Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  A couple of anxious privates escaped from the armory and darted past them. Metal shell casing caught lantern light as the two boys reconfigured the hefty bandoliers on their shoulders. From the opposite side of the hall, other soldiers fetched backpacks while a man jotted notes on a pad.

  They eventually reached the back door, evident by the rays of sunlight illuminating the frame. An armed private opened it for them, and they cut into the falling sun.

  Fenced in, the back of the reserve center was more of a parking lot and less of a yard. There were multiple Humvees and other armored vehicles parked along the side and an external building a little off-center from the middle. In squads of four, soldiers loaded vehicles with medical supplies and bullet belts. One stayed in the gunner station, while another fed him bulky rounds.

  The man led Harper and the other two to a wall-less tent tacked to the ground. A few plastic crates and boxes rested in the middle, creating a table for the city map and water bottles. McCulloch ordered the private standing by the tent to clear out and placed his lantern on the map’s corner. It wasn’t necessary but helped with the lighting. Sunset would be upon them soon. Chest puffed, and strutting like a proud eagle, the man stopped in front of the map. His tall and muscular figure did well at blocking the sun from the others around him.

  “Sergeant Murphy, this is our envoy from the Guard, Major Taft,” McCulloch introduced them. Before Harper could respond, Taft beat her to the punch.

  “A pleasure,” he said. “Now let’s get down to business.”

  The major slid his finger on the map, tapping on multiple choke points in the city’s border. “The Guard is in the process of forming blockades around the borders of DC. However, with more riots breaking out all around the White House, Congress, and the Pentagon, we’ve had to stretch our men thin. To make matters worse, an unknown number of insurgents have been attacking our supply convoys, making it nearly impossible to keep our barricades functional.” He turned to Harper and the other commanders. “Here is where you come in. Get the bulk of your men barricading while others start running supply. Once the city is quarantined, together we’ll be able to trap the enemy and exterminate the threat.”

  “Even with our combined forces,” Commander Sheen said in this thick Southern accent. “We won’t have enough men.”

  “I know. We’ve got to work with what we got.”

  McCulloch pointed on the western side of the map. “I’ll have soldiers en route to the south and west. The north and east are already secure.”

  “Wish I could say that about all of them,” Taft replied. “We’ve been having serious problems on the western flank. With civilians piling up and insurgents using guerilla tactics against us, we’re going through a lot of supplies. Francis Scott Key Bridge is our main line of defense from keeping those bastards from getting in and out of the city.”

  “I’ll go there,” Harper said bluntly. “If you have a Humvee for me, I can drop supplies.”

  The COs exchanged looks.

  “A single transport is more dangerous than a convoy but also quicker…” Sheen said, thinking.

  “If Sergeant Murphy says she can do it, we should let her,” McCulloch told the others.

  Harper met their eyes. “I can.”

  “Quite a sergeant you got there, Commander,” Major Taft stated. “Let’s get started.”

  Taft and Sheen split up. The commander called his men to attention, and Taft returned inside.

  The soft breeze and golden sunset didn’t sooth Harper’s nerves. She eyed the remaining few Humvees parked a few dozen yards from her. The massive machine guns on top pointed to the cloudy sky. Distant towers of smoke ruined the scene.

  “Sergeant,” McCulloch said as he joined her in gazing out. “You do this, and I’d say we’re even.”

  Harper clenched her aching rib. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

  A smile crept up McCulloch’s hardened face. “Now, get your family loaded up, and move out. That’s an order, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Harper found Eli and James still in bed. The small room had an eerie dark to it. Lights cast odd shadows, and heat lingered in the still air. Swiftly, she approached her son. Brown hair creating a sun on his pillow, Eli slept soundly. Harper scooted down next to him. She brushed a bang from his nose. The lids of his brown eyes opened slowly. “Mom?” Using a knuckle, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “Come on,” she whispered.

  Eli yawned and stretched out his arms. He quickly grunted, remembering the cast around his broken arm. He frowned as he looked about the dark room.

  James awoke with a loud yawn. “Time to go?”

  Harper nodded. She quickly filled them in on the plan. James looked at her as if she were crazy. Eli’s expression wasn’t much better.

  “You want to get out of the city, this is your ticket.”

  “But what about you?” James stood from his bed and slid on his torn jeans.

  “Let’s worry about getting to the bridge first, then we can figure out the rest.”

  Determination blazed in James’s brown eyes. “I won’t let them drag you back into this city. I’m not going to lose you again.”

