Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  Calderon nodded with Walker at his side. “Okay. Get them out of here, but hurry!”

  Calderon and the others moved down the hall and around the corner toward the upstairs exit. The smoke alarms continued to screech as emergency lights flashed from the ceiling. Craig felt around his waist, realizing that he didn’t have a gun. His instincts told him to be ready for anything—from a masked shooter to a pack of militants. He looked to the transport guards.

  “Agents Thomas and Mendoza. Stand guard while Agent Hicks and I get the detainees.”

  They nodded and watched both sides of the hallway with their pistols drawn. Craig and Hicks separated.

  Hicks opened Husein’s door and moved in, keys in hand.

  “What is happening?” Husein asked.

  “We’re evacuating the building,” Hicks said, unlocking the handcuffs.

  Craig kicked Malaka’s door open and stormed into the room. She could barely hide her disappointment that it was him.

  “Time to go, Mrs. Surkov,” he said.

  After they made it through the smoke and into the lobby, they saw that all the front windows had been blown out. Shattered glass was everywhere. Craig could see blood, lots of it, as well as dismembered body parts—many of them charred.

  Thick smoke consumed the area outside the entrance to the building. A fire alarm was sounding through the entire building, loud and disorienting. The closer they got to the exit, the more Craig could see of the carnage outside. Vehicles were on fire. Paramedics and firefighters swarmed the area. Concrete chunks lay about the plaza. Broken glass was everywhere. The stench of black smoke filled the air. The extent of the destruction had all the makings of a car bomb.

  Craig pushed Rasheed’s wheelchair over the chunks of rock and glass in the lobby through the double doors, as Hicks pulled both Malaka and Husein by their handcuffs. The outside of the building looked like ground zero. A massive crater was carved into the ground less than twenty feet away from where they stood. The blast had torn through the front entrance, demolished the sidewalk, and uprooted several light poles and trees that had been planted alongside the normally busy street.

  Firefighters were on the scene, spraying the front of the building with high-pressure hoses, five inches in diameter. The thick smoke in the air made it difficult to breathe. Craig pushed Rasheed off to Agent Mendoza and signaled the group to follow him to the other side of the building, where he believed it might be safer.

  Husein looked around in confusion as Hicks yanked him along. Malaka remained silent, expressing only grunts and scowls whenever Hicks pulled on her wrist. She, too, seemed overwhelmed by all the destruction outside the building. Craig reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He approached Hicks, trying to talk over all the sirens. “We have to set up immediate transportation of the Surkov clan.”

  Hicks nodded in agreement. “Donaldson and Rivers were working on that already.”

  “This was a synchronized attack that has everything to do with our suspects.” Craig glared at Malaka and squinted his eyes. “She knew this was coming.”

  Malaka overheard and seemed to have resisted the urge to smile. They reached the corner of the south side of the building, where crowds of FBI personnel had gathered to escape the smoke. Walker was pacing the outside square, phone in hand, with Walker and the others all on their own phones. Craig walked over to them covered in a light tint of ash and dust.

  “Glad you all made it,” Walker said, his face still stricken with shock.

  “What in the hell happened out here?” Craig asked.

  Walker lowered his phone and looked past them to where thick, black smoke trailed endlessly. He shook his head. “Vehicle explosion. Big one. The size of the blast site alone suggests a thousand pounds, maybe more.”

  Stunned, Craig ran his hand though his dusty hair. “My God…”

  “What kind of vehicle?” Hicks asked.

  “A large truck of some sort. Moments before the explosion, witnesses saw a U-HAUL speeding down the sidewalk. Damn near took out the entire block.”

  “What kept it from hitting the building?” Craig asked.

  “A tight security perimeter, that’s what. All government facilities have been on high alert since the port attacks.”

  “Good thing, too,” Hicks said.

  Walker continued. “Police fired at the vehicle, but couldn’t stop the truck in time.”

  “How many did we lose?” Hicks asked.

  Walker looked down. “Reports say twenty-three so far. Maybe more.”

