Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  “Down… dog… or I kill your mother.” Brandy’s face slowly paled.

  Harper looked at her son sternly. “Go, Eli.”

  “But Mom. He--”

  “He won’t shoot you. If he does, he dies.”

  Reluctantly, Eli nodded and hobbled past Brandy. “I’ll get Dad.”

  Brandy’s gun followed him, and then it turned back to Harper. “Clever… now, hand over… the detonator.”

  Harper pulled the device from her satchel. “This?”

  Brandy nodded. His blue eyes struggled to stay open. His word slurred. “Yes!”

  Silent, Harper slid the detonator two yards from him.

  He extended his revolver to try to nab it with the barrel but failed by a few inches. “Closer!”

  Harper crawled to him. Their faces were only a few feet apart. Harper snatched up the detonator. Brandy’s elbow gave out and his jaw slammed on the floor. The revolver slumped in his hand. He spit blood.

  “Give it… It’s… mine…” Brandy’s voice drifted.

  The weapon clacked on the floor. Blood pooled around Brandy, staining his blond hair. His fleeting eyes looked to nowhere.

  Harper took the revolver from his weak grasp and rolled to her back. She listened to his breathing dwindle while she held the detonator over her chest. She took a long, deep breath, letting the sound of the rain soothe her. As much as she wanted to chase her son, Harper needed to rest for a moment. Yes, it felt nice.

  A distant door burst open.

  James called her name.

  10

  Tomorrow

  Holding hands, Harper and James approached the exit. They took a deep breath and pushed open Bimberg’s front door.

  The rising sun’s glow slowly overtook the wet grass, scattered bodies, and the sullen faces of Harper’s friends. Standing amidst the charred and twisted ruins of Brandy’s camp, wide eyes watched the Murphys leave the factory. Light rain pattered on Harper’s skin. She went tense for a moment but soon enjoyed the cold drizzle.

  Levi, Dustin, and Sawyer stood behind dozens of Brandy’s surrendered lackeys. Police Sergeant Cowl and Officers Winested and Yoakley were in the process of rounding up the enemy’s shattered army when they spotted Harper.

  Kimmy and Dr. Hanson turned their eyes from the wounded and to the factory’s front. The farmers lowered their makeshift weapons with the rest of Brighton.

  Bleeding from his brow, Leonard cleaned his smudged glasses on the lip of his button up shirt. Nana holstered her sawed-off shotgun and rested a hand on her hip. The rest of the people of Hamsburrow stood by their leader with their guns resting on their shoulders or slung over their backs. Their shaken expressions juxtaposed those of Brighton’s finest: one of relief and victory.

  Eli limped to his mother and wrapped his arms around her. She let her eyes close as she felt her son’s embrace. His hug reminded her how much she really missed him. When he pulled away, Harper started to address the crowd but choked up before she could speak. The people around her weren’t neighbors but family formed of more than blood. From the country folk to the roguish individuals like Sawyer, Harper would go to hell for them. By their teary but determined eyes, they would do the same for her.

  Any other day, Harper would’ve straightened her posture and let her formal tone amplify her voice. Today, she opened her mouth and let the words tumble out. “Let’s go home.”

  The people looked back at her.

  “Not until we’re done,” Dustin said.

  With tired nods and murmurs, the rest agreed.

  Harper cracked a smile. “To work, then.”

  Small flames danced on ruinous tents and charred oaks as the people of Brighton and Hamsburrow assisted the wounded on both sides, gathered sticks, and prepared a pyre. The badly injured received immediate medical attention from Dr. Hanson and a few more practitioners from Hamsburrow.

  Harper and Leonard agreed to postpone the supply delegation temporarily. The older man agreed, offering to treat the wounded at Hamsburrow. Those wishing to go went without protest while the rest stayed to say farewell to the fallen.

  Trudy was laid out across the pyre. The strong woman had gone pale but remained as fierce as ever. Dustin let the tears fall unashamedly as he sent his mother off with a flaming stick. Kimmy and a few of the other farm girls wrapped their arms around him and shared in his loss.

  Two or three dozen of Harper’s people had died. She didn’t know all their names, but she would not forget their sacrifice. They were laid to rest on their own flaming tombs that ran in a long line across the factory’s front.

  The remnants of Brandy’s forces were given a choice: help Hamsburrow and Brighton under strict but temporary supervision, or to leave and never return. The split was 70/30, with only the small amount staying. Harper let the rest grab their belongings and escape into the woods.

  It was sunset by the time the deceased were ash. Alone, Harper set up a small pyre for Brandy out of sight of the others. She didn’t have a strong reason to grant him this mercy. Maybe it was for closure. Maybe it was to show mercy to a man who didn’t deserve it. Either way, the fire engulfed the blond-haired villain and the stink of burning flesh was no different than the rest of the dead.

  Harper and the others spent the night separating Brandy’s supplies. Leonard and Harper split it 50/50 and agreed upon an official alliance between Brighton and Hamsburrow. Together, and with the help of Cowl, Winested, and Yoakley, a code of law would be established and enforced throughout the Virginia Piedmont and maybe the state.

  “I guess we part ways, Mrs. Murphy,” Leonard said with a slightest hint of sadness.

