Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  Sweat and dust were caked thick on people's faces. The heat from the clear California sky beat down on all of them. The same conditions that had made this place such a beautiful destination for so long now made it a sandpit of hell.

  The mob advanced on the building. Hands grabbed at anything they could pull or tear from the structure. The front door started to buckle. The crowd pushed again, straining to break inside.

  Then a gunshot echoed through the air, and the crowd panicked. People sprinted in different directions, running over each other in the process. The employee on the roof swayed, clutching his stomach. A red stain leaked onto his shirt. He collapsed and fell from the roof.

  The remaining members of the crowd swarmed the employee’s body. They stole his keys and flooded the station. Once the doors were open, Brooke hesitated.

  Before she could make her decision, sirens blared in the distance. The police would be here any minute, and anyone still at the crime scene would be detained.

  Brooke sprinted for her cruiser just as the police cars arrived at the entrance of the resource station.

  2

  Brooke wove in and out of traffic. More police vehicles flew past her, joining their peers to contain the situation behind her.

  Her heart rate quickened. Her muscles twitched. She drew in deep, steady breaths to try and control the adrenaline pumping through her body.

  After a few minutes, her hands stopped shaking, and she turned the radio back on. She wanted to know how the rest of the area was faring.

  “San Diego News has just confirmed reports from the southwest regional water management division that the basin for the Colorado River has run dry. In fact, our station has learned that the river has been dry for weeks, and the water that was being used during that time was from our region’s emergency reserve. Government officials chose not to warn the citizens due to fear of panic. Well, Congress, it appears your plan failed.”

  Brooke lowered the volume. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She had known things were bad, but experts had been predicting their water supply would last for another two decades.

  Her mind raced. If all this was true, then the major priority was to leave. The riot at the resource station would be the tip of the iceberg. There were now forty million very angry, very desperate people to contend with.

  Brooke turned onto the highway and headed for Emily's school, which was closest at the moment. After that, she'd grab John and run home to collect their gear.

  The elementary school was twice as packed as when Brooke had dropped Emily off that morning. A line of parents jutted from the doors of the administrative building. Brooke parked in the back of the lot. She jogged to the building, looking for anyone she recognized. The principal was outside, trying to calm everyone's worries.

  “Our superintendent is in talks with members of Congress and the manager of our regional water supply. They have assured us that they are working on a solution and will have it prepared for this afternoon. There is no need to pull your children out, as we have full tanks of water here,” the principal said.

  One of the fathers from the crowd stepped forward. His face was a bright red from a combination of his anger and the sun beating down on him.

  “I don’t care what the superintendent is saying. You don’t have the right to keep me from taking my child,” he said.

  “The well-being of your children is our number-one priority. I can assure you of that. If anyone would like to pull your child from class, you will have to fill out a form stating the reason for your child’s absence. Ms. Thomas, our clerk, will be distributing those forms at the front,” the principal said.

  A collective groan left the mouths of everyone in line. It would take Brooke an hour to get her daughter out, and she knew that time was a precious commodity.

  Brooke snuck around the side of the building. She remembered which room her daughter was in from the open house she attended before the start of the new school year.

  She passed students shuffling through the hallways, smiling and laughing with one another. A few of the teachers gave her looks, but Brooke ignored them.

  Emily’s class was in a portable in the very back. Brooke jogged up the ramp and peeked through the door’s window. She spotted Emily at her desk. Her daughter's hair covered most of her face as she hunched over and scribbled on a piece of paper.

  The whole classroom shifted when Brooke pulled the door open. Ms. Fletcher wrote on the chalkboard and stopped when she heard the voices behind her whispering. She looked at Brooke inquisitively.

  “Hi, Mom!” Emily said.

  Brooke slung Emily's backpack over her shoulder and grabbed her hand.

  “C’mon, honey, we have to go,” Brooke said.

  “Um, excuse me, Mrs. Fontanne? We’re in the middle of a lesson right now,” Ms. Fletcher said.

  Emily waved goodbye to her classmates, and they reciprocated. Ms. Fletcher stepped in between Brooke and the door.

  “Mrs. Fontanne, have you checked with the administration building to have Emily pulled from class?” Ms. Fletcher asked.

  “You need to call these kids' parents and have them picked up immediately,” Brooke said.

  “Mrs. Fontanne, we had a meeting moments ago regarding the crisis you’re probably worried about. Our leaders have assured us that a solution will be rolled out by this afternoon.”

  “Do you know what’s happening out there?”

  “Mrs. Fontanne, I cannot let you take your daughter without following the correct procedures.”

  Ms. Fletcher grabbed Brooke’s arm. Brooke pushed Ms. Fletcher back, moving her away from the door. Ms. Fletcher’s head thumped against the cabinet behind her. She released Brooke’s arm, her eyes open wide.

  “I’m taking my daughter,” Brooke said.

  Brooke flung the door open and disappeared down the ramp. Emily’s stride was a quarter of what her mother’s was, and she was having trouble keeping up. Brooke scooped her up, and they sprinted past the administrative building into the parking lot.

