Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  She knelt to pick it up and stuck the shell in her pocket. Getting sloppy, Burke, she thought.

  She hurried to the passenger side as lights began to appear in the windows of other surrounding houses. The area was too hot, and it was only a matter of time before the place would be swarming with police. For Angela, it was strange to think that she was now an accessory to murders at two different locations. Surely they were justified. Weren’t they?

  11

  Wasteland

  The British man who went by the alias of “Graves” lay on his side in the backseat, limbs tied and mouth taped (Burke had run out of socks). He tried to speak, but nothing came out beyond strained moaning.

  Once he passed the speed bump area, Burke roared down the neighborhood street like a drag racer, with little regard for whatever might come into their path.

  Angela clung to her seat, sick with worry. She presumed they were going to another dark, empty location where he would extract information from their new prisoner through any means necessary. But there was still the matter of Omar and just what Burke had done without warning.

  “Next time you plan to shoot a man in the back of the head, you might want to tell me first!”

  Burke’s eyes remained ahead as he fled the residential area and found a back road that zoomed by under the headlights in a fantastic blur. “What are you talking about?” he said, dismissively. “Omar worked for ISIS. I just did you a favor.”

  “It’s not right,” she said. “You can’t just make yourself judge, jury, and executioner. You—you’re better than them!”

  Burke pursed his lips and nodded as though the burn was just too great. “Let me tell you something, Agent Gannon. We’ve had our differences, and I’m willing to work with you on this, but if you compare me to those subhuman terrorists one more time, I’ll pull over and leave you on the side of the road.”

  “You’d do that?” she snapped back.

  “If you push me to, yes,” he answered.

  “Why are you doing this?” she said in a calm voice after a brief pause.

  “Doing what?”

  “Going after this sleeper cell like this. Is it really about my daughters, or are you just trying to even the score with someone?”

  “If I can get them back, does it really matter?” he said, accelerating farther down the pitch-black road.

  “It matters if you decide to randomly kill the next guy and I’m standing in the way or something.” She paused, turned toward him, and pulled the casing from her pocket. “You know, you left this on the ground. Evidence, Special Agent Burke. You want to spend the rest of your life in jail?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll kill every last one of these sons of bitches if it comes to it. In the end, I’ll face whatever consequences necessary, whether it’s trial by God or government. I’ll stand by what I’ve done.”

  “Nice to know,” she said, looking out the window. She’d made her point and didn’t feel much like arguing any more.

  They drove for a few more miles in silence as Burke, through either knowledge or premonition, turned right onto a barren dirt road that shook and rattled the car the minute they hit it. He drove off the road and stopped near a chasm. He shut the engine off as dust clouds enveloped the vehicle.

  Angela was done asking questions. She knew why they were there. It was time to show their guest some Texas hospitality.

  Their bound prisoner continued to utter stifled and unintelligible pleas from his taped mouth.

  Burke opened his door and turned to Angela, telling her, “This won’t take long.”

  She exited the car, wary but determined to proceed with the plan, feeling closer than ever to their goal. However, a few concerns plagued her.

  Was the man in the backseat who Omar said he was? Did he really have knowledge of the sleeper cell’s location? And if so, would he reveal it? Nothing was for certain.

  Angela considered this as she watched Burke yank the petrified man out of the car—still in his bathrobe and boxers—and throw him on the ground, where he rolled a good distance before lying on his side and crying out in muffled anguish.

  Burke walked right up to him and yanked the tape off his mouth in one hard pull. The man howled out in pain as Burke stood above him, knife in hand, and pointed the blade at him.

  “What’s your name?”

  The man gasped in a panic, clutching his chest with his tied hands while trying to sound like the perfect English gentleman. “I-I can assure you that I’m nobody,” he said frantically. “I don’t know what this is about, but I’m more than happy to work it out.”

  “Nice of you to offer,” Burke said, dangling the long, sharp edge of his knife. “But first I just want to know your name.”