  Crag looked back at the Surkovs, standing ten feet away, and burned with rage. He then swung his head back to Walker. “They need to have these areas cordoned off like military checkpoints. Trucks. High-powered weaponry, .50-caliber machine guns, not police officers and barricades. Those men were sitting ducks.”

  “Agreed,” Hicks said.

  “Agent Davis!” Donaldson said, running up with one hand clutching his cell phone.

  Craig looked away from Walker. “Yes?”

  “The transport is on its way. Armored carrier is five minutes out.”

  “Good, I’m going,” Craig said.

  “You’re what?” Walker asked.

  “Agent Hicks and I will accompany the detainees.” Craig signaled Hicks over. “If he’s okay with that.”

  Donaldson cut in. “I’m in.”

  “Me too,” Rivers said, walking up.

  Uncertainty washed across Walker’s face. “I’m not sure about all this. We should check with Calderon first.”

  Craig nearly rolled his eyes, when suddenly Calderon popped up.

  “Ask me about what?”

  “Agent Davis wants to accompany the Surkovs on the transport.”

  Calderon immediately shook his head, but as he opened his mouth, Craig cut in.

  “Sir, I know what you’re going to say, but you can’t expect me to just hand them over to Homeland Security like this. I had to put up with it after the sleeper cell raid, the Surkov brothers, and now this? No. Not happening again.”

  Calderon sighed. “All I was going to say is that you better be damn careful out there. And I want them delivered to Homeland Security without issue. You hear me?”

  “Yes sir,” Craig said, sucking in his pride.

  “Good,” Calderon said. He then turned away and joined another huddled team of FBI officials.

  Craig looked at Walker. “I’m going to need a weapon.”

  Walker nodded, pulled out his 9mm pistol, and handed it to Craig. “I want this back.”

  “You got it,” Craig said, taking the pistol. “Thank you.”

  Its weight felt comforting in his hand. Craig then looked to his team, patiently waiting off to the side. “Let’s keep our eyes open, gentlemen. We have some suspects to transport.”

  Rachael walked into Nick’s room to find him playing videogames with his headset on. She didn’t know if he was aware of anything yet, and almost wished that she could enter his world of escape, now flashing brightly on the television screen, never to come back.

  “We need to talk.”

  He sat on his bed with his eyes locked on the TV screen in deep concentration.

  “Nick!” she called out again.

  He turned to her with a confused look on his face and took his headset off.

  “What is it?”

  “We have to get ready to go.”

  “What are you talking about? Go where? What’s wrong?”

  “We’re going to the cabin,” she said.

  Nick’s blue eyes widened. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Now?”

  After hurrying Nick to get ready and explaining everything the best she could, Rachael led the way to the dock with a backpack over her shoulders and a son in tow. The sky above was overcast and gray, a perfect match for her mood. She only hoped it wouldn’t rain. Nick was in the dark about a lot of things, but she had explained enough to him that their sudden trip made sense: there was a terror warning nearby. Craig had urged t
hem to take the boat to the cabin. He would meet up with them later.

  “Why can’t I drive the boat?” he asked, trailing behind her wearing his own backpack over a blue jacket. He shifted the cap covering his dirty-blond hair and waited for his mom to answer.

  “Don’t be foolish,” she replied. Their feet moved along the sturdy planks of their quaint wooden dock over the gentle waves of the lake toward their modestly sized motorboat moored to a post. Rachael pulled up on the tarp, and Nick helped her pull it completely off. After tossing their packs in, Rachael climbed in first and tried to keep her balance as the boat shifted. Slightly wobbling, she turned to help Nick get in, but he simply climbed over her.

  “Put one of those vests on,” she said.

  There were three orange vests on the deck of the boat under the middle bench. They each grabbed one and slipped it on as Rachael went to the captain’s seat and started the engine. After a few turns of the key, the engine roared to life, sending foamy white bubbles to the top of the lake. The muffled rumbling made Nick’s heart jump. They hadn’t been on the boat in a while, and he was excited. Rachael, on the other hand, was apprehensive. It had been far too long since she had piloted the boat, and they hadn’t been to the cabin in a while either. Nick cast off and tossed the line back onto the dock.

