Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  “Special Agent Burke has over twenty years’ experience in counterterrorism operations and can be a great asset to this investigation, given his decision to be a part of it,” Thaxton continued. She nodded at him to speak, and he stepped forward.

  His demeanor was as serious as that of any government official Angela had ever encountered. She felt slightly better with the CIA involved. The more the merrier, she believed, and was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. He looked at her specifically as though he knew her. She felt strange as their eyes locked and quickly glanced away.

  “Just flew in, and I only know what I’ve been briefed on so far. Homeland wants this thing wrapped up soon, before it goes national.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Angela said, feeling her anger rise. “Are they concerned about my family or more about this leaking onto the six o’clock news?”

  “Agent Gannon,” Chief Drake called out. “Please let the man speak.”

  Angela said nothing and looked down, balling her fists underneath the table.

  “I understand your frustration,” Burke said. “And I can understand how afraid you must be. How frightened for your family you are and how much you want them back.” He went to the other side of the table, standing directly across from her. “But I’m not here to talk endlessly. I was sent for one express purpose: to help rescue your family from these terrorists.”

  Thaxton cut in. “Homeland Security has a point, though. If this were to get on the news, it would be much more difficult to contain the threat and focus our rescue efforts.”

  Burke walked past the assistant director, circling the table in thought. It seemed as though he knew more about the situation than anyone else in the room.

  “The video stream was disseminated carefully to top officials in the FBI, CIA, and Homeland Security.”

  Sutherland raised his hand. “Has the president seen the video?”

  Burke stopped right behind Angela’s chair, glancing at Sutherland seated next to her. “He has been briefed on it, yes.”

  “Agent Gannon made an earlier point about our numbers,” Sutherland continued. “I tend to agree. We can’t possibly search all these locations in time. It would take days.”

  “We’re in the process of assembling a counterterrorism field team to handle the brunt of this daunting task,” Burke answered.

  The FBI agents looked at each other with subtle expressions of suspicion as Thaxton spoke up. “Sounds like you’re casting a pretty wide net. Where do we fit in this master plan?”

  “You will advise and cooperate however the president sees fit. He wants to ensure that we get it right this time. That there is no stone left unturned. That when we go into a building, it’s the right one. These terror cells frequently change their locations to throw us off. We’ve got a dozen analysts on it now, trying to close in on their location via IP address, but we’ve only recently discovered that they aren’t using a fixed IP address or URL.”

  Burke walked past Angela’s chair and toward his satchel resting on another. He carried it over to the table and opened it, pulling out a MacBook, setting it down near Chief Drake, and flipping it open. The screen displayed a paused image of the terrorist video, showing the knife-wielding masked man standing behind Doug, who wore an orange jumpsuit and whose face was concealed under a burlap sack.

  Angela could see the image out of the corner of her eye and turned away as sickness gripped her stomach. The reality was too hard to face. She couldn’t think of seeing Doug helpless and on his knees again. The image had been already seared into her brain.

  “I’ve since obtained the hostage video, and our top analysts are reviewing every detail in the three-minute message,” Burke said, pointing at the screen. He looked up and noticed Angela turned away, shielding her face from the room. “I’m sorry, Agent Gannon. If you’d be more comfortable skipping past this part, you can leave the room and rejoin us later.”

  “No. I’m fine,” she said, sniffling. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”

  Burke nodded and continued. “We have a male speaker with a distinctive British accent. Several analysts are trying to identify him through voice sampling and body type comparisons with known terror suspects in our database. We hope to identify him soon.”

  The man stood frozen in the frame with his knife pointed at the camera—Doug’s hood hadn’t been removed yet. The image was wrenching for Angela, and she had to turn away from the screen again.

  Burke walked toward the projector screen, with its array of pinpointed locations, and pointed at it with his laser pen.

  “In this video, the speaker makes a demand on behalf of the Islamic State, clearly identified by its visible flag. Demands included the release of all prisoners from Guantanamo Bay, ending all mosque surveillance throughout the United States, and the liquidation of Israeli financial assets and support.”

  Burke took a deep breath and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, checking the time. “Challenging goals for sure. And the given time limit of twenty-four hours makes it even harder to achieve.”

  Angela waited for the answer. She couldn’t envision any plan that didn’t include the swift rescue of her family. If only there was something more I could do, she thought. Her daughters needed her. Doug needed her.

  Lost in her own thoughts, her attention drifted from Burke’s remarks to a plan of her own. “What if we were to go around the terrorists and take control of this thing ourselves?” she said, gaining sudden looks from everyone.

  Burke eyed her intently. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean that we get the media involved. Get this thing out there. Tighten the screws on this terror cell. How many of them could there possibly be?”

  Burke thought to himself and glanced at his cell phone screen again. “I can assure you that this administration is not on board with that. They want things to remain quiet, which is their version of control.”

  Chief Drake leaned forward with his own take. “You give the terrorists a platform, it’s only going to benefit them in the long run. I happen to agree with the administration on this one.”

