tracking in crusty leaves across the surprisingly clean house’s wood floor. She perused the family photos of an attractive couple and their golden retriever. Some were backed by snowy ski hills, others with the crystal clear oceans of Hawaii. Happy days. Harper regretted not traveling anywhere exotic with James. She made a mental note to do so when, or if, the power returned.

  Seemingly not wanting to ruin the picturesque moment, Harper gingerly returned the photo to the wall-mounted sideboard. She approached the balcony double doors. In the clear glass, her tired but alert reflection moved toward her. After Eli was back and Brandy dealt with, she’d have a nice, heated bath built over a fire and take a thirty-six-hour nap. Harper never felt entitled to anything, but that would feel real nice.

  She opened the doors.

  A cool gust splashed against her and tousled her ponytail. The view stole her breath: mountains dipping up-and-down forever, nature as green as the eye could see, small clouds lingering in dishes formed by ridged terrain, and the entirety of quaint Hamsburrow sprawling below like her very own little world. She absorbed the refreshing mountain air, filling her lungs with fresh delight. She brought her attention back to the porch, noticing the cable Sawyer mentioned earlier. It was a thin but sturdy black rope that extended dozens of yards into the town.

  “Don’t move. Don’t talk,” a voice said from behind her, robbing her of the moment.

  Harper craned her neck far enough to spot the attractive tan man--an Abercrombie type--rising from a porch chair. He clenched a snub nosed revolver, its short chromatic barrel trained on Harper.

  “Give me your gun,” the man said carefully and quietly.

  Harper recognized him from the photos. “We can talk.”

  “Be quiet and hand it over.” The man glanced through the French doors as Dustin slipped into the kitchen, a head turn away from seeing the situation. “Right now.”

  Harper bit her cheek, waiting for any one of her allies to enter into view. No one. She lowered the barrel, flipped the safety on, and surrendered the M16 to the man. He slung the strap over his shoulder.

  “Pass me the harness,” he commanded.

  Harper traced his eyes to the harnesses clumped on a chair. She tossed it
to him, deftly letting the second harness slip out of the clump. “I want to talk to whoever is in charge.”

  “Turn around. Count to 100. Quietly.”

  Harper followed his command, mumbling the numbers and listening to the rustle of the harness. She heard a click followed by a zip and swiftly turned around. The stranger leapt from the wooden railing, letting the zip line carry him through the air.

  “James, Dustin. Out here. Now!”

  The men came running as Harper hastily threw on the second harness.

  “Someone saw me. We can’t let him warn Brandy’s men.” Harper checked the loose strips. Good enough. She searched under the chair, snatching up a metal trolley.

  “Babe, what the hell are you doing?” James asked.

  Harper jogged to the rope and clipped on the trolley. “See you down there.”

  Without a second thought, Harper leaped over the railing.

  The trolley screamed as it raced down the rope at breakneck speed. Harper's fingers clenched it tight. She squinted her eyes as the wind pulled back the skin on her face. The town got closer and closer. Pings of fear signaled inside at the full realization of the deadly heights. Her heart pounded; she could feel the harness loosen up. The rope line bowed at the center. The trolley jiggled. At the far end, the stranger vanished behind a church. Harper zipped past the crucifix, spotting the encroaching safety net sprawled over the street beyond. The man landed with a grunt. Harper knew if she waited till she’d reached the line’s end, the stranger would be long gone and the whole settlement would be up in arms. Gulping down her fears, she pinched the trolley, freeing herself from the line.

  It felt like falling in slow motion. She clinched her eyes, praying to hit the safety net from twenty feet up. Suddenly, the net absorbed her and dipped an inch from the asphalt. Keeping her mind on the mission, Harper forced herself out and collapsed onto the pavement a few feet below. The shadows of the surrounding stores and buildings crawled over her. She pushed herself up and darted down the street. She turned right, passing by the chapel and entering the main street, to face a gun barrel.

  The snub nose hovered a breath’s length from her face. Harper held her hands out. The man’s eyes watered. His hand lightly shook. All signs of an amateur. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

  With a quick motion, Harper lunged, snatched the gun, and forced the barrel back at the perpetrator, snapping the man’s fingers in the trigger. He screamed. Harper braced for a blast but heard nothing. She yanked the gun out of his hands, strode back, and took aim before taking off the safety. “Let the rifle fall.”

  Whimpering, the man allowed the M16 to slip off his shoulder and clack on the street. He clenched his broken finger.

  Harper took a deep breath and scanned the street, noticing a bearded gunman in the second floor window. She turned to an adjacent rooftop, seeing a female with a hunting crossbow. From a faraway building, another man zip lined in, taking aim with a pistol. Three more middle-aged residents appeared out of an alley, removing kitchen knives from their belts. Most of the people were skinny but well dressed, wearing smooth long sleeves shirt or jackets and only slightly blemished boots.

  Harper kept her gun aimed at the Abercrombie model, knowing she was surrounded.

  A thirty-something-year-old woman exited from one of the nearby homes. She’d shaved half her head and braided the other side. A large holster on her belt contained a sawed-off shotgun.

  “You’re going to want to drop that gun about now.”

  Harper looked at the faces of those around her. They didn’t look like Brandy’s savages, but the half-shaven woman in the plaid shirt made her question herself. Cautiously, she lowered the snub nose to the ground. “You with Brandy?”