  “Certainly,” the man began. “But first. Can I please address you like a human being, man to man? I feel you have a slight advantage standing over me like this.”

  Burke thought to himself and then looked to Angela, who was standing at the hood of the car. “Sure thing, chap. You try to run or make a wrong move, I’ll cut you from here to eternity.”

  The man nodded eagerly as Burke backed away. He pushed himself up on his bare feet, trying to maintain his balance despite still being bound.

  “Your name,” Burke repeated.

  The man paused a moment and looked around the wide, darkened desert. They were truly alone, and there was nothing he could do about it. “My name is David Ramsey. You might have heard of me. I’m a major shareholder with Ramsey and Wright. Is this about money? If so, I can make it happen.”

  “I’m not interested in money, Peter or David, or whatever you call yourself,” Burke said with contempt. “I’m more interested in the whereabouts of your friend Salah Asgar and the terrorist cell you’ve been supporting financially. That’s what this is all about.”

  Ramsey froze, trying to suppress his sheer and sudden surprise. He dropped all pretenses but didn’t appear ready to reveal anything further. “I assume you work for the government. Some kind of vigilante hit squad, yes? Well, let me set the record straight. My interest in assisting Mr. Asgar has nothing to do with terrorism. He has oil contacts overseas who I’ve been dealing with on several financial endeavors. I know how this may look or sound, but it’s not what it seems. I don’t support terrorism. If anything, I’ve kept Mr. Asgar at bay.”

  Suddenly, Angela approached with a determined look on her face. “Let me talk to him.”

  Burke turned around, surprised. Angela walked past him and stopped inches from Ramsey, staring holes through him. “Tell me something, Mr. Ramsey,” she began. “What part of your business deal with ISIS involved wearing a mask and holding a knife to my husband’s throat?”

  Ramsey paused, stunned. He didn’t know what to make of Angela, or Burke for that matter, but he seemed to understand that he was in grave trouble. Angela extended a hand to Burke, holding him back. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Agent Gan—”

  “I’ve got this!” she said.

  Burke stepped away in understanding, watching Angela and Ramsey as she moved closer to him, eyes steady and movements unpredictable.

  “Ma’am, if you will. I don’t know what you’re talking about. If I’m guilty of one thing, it’s expanding my investments.” His voice was unmistakable, and at that moment she knew that Omar had led them to the right place.

  “Peter Graves,” she said. “Isn’t that what you said your name on that phone call? Well, I’m Angela Gannon, and I believe you knew my husband, Doug.”

  Ramsey swallowed and studied her, rendered speechless. She walked toward him as he nervously walked backwards, inching toward the cliff that led to a pit of black.

  Burke stood back and watched with apparent amusement with his hand on his pistol, just in case things went bad.

  Angela stopped as Ramsey glanced behind him, noticing they were inching toward the edge of the cliff.

  “What do you plan to do with me?” he asked.

  �
�I want to know where they’re holding my daughters.”

  He stared beyond her with a close eye on Burke while saying nothing.

  “I know you know,” she said. “You say that you’re helping ISIS out of personal interest, but I believe it’s more than that. You stood next to my husband in that first video. You chose to deliver that message.”

  Ramsey held up a hand. “Ma’am, please. If I can explain. It was all for show. Salah Asgar insisted that I deliver the first message. He wanted to show that the ideology of ISIS can expand beyond Arabs in the Middle East. I didn’t know that they were going to kill him!”

  Angela took a few more steps, forcing him to back closer to the edge. He turned around again, more nervous than before. “It’s time to work for the other team now,” she said. “Take us to where my daughters are being held.”

  “Are you going to kill me like your friend did the delivery boy?”

  Angela took even more steps, getting dangerously close to the edge. “Does death frighten you?” she asked.

  Ramsey stopped and turned around again, staring into the blackness of the chasm. He turned back to Angela with a grave expression. “Whatever you threaten me with, I assure you that ISIS will treat me ten times worse.”