  “Stop her! Someone stop that woman!” Ms. Fletcher said.

  Ms. Fletcher ran past the front office right behind them, nearly tripping in her heels.

  The parents in line turned their heads, looking for what the commotion was about. The father from earlier spotted Brooke just as she was getting to her cruiser.

  “Why does she get her kid and we don’t?” he said.

  “Mrs. Fontanne! Stop!” the principal said.

  Brooke lifted Emily into the passenger side and shut the door. She dug the keys out of her pocket, fumbling to separate the cruiser's key outside the driver's door.

  The old metal door of the cruiser clanged shut after Brooke piled inside. She locked the door and pulled her seat belt over her shoulder.

  “Lock your door, baby,” Brooke said.

  Emily pushed the lock down just as the principal ran up to the cruiser and pounded on the window.

  “Mrs. Fontanne, open this door right now,” he said.

  Brooke cranked the engine to life and shoved the shifter into drive. The principal jumped out of the way, and she sped through the parking lot. She glanced into the rearview mirror. The orderly line of parents now resembled the mob of looters she had seen at the resource station.

  “You have your seat belt on?” Brooke asked.

  “Yes. Mom, why did you pull me out? It was show and tell today, and I brought Dad’s dog tags.”

  Emily held out her palm. The two thin pieces of metal attached to a long, beaded chain barely fit in her tiny hand.

  Brooke reached out and ran her hands over the indentations of her late husband’s name. She closed Emily’s hand and engulfed her daughter's fist with her own.

  “I’m sorry, baby, but we have to go on a trip. We’re going to visit Aunt Amy and Uncle Daniel,” Brooke said.

  “Wow! Really? When are we going?”

  “Today.”

  Brooke pushed the cruiser's speedometer to eighty. She
pulled out her phone and hit “sis” in her address book. Within two rings, there was an answer.

  “Are you guys okay?” Amy asked.

  “Hey, we’re fine. I just pulled Emily from school, and I’m on my way to pick up John,” Brooke said.

  “I’m glad you two are safe. I just saw the news. Is it as bad as they say?”

  “It’s not great, but it’s going to get worse, and fast.”

  “What are you going to do after you pick up John?”

  “We’re going to head home and grab a few things, then grab the first flight to North Carolina.”

  “I’ll have the beds ready for you.”

  “Thanks, Sis. Have you heard anything from Daniel?”

  “I’ve tried calling him, but he hasn’t got back to me. I don’t know what they’re planning on doing.”

  “If you hear anything let me know, okay?”

  “I will. I love you. Be safe.”

  “Love you, too. I’ll call you when I have the flight details.”

  She hung up the phone, scrolled up to “John”, and pressed “call.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as the phone rang.

  “C’mon, John, pick up,” Brooke said.

  Emily tugged on her mom’s shirt. When Brooke looked over, she saw her daughter with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Mom, I’m scared,” Emily said.

  “Shh, it’s okay, baby. We’re going to be fine. Here.”

  Brooke took the dog tags out of her daughter’s hand and hung them around her neck.

  “Just wear this, and Dad will make sure you’re safe,” Brooke said.

  Brooke rubbed her thumb across Emily’s cheek, smooshing her skin and wiping the tear that lingered on her face. Emily sniffled and played with the chain around her neck.

  John’s phone went to voicemail, and Brooke hit the number again. She was getting closer to the high school. If the situation there was anything like Emily’s school, then it was going to be a cluster. There were more than three thousand students at John’s high school.

  Finally, after six rings on the second call, an exasperated, whispered voice picked up the phone.

  “What?” John asked.

  “Johnny, I need you to get your stuff and meet me by Ninth Street in front of your school.”

  “Mom, I’m in the middle of class. I can’t just leave.”

  “Johnny, something very ba—”

  Brooke cut herself off. Emily was worried enough without having her mother lose her cool.

  “Have you seen the news?” Brooke asked.

  “Yeah, but our teachers said it’ll get taken care of.”

  Brooke's knuckles whitened as she gripped the phone tighter. She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her voice calm but stern.

  “Jonathan, grab your backpack and meet me on Ninth Street in five minutes. If you’re not outside when I get there, I’m marching into that classroom and pulling you out by your ear,” Brooke said.

  “Fine!”

  The call clicked dead, and Brooke dropped the phone into the cup holder. Her eyes floated down to her fuel gauge. The orange line hovered just below three quarters of a tank. It was more than enough to get home and then head to the airport.

  When Brooke pulled onto Ninth Street, she saw John with his backpack hanging from one strap. His head was bent toward his phone, and he was typing furiously. Whatever status update he was making about his current situation was no doubt unflattering to his mother.

  Brooke stopped the cruiser right in front of him, and he jumped inside. She peeled off, and the three of them headed home.

  The cruiser's tires screeched into the driveway. Brooke hurried into the house, pulling Emily with her.

  “Okay, Em, I need you to pack as many clothes in your suitcase as you can,” Brooke said.

  “Got it.”