  “Not for long.” Harper replied, holding her bandaged forearm. “After a few days of R&R, we’ll be sending out scout parties across the state to find and unify surrounding settlements. Once we get some solid trading posts, we’ll report back. Don’t be a stranger in the meantime.”

  The man cracked a smile. “You won’t need to worry about that.”

  Nana at his side, Leonard withdrew his colony into the woods.

  “Who’s that?” Eli asked from behind her.

  Harper wrapped her uninjured arm around her son. “A new friend.”

  “We could use some of those,” Eli said.

  Harper kissed him on side of his forehead. “That we could. Come on, you are in serious need of a shower.”

  Eli grinned. “Tell me about it.”

  Harper walked with her son into the factory where the supply tables had been turned into hospital beds. The unused C-4 was packed away for another time.

  After two days, the people of Brighton were anxious to get home. A few had already left to check on the elderly and children. Harper led them down the longer path that paralleled the road. After they walked over gravel for a time, they reached snaking Virginian back roads and continued in welcomed silence until their home came into view.

  The walls of Brighton could’ve been the gates of heaven by how the residents looked upon the damaged, burned, but unbroken structure. Supporting each other by the shoulders, they marched to the busted front gate. The shadow of the old chapel enveloped them as they wandered down the main street. The children and the elderly rushed out of the town hall to greet them with hugs and cheers. Levi had them seal the gate and Harper went to her home, the two-story house just doors down from the late Mayor Church’s and Trudy’s colonial residences.

  Washing themselves with heated well water, Harper and James introduced Eli to his large and homey bedroom.

  “Boy, does it feel good to be back,” Eli said as he climbed into his bed. “Wake me up in forty years.”

  “Dr. Hanson is coming over in the morning to check on your eye,” Harper informed him. She brushed her hand across his cheek, looking at the eye patch. Her own body was riddled with scars and James had the brutal slash on the side of his head.

  Eli pulled up his covers. “Do you mind if Karla and Sawyer come over for dinner tomorrow?”

  James and Harper t
raded looks.

  “Karla and Sawyer or just Karla?” James teased.

  Eli smiled shyly and shrugged. “Whichever.”

  Harper sat at the lip of his bed. “I’ll cook something nice.”

  “Um, maybe Dad should,” Eli replied, stifling a grin. “Not that you’re squirrely bits aren’t good but…you’re going to be busy. Probably.”

  “Hey,” James said seriously and rested his hand on Harper’s shoulder. “I, for one, love your mother’s squirrely bits.”

  “That was bad,” Eli replied.

  “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be your dad.”

  The teenager let out an exaggerated groan.

  Harper kissed him. “Goodnight, Eli.”

  “Night, Mom. Night, Dad.”

  Harper and James headed for the door.

  “Hey,” Eli said, slightly ashamed. “Could you leave the door slightly open?”

  Harper smiled sweetly. “Of course.”

  James and Harper moseyed into the master bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. In the dark room, they stared at the ceiling.

  “It’s hard to believe he’s gone,” Harper said.

  “Good riddance,” replied James, disgusted.

  “There’s more like him. I know it.”

  James rolled to his side. “Not near us. Brandy left us with some scars and memories, but his tyranny is over. We dealt with our devil. The rest of the world can deal with theirs.”

  Harper went quiet for moment. “DC is still hell. God only knows what the insurgents are doing.”

  “Harper, our responsibility is here.”

  “I’m not saying that we march tomorrow, but one day… I’m going to find my unit and we’re going to take back what was stolen from us.” Harper rolled to her side, locking her eyes with James. “Will you be with me?”

  James brushed his thumb over the scar on her cheek. “To the ends of the earth for you.”

  Harper nuzzled up close to him. “Thank you.”

  Sleep came to them swiftly and Harper didn’t wake until past noon. Hanson had already done his check up on Eli, reminding him to eat and rest. Eli liked that plan.

  Harper spent the rest of her day looking after the enslaved women still acclimating to their newfound freedom. She let those willing to work tend to the gardens while the others were set up inside of Church’s home. Meanwhile, Francis and the rest of Brandy’s captive goons went to work for Levi on Fence repair. They were reluctant at first, but Cowl persuaded them by dangling his cuffs in his free hand. The other two officers kept the peace and recruited more officers. With the help of Hamsburrow’s physicians, Hanson was able to treat the injured properly. The new supplies helped, too.

  Kimmy took over Trudy’s duties while Dustin helmed the scouting missions. Sawyer assisted him for the most part. He spent the rest of his time hashing out trade deals with Hamsburrow. Putting aside her angst, Karla helped with supply management.

  Mitchell discovered more books at Bimberg and turned Brighton’s Books into a public library. Martha Doyle eventually packed away her funeral blacks and reopened the Finnley’s Pub. The locals were pleased, and messengers from Hamsburrow made themselves at home.

  Pastor Bruce kept the chapel in tip-top shape and received full attendance every Wednesday and Sunday. He helped Farris and Farris’s wife organize community meals that used the same out-of-season decor. Church, Trudy, and the others lost were sorely missed at each gathering, but Pastor Bruce convinced everyone to celebrate the lives of their late loved ones.