  “I hardly doubt that. I’ve seen enough maiming and death to learn a few things.” She then pulled her own knife, small but sharp, from her pocket and exposed its blade. “I’m going to make ISIS look like the Girl Scouts.”

  Ramsey’s eyes widened. “Please, I have a family. A wife and three boys.”

  She held the knife to his throat with the tip touching his Adam’s apple. “I have a family too. And you’re going to take us to them if you want to live through the night.”

  Ramsey nodded in understanding and then looked down at his bound hands. In an instant, Angela brought the knife down between his wrists and cut the rope in half, startling him. She then pointed back to the car. “We don’t have a lot of time. Will you help us?”

  “If I must,” Ramsey said, defeated.

  She led him back to the car, where Burke looked upon them with surprise. “Why’d you free him?” he asked.

  She opened the passenger door for Ramsey and made sure he got in. Once seated, she slammed the door and looked to Burke with her answer. “Sometimes you have to give a person the guise of free will. Makes things a lot easier… and less bloody.”

  “Trust me,” Burke said, opening his door. “If he takes us to the right location, things are going to get a lot bloodier.”

  They drove for more than an hour through the desert with no clear path ahead of them, relying on Ramsey’s aloof navigation. Angela believed their captive would take them where they needed to go, if just to remain alive. Burke, however, didn’t seem nearly as trusting.

  He’d told her to keep a careful eye on Ramsey as they drove along the deserted road, with the city lights of El Paso to their right in the far distance. She stared at the back of Ramsey’s white hair wondering just what he was capable of.

  Ramsey had since relinquished some tidbits of information. The compound was underground, as Omar had said, and it was only reachable through a tunnel—underground as well. Both Ramsey and Omar had referred to it as “the bunker” at one time or the other.

  Ramsey further explained that it was constructed with assistance from the Mexican cartels. Other times, however, ISIS took such hideouts by force. Sleeper cells were growing throughout Texas and around the entire country. Burke acknowledged as much and said the actual number was far larger than the government wanted to admit officially. It wasn’t hundreds, it was thousands, Ramsey explained.

  “I admit it sounds bad,” Ramsey said. “But if the government isn’t going to do anything about it, why can’t a fellow make some money from their fanaticism in the process?”

  After a few matter-of-fact statements out of Ramsey’s mouth, Burke had heard enough. “You think that admitting your slimy tactics redeems you on the basis of free enterprise or simple opportunism?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Ramsey said, arching one brow.

  Burke pointed ahead past the headlights where the cracked and faded road went dark. “Of course you do.”

  Ramsey reacted defensively. “I’ve been cooperative, have I not? I’m taking you to the hideout, and dare I say, you’d have been completely lost without me. I’m only trying to stay alive.”

  Burke shook his head with a smile. “If we didn’t get the information from you, we’d get it from some other shitbag.”

  Angela leaned forward from the backseat. “Knock it off, please. Both of you.”

  The car went silent save for the rumbling engine of the Fusion as it barreled down the long, dusty road. Her eyes shifted to the back of Ramsey’s head again. If she felt inclined, she could easily put a bullet in his skull. But Ramsey had a point—they’d be lost without him. The man who had played a part in her husband’s death was in her presence. Forgiveness was a concept she no doubt would struggle with the rest of her life.

  She then decided to address Ramsey with a single, pointed question. “When you saw my husband, before they killed him. How was he? What did he say?”

  Ramsey turned to her, struggling with an answer but flashing a look of understanding.

  “He was concerned about your daughters most of all. Everything he did was to ensure their safety.”

  “And my daughters?” Angela asked.

  “Last I saw, they were held in an isolated cell. No harm had come to them.”

  She had heard enough to satisfy her for the rest of the trip. It then dawned on her that rescuing Chassity and Lisa had everything to do with honoring Doug as much as being a mother. But despite how anything turned out, she knew they all had a long road ahead of them.