  “Good to go,” he said.

  After telling him to sit down, she shifted the engine into gear and accelerated. The boat coasted along the waves, bouncing up and down and increasing in speed. As they passed other homes along the lake, Rachael couldn’t believe they were actually leaving. She prayed for guidance and strength. Nick turned around and watched their back yard get smaller and smaller. A life he knew had been unexpectedly interrupted, and he didn’t fully understand why.

  The armored SWAT personnel transport carrier arrived behind the FBI building, barely noticed. Everyone within earshot was preoccupied by the massive explosion on the other side of the building. Craig rushed to the vehicle, waving to Hicks to follow, as helicopters hovered overhead. The militarized truck had two ironclad doors on each side and tiny bulletproof glass windows in the back. Its sheer size resembled the mine resistant vehicles from the wars in the Middle East, while its heavy-duty chassis and lightweight design allowed for fast movement in tight areas.

  With lights flashing on top of its closed gunner hatch, Craig could see his reflection against the glossy black paint that covered the vehicle. If they were going to travel safely through D.C., he hoped the armored carrier would do the trick.

  Two police cars idled in front of the carrier—their personal escort. Craig feared another strike against the U.S. at any minute. He believed the Surkovs to be high-value commodities to the terrorists, if the explosion outside the FBI building was any indicator.

  An officer wearing a helmet visor, a bulletproof vest, and an M4 carbine rifle slung around his shoulder pushed open the heavy passenger door and hopped out of the armored truck. Craig immediately approached the officer as the truck’s engine idled like an eighteen-wheeler.

  “Special Agent Davis, FBI,” Craig said.

  “Sergeant Toomey,” the officer said. He was dressed in black from head to toe. They shook hands, and Craig explained the situation, not knowing what had already been disclosed. Even he didn’t know where the Surkovs were being taken. He asked Toomey.

  “Someplace safe,” Toomey said. “About ten miles from here. Homeland is pulling out all the stops.”

  “I see that,” Craig said, looking up at a blue-and-white police helicopter flying overhead.

  “Your team can load them in the back,” Sergeant Toomey said. He looked at his watch. “We got an ETA of 1200 hours.”

  “We’re staying with them. That’s part of the deal,” Craig said. He didn’t expect much resistance from an officer who only partly understood the situation.

  “Have you been cleared for transport?” Toomey asked.

  “The detainees are mine,” Craig responded. “Homeland can claim them all they want, but the FBI has as much jurisdiction over this case they do. We’re going with this transport.”

  Sergeant Toomey looked on as his handheld radio blared on with a multitude of conversations. He didn’t seem like a man who had the time or patience to barter. “Get your people in here, but do it fast. We have a time crunch here.”

  “Understood,” Craig said, taking a step back.

  Hicks approached with Malaka and Husein. She looked every bit as indifferent as Husein looked overwhelmed and afraid. Mendoza pushed Rasheed’s wheelchair closer to the vehicle with his partner, Agent Thomas, following. Donaldson scanned the perimeter with Agent Rivers by his side.

  Craig looked at Mendoza and Thomas. “We’ve got it from here, thanks for your help. I owe you one. Big time.”

  “Homeland isn’t going to like this,” Mendoza said. “If anything happens to Rasheed—“

  “I’ll take full responsibility,” Craig said.

  He shook hands with the agents and they went on their way, appearing relieved to be cut loose.

  Sergeant Toomey led Craig to the back of the truck, where he unlatched and opened the two hatchback doors. In the back were two benches, one on each side, and an iron cage divider near the front.

  “Let’s move,” Craig said.

  Hicks led Malaka and Husein up the steps into the back of the truck as Donaldson and Rivers lifted Rasheed inside. Once everyone was situated, Sergeant Toomey looked at Craig while resting one hand atop his slung rifle.

  “Tell them to hold on and stay down. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

  “We’ll manage,” Craig said, climbing in.