  Brooke turned around and went into John’s room. He was lying on his bed, shaking his phone in frustration.

  “This stupid thing never works!” John said.

  “John, stop playing with that and start packing.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to North Carolina to stay with your Aunt Amy for a while.”

  “What about school? What about my friends? What about my life?”

  “Making sure that life of yours continues is why we're going,” Brooke said, heading upstairs to her bedroom.

  Brooke was piling clothes into her own suitcase when her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from her sister.

  “President is on the news.”

  Brooke ran downstairs and turned on the television. She changed the channel to the local news just as the president walked on screen.

  “My fellow Americans. Our nation has reached a tipping point in our natural resources. As many of you have heard, the story broke that the Colorado Basin, which is responsible for supplying water to over forty million people, has run dry. Now, I know there have been attempts from rioters and looters to break into the resource stations in that area, but I must stress that you should not panic. I am sending in resources to help stabilize the area to ensure we maintain order. To assist with that task, I am officially declaring the following states under martial law: California, Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, and Utah. To the citizens of those states, hear me when I say your country is with you. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”

  Brooke tried to pay attention to what the president was saying, but her eyes caught the rolling ticker at the bottom of the screen. Her heart sank as she mouthed the words “All planes grounded by executive order.”

  3

  Congressman Jones leaned backward in his dark leather chair. He pressed the tips of his fingers against each other, listening to the committee around him.

  “The president already made a statement that we’re sending help. This is a ludicrous idea,” Congressman Smith said.

  Jones had listened to the room go back and forth for hours. The Colorado Basin had been dry for almost a month, and every proposal submitted with a solution to the problem had to pass through this committee, of which Congressman Jones happened to be chairman. Every other solution had been denied except his.

  “Congressmen, your concerns have been noted, but the fact is the rest of the country will be in a similar condition if we don’t do something now. Texas is barely holding together, and the Midwest is barely producing enough food to feed the country. Drastic times call for drastic measures,” Jones said.

  “The president said—”

  “I’m well aware of what the president said, and so are his advisers.”

  The others were silent. Jones rested his elbows on the table, folding his long, slender fingers together. He flashed his pearly white, veneer smile. The plastic surgery hid most of the lines and creases in his face except when he smiled. That was when his age showed, revealing the crinkling corners of his eyes and mouth.

  The Southwest had been a drain on the country for years now. It was sucking what few resources the country had left. Jones wanted to cut their losses.

  “Once we have all of our strategic points set up, we’ll be making the official announcement. Until then, air traffic is grounded, and martial law will keep the local populations from going anywhere. All we have to do now is keep our fortitude,” Jones said.

  “You’re sick,” Smith said.

  “I know this is a difficult decision, but when we leave this room, we can’t have any doubts. It’s important for us to move forward as a unit. That’s why we have our representatives from the Southwest with us now.”

  Those that were considered key politicians from California, Colorado, Arizona, Nevada, Utah, and New Mexico were present. All of them had their heads down, ashamed to look anyone in the eye.

  “This meeting is adjourned,” Jones said.

  Jones smacked the gavel, and the congressmen in the room ran out like cockroaches running from the heel of a boot. Only Congressman Smith lingered behind. He waited until the room
had emptied before he spoke.

  “You’re not going to get away with this,” Smith said.

  Jones rose from his chair, buttoning the jacket of his suit. He adjusted the American flag pin on his lapel and walked around the end of the table where Smith stood.

  “Everyone’s on board, Smith. This is for the good of the nation, to ensure the rest of us survive, including you and your family,” Jones said.

  “I’ll keep fighting this,” Smith said.

  Jones put his arm on Smith's shoulder. The smile faded from his face. The pressure of his thin fingers pierced Smith's suit like needles on a pincushion.

  “Then I will run you over and toss your corpse to the side of the road on my way to your family's house,” Jones said.

  Jones readjusted his tie then plastered on his winning politician’s smile and headed out into the corridors of the capitol.

  Smith's staff could barely keep up with him as he hurried down the capitol steps. Both of them were on their cell phones, their thumbs moving rapidly across the screens.

  “I want to start back channeling immediately. I don't know how Jones managed to sway the others to support this bill, but he's not the only one with a voice in Congress,” Smith said.

  His personal assistant, Jake, adjusted his glasses, keeping stride with Smith. Jake stood a good six inches taller than Smith. His large frame made him stand out like a sore thumb and made him quite a sight to see in his suit, which, despite his size, always looked too big for him.

  Jake had been with the congressman for more than three years now. He had played a pivotal role in his reelection two years ago, and since then he hadn't left Smith's side.

  “We can set up meetings as early as this afternoon. I know a key state in the vote will be North Carolina,” Jake said.

  “I'll start drafting a statement to make sure the public knows where you stand,” said Beth, Smith's chief of staff, press secretary, and legal adviser. Smith used to have someone in each position, but none of them performed to the level that Beth could.

  “We'll have to watch the timing of that. Jones has done a good job keeping this quiet, and I don't want to cause unneeded panic if we're able to squash this thing before it starts,” Smith said.