  The clock said 3:35 a.m. when they arrived at what looked like a large crater resembling a landfill. A blue moon was out, low in the sky, casting light into the hole, where Angela could see several junk cars—even a bus among them. She stood near the edge with Burke, Ramsey at her side, examining the area and its shadowed caverns from within.

  “How do we get in there?” Angela asked, overwhelmed by the daunting task ahead.

  “You’d probably need an army,” Ramsey said.

  “I think we’ll do fine on our own,” Burke replied.

  Ramsey took a step back with a laugh, astonished by his brazenness. “Good luck. I’ve taken you as far as I can. Will you release me now?”

  Burke looked around the ghostly barren desert with its outlined mountain ridges in the distance. “So you can warn your terrorist buddies? I don’t think so.”

  Ramsey sighed with frustration. “Please. I can’t allow myself to be seen. If they accuse me of being a spy…” He paused, noticing the blank, unsympathetic faces before him. “It’s certain death for me and my entire family.”

  Burke crossed his arms with a smirk as he and Angela looked at each other. “You’re getting us in there, Ramsey.” He pointed down the crater. “That’s your only option.”

  Ramsey shook his head in disbelief—the white stubble on his face noticeable even in the darkness. “We had a deal! I brought you to their compound. To expect any more from me is madness!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Angela said in a hushed tone.

  Ramsey seemed uncontrollable. He paced wildly and flailed his arms in the air, demanding that they reconsider. “You don’t just hold a gun to someone’s head and make them do something, and then kill them after they do it. That’s not how an agreement works. If that was the case, I never would have brought you here.”

  Burke stepped close to him, pulled his pistol out, and pressed the barrel against the side of his head. Ramsey froze and lowered his arms, staring at Angela with pleading eyes.

  Burke spoke calmly. “You’re getting us in there. Whether you live or die, that’s completely up to you.”

  “Damn you,” Ramsey said. “Damn you both to hell.”

  “Relax,” Burke said, lowering his pist
ol. “You’ll live longer.”

  Ramsey’s eyes shifted around nervously as Burke walked behind him, disappearing from view. Burke then slapped his hand over one shoulder and pushed Ramsey down on his bare knees, his robe flapping behind him.

  “You stay right here,” Burke said. “We’ll be back.”

  He then signaled Angela toward the car, parked by some nearby bushes. They walked off together as Ramsey remained on his knees, staring ahead in a frightened daze.

  “Surprised you didn’t tie him up,” Angela said.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” Burke replied.

  As Angela kept watch, Burke went to his trunk to retrieve his arsenal. He pulled two steel weapon cases, one much larger than the other, and placed them on the hood of the car. He then went back and grabbed some ammo cans. “Can you grab my M4 from the front seat?” he asked, closing the trunk.

  Angela did as asked and laid the rifle on the hood with the others, its forty-round magazine to its side. Burke set the cans down and then snapped his fingers. “One more thing…” He quickly walked to the trunk and came back with a black gym bag.

  “Anything else?” Angela asked.

  “Very funny,” Burke said. “And since you asked, yes, there’s flak vest in the back for you.”

  He felt along his tactical vest and its pockets full of rifle mags. He opened the first case—the larger of the two—revealing the M240, a long and heavy automatic machine gun that packed a punch with its incredible firepower.

  He opened the other case, containing a 12-gauge shotgun with pistol grip and sling of shells. He looked over all three weapons, picking them up individually and feeling their weight.

  Angela’s attention remained on Ramsey, who hadn’t made a move. She may have looked ready to follow Burke’s lead, whatever it was, but she was carefully devising a plan of her own.

  “We’re probably going to have to kill most if not all of these guys,” Burke said, holding up the M240 with both hands. Shiny, linked 7.62mm rounds protruded from its side into a plastic ammo container attached to the bottom.