  Once they were inside, Toomey closed and bolted the doors shut. Craig crouched to keep his head from hitting the ceiling, realizing how cramped they really were. Sergeant Toomey then appeared at the passenger side, getting in. The unseen driver shifted the truck into gear as the police cars sounded their sirens and drove ahead. Everyone in the back bounced around once the truck moved forward. Craig sat on the bench next to Hicks, who was seated beside Malaka and Husein. On the other side sat Donaldson and Rivers, with Rasheed in between them still in his wheelchair, groaning intermittently.

  “We should really consider taking him back to the hospital,” Hicks said to Craig.

  The truck shook and vibrated as it careered out of the back parking lot and down the road. Craig gripped a pulley handle hanging from the ceiling.

  “He’ll be fine. We’re about ten minutes out.”

  “From where?” Hicks asked.

  “Some bunker across town. Homeland is going to try their best to push us away from this case once we get there, but we’re going to have to stand our ground.”

  “How exactly…are we going to do that?” Hicks asked. Craig could hardly hear him above the loudly reverberating engine.

  “What do they know?” Craig asked. “Nothing. What do we know? A whole hell of a lot more. If Homeland is in any way interested in getting information from the Surkovs, they’re going to have to go through us. End of story.”

  Craig’s confidence made an impression. Hicks had never dealt with an FBI agent so full of conviction at a time when things were so resolutely beyond his control. The passengers continued to rock back and forth as the carrier truck moved down the busy city streets through D.C., following the police escorts, who slowly parted traffic with the incessant wailing of their sirens.

  It was hard to see anything from where they sat in the rear of the vehicle. They took the nearest highway exit while Craig stood up, teetering and trying to look out the small, triple-layered Plexiglas windows to see where they were going.

  Sitting next to Husein, Malaka took her nephew’s hand in hers and gently squeezed.

  Rasheed continued to groan as his head swayed from side to side. The wheelchair had been locked to prevent his rolling around on the aluminum, diamond-patterned flooring. Soon enough, everyone was quiet with tense anticipation.

  The sound of a helicopter flying above them could be heard f
rom above. Craig stood up and moved carefully to the front of the vehicle, stopping at a fence divider. The front windshield had five long protective bars across it, and he could see the two police escorts driving ahead, moving highway traffic to the side. Craig leaned toward Sergeant Toomey, sitting on the other side of the cage, in the passenger seat.

  “I guess you don’t have to worry about anyone hitting this thing.”

  Toomey nodded his head slightly. “You got that right.”

  Craig tried to get a better look at the driver on the other side. All he saw was another officer dressed in the same gear as Toomey. “Greetings, officer. I’m Special Agent Davis.”

  The driver looked back. He wore a helmet with a headset and mic inside it. “Nice to meet you, I’m Sergeant Phelps.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” Craig said, shifting in between the two officers. “So can you tell me more about this underground bunker?”

  Sergeant Toomey held his finger against his earpiece and listened, momentarily distracted. He then turned his head.

  “What was that?”

  “I was asking about this secret bunker.”

  “Oh,” Toomey said. “It’s no secret. Just a secure place to hold your friends back there for the time being.”

  Craig looked forward as the truck picked up steam and merged onto the highway. The police escorts flew ahead, sirens ablaze. Much of the road was cleared and blocked off in places, as if undergoing construction, only there were no construction vehicles around. The helicopter continued to follow them from overhead. Craig saw that they were driving onto I-95 south, toward Virginia. “Where are you taking us?” he asked, a little more forcibly.

  “The Pentagon, Agent Davis. We’ve been instructed to escort the detainees to the Pentagon.”

  Craig tilted his head back, thinking to himself. What did the Pentagon want with the Surkovs? They zoomed past other cars on the highway, nearly reaching the carrier’s top speed of 110 miles per hour. The police escort ahead seemed to be going even faster.

  “Ten minutes, you say?” Craig said. “Good luck.”

  Toomey gave a thumbs-up as Craig released his grip on the cage divider and moved back to his seat next to Hicks, trying to maintain his balance along the way.