  Harper rubbed her hand over her short auburn hair. “We don’t have time for this, James. Eli, get up. The longer we sit around, the worse DC gets.”

  Reluctantly, they complied, and Harper led them out the door. She wished Eli had more time to rest, but there’d be no more stops from here on out. As they jogged through the halls, Harper’s muscles ached. She thought more about the pain pills but was quickly reminded of the floating feeling that had already taken effect. Take it easy. You need to be alert. She questioned how alert the others were. James would be fine. Eli, though…

  Leading a small squadron, Corporal Bennett sprinted past her. Fatigue soiled his expression, but he still mustered a slight smile. Harper couldn’t help but feel proud of him. She had thrust a heavy responsibility upon the young corporal, and he had completed it with urgency and professionalism. As he left her view, regret bubbled in Harper’s being.

  The Murphys jogged past the stripped armory, cut through the emptied cafeteria, and exited out the back.

  The dropping sun cast gold rays across the cloudy sky. Old black stains marked where the bulk of the vehicles once parked. More peeled out the side of the building. They’re really moving. A squad of six loaded bags of weapons and medical equipment into the back of one of the remaining Humvees. Two ammo-toting privates burst into the parking lot and rushed to their allies. Peeking his waist out of the gunner station’s roof, a man twisted the large machine gun, double-checking its rotation axis. He banged on the roof. “Send it up!”

  The others nodded and fed the large belts of ammo inside the attachable ammo box.

  Private Walker crawled out. “McCulloch says that this one’s yours. I’ll be manning the gun.”

  “Thank you, Private.” Harper smiled at him. He wasn’t always the most competent in Supply, but he was a hell of a good shot at the range.

  She popped into the driver’s seat, while James claimed shotgun. Eli and Walker scooted into the back.

  Harper twisted the ignition switch to run then swiftly to start. With a roar, the massive vehicle came to life.

  Her thumb pressed the button on the transmission lever and thrust it into drive. Her boot hit the gas. The all-terrain wheels spun violently, and the vehicle swerved out of the lot. The lines of wounded civilians watched in awe as she left the Riverdale Reserve Center behind. In the rearview mirror, Corporal Heidecker gave her a final salute.

  9

  Bridge

  Thick tires bit the road. Gravel crunched, swarmed violently in a wheel well, and slingshotted into the sunset.

  Harper gritted her teeth. The swollen sticks that were her fingers coiled around the rough steering wheel. Her knuckles went milky white; her groomed nails were swollen, purple, and loose. Everything from the meat on her palms to h
er shoulders, down her back, and to her calves ached from bruises and cuts gifted by the undiscriminating boots, heels, and sneakers that had stampeded over her hours ago. The pain pill was dying.

  Harper yanked the steering wheel to the left. The mass of people lining the street divided, cursed, and scurried to the boundaries of the crowded street.

  The hurt turned her eyes wet. “Pills,” she grunted to James with her hand out. A crushed sedan and smoking pickup dammed her path. The all-purpose military vehicle wrenched to the right, causing Harper’s insides to move. The Humvee bulleted down a side street littered with cans, trash, and car parts. Buildings blurred into shades of brown, green, and yellow. Furious winds funneled through the passenger window and down the gunner station, birthing a vortex of screaming air in the cockpit of the Humvee.

  Palms desperately cupping the armrests, James screamed at his wife, “I don’t have any!”

  Harper’s arms quaked with two parts pain and one part frustration. A loud crack, and out the rear window a broken bumper bounced across the concrete. Harper didn’t care. It wasn’t hers.

  “Pass these up,” Eli shouted. Two brown circles were cradled in the soft dip of his hand. Harper glanced in the rearview. The tunnel of wind turned her son’s thick mop of hair into a frenzy of fur with bangs that swept against his youthful eyes and triangular nose.

  James seized the Advil and, using dirty thumbnails, fed them gingerly to Harper. Dry, she gulped it down. It would take a moment to kick in, she knew, but it didn’t make it easier. Her foot slammed the gas pedal.

  Speeding through the suburban street that was Wells Parkway, Harper braced herself for the harsh turn into the Adelphi Road four-lane. Common sense said sticking to the side streets would be much more navigational, especially in the tank-like vehicle she piloted. However, the clock ticked, and the crowd outside of the reserve center steered her to the north.