  Eli dealt with Brighton’s community issues and occasionally visited Hamsburrow for tutoring from a local high school teacher. Karla and him became an item, but he vowed not to have children at an early age like his parents. He attended Brighton’s meetings and was always willing to help.

  James stuck by Harper’s side in Brighton’s leadership. He let his hair grow back but kept the beard, occasionally teasing Harper about building the cabin in the Smokies as they planned.

  Harper used the tactical knowledge she had gleaned from her Army commander, the strong will reflected by Jonathan Church, and the heart of Trudy to lead Brighton. She helped open trade routes with surrounding encampments and accepted anyone seeking peace. Though the conflicts were many, James and Eli kept her centered in a world where constancy is rare.

  Harper never saw Mary again but, as Brighton’s influence spread, rumors circulated about a female tyrant in North Carolina.

  It was a beautiful summer afternoon when Harper called the people to the town hall’s front steps. The wind tossed her long ponytail as she looked out at the expanse of Brighton. Beyond the expertly maintained wall, small huts were erected to accommodate the massive number of new residents.

  James stood at Harper’s left. His brown hair tumbled on his shoulders. The gnarly scar above his ear prevented hair growth. His beard nearly overtook his neck. Eli stood at Harper’s right. He looked more and more like his father each day. Dustin looked out to the crowd, still in his jeans, plaid, and trucker cap. A big wad of dip bulged under his lip. Sawyer was nearby and had a knife-spear strapped to his back. Around them, many familiar and unfamiliar faces overtook the entire street and sidewalk. More leaned against the outer railing of the motel’s walkway from across the street.

  Harper straightened her posture and stepped forward. She wore simple attire and army boots.

  “Three months ago,” Harper started, “there were forty of us. Now, I look at nearly three hundred Brighton residents.”

  The crowd roared with cheers.

  Harper smiled. “We made first contact with the cities of Alexandria, Charlottesville, and Richmond, and we project that in the coming weeks, the entire state of Virginia will be charted. Continue down this trajectory and we’ll have the nation!”

  The crowd roared, louder and more confident.

  Harper soaked in the moment, taking a deep breath. For the first time in forever, there was hope in her people’s hearts. Hope in her own.

  “Thank you all.”

  James took her hand, Eli followed behind and together, they bounced down the steps. The crowd parted as the Murphys stepped into Brighton’s street, anxious to get back to work. Anxious to thrive in a world without power.

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!

  Writing has always been a passion of mine and it’s incredibly gratifying and rewarding whenever you give me an opportunity to let you escape from your everyday surroundings and entertain the world that is your imagination.

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  Terror Rising: The Beginning

  1

  Secret Meeting

  A covert operation was in effect under the cover of a blackened sky. The desert, vast and barren, stretched for untold miles. A windstorm had picked up, pushing a blanket of sand in all directions. Amid the rolling headwinds sat a hideout obscured by night and covered by a tan canopy that concealed the clay-and-stone building even in brightness of day. Such covert operations weren’t unique to this desolate location. The desert had many secrets, known only to those who inhabited its hollow terrain.

  The young men working throughout the night knew these secrets all too well. They were at war. They had been at war since their leader declared a fatwah against perhaps the greatest evil in the world: the United States of America. And this time, they were right in their enemy’s backyard, along the southern border of El Paso, Texas.
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  The Islamic State was already embedded throughout Texas and had been growing steadily since its subsequent conquest of major cities throughout the Middle East.

  Their expansion throughout Iraq, Syria, and Libya was important—crucial to their cause. But their ambitions didn’t stop at there. They were going to infiltrate the enemy from within, through strategically placed sleeper cells ready to activate at a moment’s notice.

  For the longest time, Salah Asgar, leader of the Texas sleeper cells, hadn’t heard anything from back home. He had a family in Fallujah, Iraq—a wife and two sons. His youngest son, Umar, had been killed in a drone strike by American forces, a target supposedly based on bad Intel. The shop explosion killed fifteen other Iraqi civilians, including Salah’s neighbor, Mustafa.

  Ten years after his son’s death, Salah wanted nothing more than revenge against the U.S. As a dedicated Sunni, he joined the Islamic State during its rise in power in the spring of 2013 just as the last remaining American forces had left Iraq. From there, he was ready to do whatever necessary to avenge his son and his people.

  One of their many Texas hideouts was a small concrete compound where they hid supplies underground. Its modest size and dilapidated exterior gave the impression that, even if discovered by outsiders, it was just an abandoned outpost not utilized in ages.

  Tubes of long fluorescent bulbs hung along the ceiling powered by a gas generator, their only source of electricity. There was little to be found inside the building, as their weapons caches, sensitive documents, and dirty-bomb materials were all stored below ground and out of sight.

  Salah told his men that they could never be too careful and that they were to cover their tracks at all times.

  “Fail me, and you fail the Islamic State,” he had told them. And he meant every word of it.

  That evening, about thirty operatives—mostly young men—had gathered in the cramped confines of their hideout for an important meeting. Salah walked out from the room in which he had just finished talking with his closest advisors and turned toward the open hall.