  “Whether or not this gets all over the Internet and the front pages is beside the point,” Burke said, resuming control of the conversation. “This particular terror cell is making these outlandish demands to buy themselves time, to distract us from something larger. If our intel is correct, they’ve been in this country for years, and they’re planning something big.”

  Burke talked as if the government were helpless and the terror cell had been given free rein all this time. Angela found herself baffled by such thoughts. What was the point of the CIA, the FBI, and even her job with the border patrol if not to prevent the exact scenario they found themselves in now?

  Burke ended his speech with a chilling reminder of just how far the enemy was willing to go. “Two weeks ago, there was a series of attempted break-ins at nuclear power plants in the southern and Midwestern United States. In all cases, the perpetrators got away. Here in Texas, one of the only two power plants in the state reported a break-in that resulted in several badges being stolen. There were also reports of a man in a gray van videotaping the plant.”

  Sutherland stood up, visibly upset. He rested both hands on the table, palms down, and shifted his glance from the assistant FBI director to Burke. “When did this happen? And why weren’t we made aware of it?”

  Burke seemed to find Sutherland’s mild outburst amusing. “From what I hear, Agent Sutherland, your team had its hands full searching for this Captain Martinez.”

  “This is bullshit,” Sutherland said, looking to Thaxton to back him up. “We’re supposed to be sharing information, not withholding it from each other. Haven’t we learned from past mistakes?”

  “That’s enough,” Thaxton said, urging Sutherland to take a seat. He slowly complied.

  With Sutherland calmed down, Burke continued. “I apologize for keeping you out of the loop, but in fairness, the FBI was made awar
e of the break-in. Apparently, they just didn’t disseminate the info far enough.”

  Burke’s eyes met Thaxton’s, which Sutherland noticed. “You knew?” Sutherland said, whipping his head around to the assistant director. “Why not tell us? I just don’t get it.”

  As usual, Thaxton remained poised and calm, with her arms folded at the table. “I needed your team focused on finding Captain Martinez. Everything else was secondary.”

  “We’re getting way off track here,” Angela said boldly.

  Burke looked at her, surprised but seemingly impressed with her fortitude. “I happen to agree, Agent Gannon,” he said to the now-silent room. “The important thing is that we all have to work together on this, every agency. We have to move on several fronts. Not only do we have to find this terror cell and rescue the hostages, we have to protect these hard targets from attack. It’s going to take planning and coordination, and we don’t have a lot of time.”

  Chief Drake turned to Burke with a question of his own. “I noticed that in the video, the speaker demanded that we stay out of their way lest they harm Angela’s family. Do you believe that this was a direct threat against the very action we plan to take?”

  Burke thought to himself for a moment and nodded. “They used a British speaker to emphasize the universal appeal of their ideology. That was no accident. And by keeping us looking in so many different directions, they’re buying themselves time. But mark my words: this is and always was about a major attack.”

  “I’m just curious,” Chief Drake added. “Where does the administration stand with that theory?”

  Burke lifted his head and folded his hands. “They agree for the most part and are ready to provide the proper resources so that when all teams are assembled, we won’t even have to leave the room. We can watch it all happen in real time.”

  Angela felt ready to charge into action. She wanted a say-so in every decision made but recognized an unrealistic goal when she saw one. The government agencies were going to do it the government’s way, and she had a strange combination of excitement and dread at the thought. “Just tell me this,” she said, holding up a hand. “What is our main priority in finding these terror cells?”

  “Finding your family, of course,” Burke answered without missing a beat.

  Their meeting was soon adjourned. Burke left the room as abruptly as he had answered her question. The FBI team soon followed, leaving Chief Drake and Angela at an empty table in a darkened room, blinds closed and projector screen still on.

  “You need to rest while they put this thing together,” he said.

  “I couldn’t if I wanted to,” she replied, looking down at the table. It was true enough. She didn’t feel the least bit tired, but she couldn’t go on forever. The inevitable crash would come soon.

  “I want you to go home, Angela,” Drake said, standing up and stretching. “In fact, I don’t care. Go to a diner. A motel. Anywhere but here. You need a break from this place so Homeland can do what they do. I’ll call you once everything is in order.”

  She thought about her home—vacant, ghostly, and cordoned by yellow police tape. It was the last place she wanted to be. But in another way, she felt compelled to investigate—to fully face the reality of her situation.

  “I’m ordering you to leave this station,” Drake said. “I’ll call you as soon as everything is ready.” He pushed his chair in and headed toward the door as Angela offered a “Yes, sir” in return. He left the room as Angela sat alone in the silence.

  Martinez was unreachable. Doug was facing unimaginable horrors in the captivity of terrorists. And she couldn’t imagine the fear that Chassity and Lisa were going through.

  There was no one she felt she could talk to. In what world was it possible that her family could be abducted by terrorists and held prisoner? They weren’t in Iraq or even the cartel-ridden landscape of some Mexican town. How could such a thing have happened?