  “Like the drink?” the woman asked. “Boys, contain our guest.”

  Two men flanked Harper and frisked her with their large hands, retrieving the knife from her ankle and the machete from her back. On the woman’s command, a third ran inside a cozy home to retrieve zip ties. Harper didn’t resist, but inside she screamed.

  “There’s another,” the tan man said as he gripped his index finger with his whole other hand.

  The woman glared at him. “What are you doing? Go find him!”

  Harper’s captors shoved their hands under her armpits and led her farther down the road. People and children of various ages stepped out of their homes to stare and gossip. Everywhere she turned, another gun was aimed at her. Small shell casings nestled the curb of the road. Painted-over bullet holes spotted buildings while plywood slats barred broken windows.

  “My name is Harper,” Harper told the woman who followed behind.

  “Nana,” she replied, acknowledging the town folks with a stern stare.

  “I’m in the Army, Nana. I’d like to talk to whoever is in charge. It’s life or death.”

  “This way,” the woman pointed to an unassuming single-story home near the end of the street. The two men who’d zip tied her opened the door and Harper caught a whiff of cinnamon and other strong aromas. The interior room was completely devoid of furnishing, excluding a few folding chairs popped against a wall. One of the men grabbed a chair. Nana continued to a door on the left with a single yellow line painted on it. She removed a ring of keys from her pocket and began fiddling with the lock.

  “Nana, I’m not the enemy. I want to talk like civilized human beings. It’s important.”

  “We’ll talk,” the woman said, finally getting the right key and gesturing for her to enter. “Please.”

  Cautiously, Harper followed her to the doorframe. Inside, a small coat closet lacked coats. A Tupperware container rested on top of a folded blanket and fluffed pillow. Harper glanced down the adjacent hall. More painted lines on each of the doors, starting at two and counting up to four.

  Before Harper could speak, she was shoved into the closet. The door slammed, locking her in complete darkness.

  “Nana, wait!” She slammed her shoulder against the door.

  “The Tupperware is your potty,” Nana’s muffled voice said. “Blanket and pillow are for sleeping. Get acquainted with the items. Leonard’s a very busy man and won’t be able to see you for a few days.”

  “Nana!” Harper hammered the door with her fist. Something scraped underneath the doorknob, presumably the chair. Footsteps vanished. A door closed.

  Harper rubbed her hand up her scalp, paced briefly, and then kicked the door.

  Harper propped her back against the wall and hugged her knees. The small sliver of light from under the door became the indicator that she hadn’t fallen asleep. This must’ve been a fraction of what Eli felt, she thought. Completely alone in a strange place. Unsure if your loved ones are coming for you. She couldn’t imagine days like this, but she probably wouldn’t be able to tell. In complete blackness, time meant nothing.

  The assault on Bimberg would be tonight, she knew, but would her people still march without her command? If they didn’t, Brandy would get the jump on them and their struggle to survive, to build, and to restore would be rendered meaningless. Perhaps Harper wasn’t giving Brighton’s people enough credit. After all, they withstood one assault. If they didn’t have Harper’s gunner turret, would that’ve still been the outcome?

  A distant door creaked open. Boots clacked against the floor. Harper lifted her head. Light grew brighter underneath the door as the person approached.

  “James?” She felt her way up to the wall with her zip tied hands and slowly pulled to her feet.

  The person outside stopped. The sliver of light flickered softly and flowed under the door like amber waves. The doorknob jiggled. A key scratched inside the keyhole. Harper stepped to the back wall and got ready to tackle the person if the chance arose. The door opened slowly. The two men who’d originally zip tied her faced her. Both had normal builds with trimmed hair and beards. They wore different light sweaters and leather shoes and were probably in their early twenties. One held a baton club while the other held a candlestick. />
  “Come with us,” the light bearer said. “Resist and you’ll stay locked up.”

  “Where are we going?” Harper asked as she shambled out of the door.

  “You’ll see.”

  They left the building, passing into the dark town. With an eerie incandescent glow, multiple bonfires lined the foggy street. The moon was full and black clouds crawled across the blanket of stars. A handful of silhouettes zipped down from their elevated homes, vanishing behind buildings and presumably landing in safety nets.

  The men led Harper down the street and closer to where the bonfires took a sharp turn. Harper heard movement behind her. She twisted back, seeing James and Sawyer rushing past her and smacking both men with the stocks of their rifles. Harper’s captors staggered and then collapsed. Cowl and Dustin grabbed them by the wrists and dragged them into an alleyway between a tourist shop and candy store. Harper, James, and Sawyer followed them.

  “We were looking all over for you. Are you okay?” James asked, gripping Harper by the upper arms with unchecked force. “Did they hurt you?”

  “No,” Harper said, reeling from the swiftness of the attack.

  “Did they touch you?”

  “No, James. I’m fine,” Harper said, sharper than she’d intended.

  Sawyer peered into the main street with his assault rifle pulled up to his chest. Meanwhile, Dustin and Cowl drew out the bundle of zip ties and locked up the two men by the wrists and ankles.

  “Now that Harper is back, we should leave,” Sawyer said as he pulled his head back into the alley.

  “I second that. The assault on that factory started at nightfall,” Cowl said. “We need to move.”

  “Do we know that?” Harper asked.

  “Well, no, but that was your plan.”