  Angela drove home in a daze to the familiar comfort of her neighborhood only to find her patchy front yard cordoned off by police tape, just as she had imagined it. A police cruiser sat in the driveway, with two male officers who seemed to be basking in the air conditioning fighting the midafternoon heat.

  They followed Angela with their eyes as her light-blue Toyota Camry pulled in. If only they had been at her house the night before. She parked and got out of the car, introducing herself as the officer at the wheel rolled his window down. Despite their presence, they seemed to have little knowledge of what had actually happened and what was still going on.

  “We were told to stay here until further notice,” the uniformed officer said. He sported a trim mustache and wore aviator glasses concealing his eyes.

  Angela looked to her front door, where more police tape had been applied. “That’s fine,” she said in an exhausted voice. “I won’t be here long.”

  The officer noticed her border patrol uniform in all its dust-covered glory. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened here? They’ve only told us so much. A break-in? A kidnapping?”

  He seemed sincere enough that she felt ready to tell him everything, if only to have someone to confide in. In the passenger seat, the other officer seemed uninterested, keeping his eyes on his cell phone screen and scrolling.

  “Last night…” she began. “We had a break-in. And I received multiple threats that they’d be back. Something about me working for the border patrol.”

  The officer covered his mouth, shocked. “Oh my God. Well, I can certainly relate. Is your family okay?”

  Angela froze, choking back her tears. Once the officer grasped her growing distress, he apologized. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean anything by the question.”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Just a long night, that’s all.” She turned toward the front door, looking past Doug’s truck, and began to walk. She reached the door and turned the handle. It had been left unlocked. A sign was taped to the door saying: Trespassers will be prosecuted. She walked inside and immediately found the stillness of the living room unsettling.

  It was as though the kids were just at school and Doug was at work. No flipped couches or smashed windows. Everything had been left intact. She crept in past the living room and went straight for the girls’ rooms down the hall. Their unmade beds and clothes scattered on the floor made saddened her. Some crazy hope made her call out to them, hoping that they would miraculously come out from wherever they were hiding, but no one appeared.

  She then went to her bedroom, where Doug’s cell phone still rested on the nightstand. Surprised the police hadn’t confiscated it, she picked it up to look at its dim, locked screen with only ten percent of power remaining. His wallet sat next to the bedside lamp, and Doug never went anywhere without his wallet.

  She took his wallet and cell and fell onto the made bed, sinking into the middle of the mattress in a fetal position. The side of her face hit his pillow, and she could smell his scent, shampoo and aftershave, still fresh. With no one around for the first time, she began to cry into the pillow—deep, crippling sobs that almost felt like a relief. And once the tears came, they wouldn’t stop. What had become of her life in the past couple of days? She wasn’t ready for it.

  After a good five minutes, she plugged her phone charger in and set the phone on the nightstand, recharging it. She closed her wet eyes after wiping her face and sank her face back into Doug’s pillow while hugging her own to her chest.

  She didn’t care how dirty her uniform was or that her boots were getting sand all over the bed. None of that mattered.

  In one fleeting moment of peace, her cell vibrated. She jerked up and grabbed it, seeing the chief’s number on the screen. She swiped the screen and held the phone to her ear.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I apologize, Agent Gannon, but you may want to get back down here.”

  Things were moving at breakneck speed, he said. That much she understood. She moved off the bed, looking around the room, but for what?


  As though he could sense her distraction, he emphasized that she should take her time. “Nothing immediate. I don’t want you coming in here looking like you just crawled through the desert. Take a shower, change into a new uniform. None of us are going anywhere.”

  “But, you said—”

  “Yes. They’re ready to go with the next plan. Tentatively. You get here in the next hour. Everything will be ready to go.”

  “No problem,” she said, wiping her face again.

  She hung up the phone and headed toward the bathroom, stopping to glance into the mirror as she entered the hallway. Drake was right. She was a mess. She needed to shower and change into a new uniform. Who knew the next time she would get a chance?

  4

  Reckoning

  Doug sat on the bare floor of a dark, empty room, separated from his daughters and from the outside world. A message he was supposed to read lay at his feet. A single ceiling bulb illuminated the concrete walls and floor. A thick metal door to his side looked impenetrable, with its multiple dead bolts, and a small air vent high above him was unreachable. He was trapped.

  They had stripped Doug of his clothes and forced him into a baggy orange jumpsuit—the same garb he had seen on the victims of ISIS beheadings before. He hadn’t seen his daughters since they had reached the mysterious hideout, driving for nearly two hours in pure darkness, with hoods over their heads.

  During their hellish journey, Doug had tried his best to assure Chassity and Lisa that everything was going to be okay. It was all he could do. He had told their captors that they weren’t going to get away with it, but it didn’t seem as though anyone was listening or that they cared.

  With time alone in his cell, Doug let the severity of the situation sink in.

  His feet and arms were no longer bound, a recent change after his captors’ first visit to him only moments earlier, during which they had brought him into another room and propped him in front of a camera and forced him to his knees.