  The Humvee’s wheels skidded around the bend, almost sending the vehicle’s driver’s-side door scraping against a dead car. Harper’s foot hit the brakes, making her, Eli, and James lurch forward. The Humvee grumbled but stopped. Ahead, two military-issue vehicles, a gaggle of soldiers, and a solid line of barricade obstructed the road. The highway was a field’s length behind them.

  “Looks like they’re secure, Sergeant,” Private Walker shouted from the gunner station.

  Harper switched the lever to reverse. She bounced as the Humvee bumped up a curb and redirected southbound.

  As she pressed farther into the city, more cars obstructed her path. On foot, she struggled to skid around the obstructions. In a two-and-a-half-ton brick with sixteen-inch ground clearance, she found herself riding up curbs, smashing mailboxes, and obliterating shrubbery to pave her way to Highway 410. The second soldier-guarded barricade left her sight as quickly as it entered. No use wasting time on dead ends. She jogged her memory of city evacuation and quarantine detail. Her head ached as she came to the conclusion that any northern way, either east or west, would be blocked. Not because of heavy traffic, but because it was easier to secure than the inner city.

  Battering the noses of three cars that had collided during the initial EMP blast, Harper opened the vehicle-forged gate and plowed through Route 500, changing lanes frequently. The pills had taken effect, and Harper felt crazy good. Her vision tunneled as she chaotically dodged every obstacle laid out before her. It was her and the never-ending cluttered road. She was the machine that roared across concrete. One that broke the bodies of lesser human-made creations clogging her path.

  A muffled voice pestered her. She rammed through a Change Oil Here sign. Shattered plastic and a metal backboard bounced up the windshield, thudded over the roof, and vanished in her dusty wake. She cracked a grin.

  “Harper!” James’s voice yanked her from the zone. The whites of her green eyes burst with life as she noticed a mass of hooded vandals stripping sports cars in the middle of a small bridge. Within a second, Harper found her focus and whipped around them, tires screeching. A man swung a tire iron as Harper went, hitting the Hummer’s door with a loud thunk.

  “Sergeant,” Walker yelled to her. “Should we do something about them?”

  “No time!”

  The Humvee ramped off a pile of garbage. It rode the air for a moment before bouncing to the concrete with springing shocks. The vehicle fishtailed, kicked up dust, and shot into the urban sprawl of DC.

  “Where’d you learn to drive?” James shouted with terror.

  “I don’t care,” shouted Eli louder. “Mom’s freaking awesome!”

  Harper kept her eyes on the road, a small smile creeping on her face. Then, she saw.

  “What happened?” James asked, positioning himself to get a better view.

  In the distance, thick billows of smoke and quick flashes of flame rose from the city skyline. With tongues of orange, yellow, and black, her home blazed around her. Harper struggled with the words. “There must’ve been more bombs.”

  Tragedy silenced them. Though the noise of the Humvee muted the outside sound, it was disturbingly easy to imagine the desperate cries that billowed into the air.

  “It doesn’t… It doesn’t make sense,” James said. “The EMP. Wouldn’t that have…”

  Harper had a guess. Faraday cages--portable metal storage containers that protect their contents against electromagnetic pulses. In this case: high-powered explosives. A feeling of dread grew inside her belly. She could sense that the pandemonium would only worsen the farther she traveled. Defiant, she wasn’t going to forgo her family or her mission. Taking a breath, she drove the Hummer headlong into the hell that was once DC.

  Harper kept her speed to outmatch the blockade builders. She assumed they’d already blocked off I-1 and the other main roads, so she once again curved up north and west to hit some of the niche roads only a crafty few used as shortcuts. The traffic grew denser. Two of her wheels pressed on the sidewalk, while the others took the street. Heat drummed on her skin from a fireball that burned stories into the air. The blaze remained in view far after the sign for Providence Hospital had left their view.

  “To think that’s where Eli was born.” The inferno reflected in James’s eyes.

  The National Guard had taken South Dakota Avenue, Sergeant Road, and even the metro track that ran north-south down the city. With cocked heads, they watched as Harper fishtailed around and blew down around the street. Within the next few moments, she learned the northern passage was exhausted. Good news for the army, bad news for her. Humvees from the Riverdale base created roadblocks and choke points on every possible escape. The eastern roads from which she came were not much greater. Harper’s stomach knotted as she trekked southwest… to the city’s core.

  A roaring speck in her rearview mirror turned into a raging military machine. Shaped like a massive metal parallelogram toting a high-powered machine gun, the hulking M1117 ASV all-wheel-drive support vehicle zoomed past Harper. Like a 110-mile-per-hour battering ram, it brutally decimated the cars in its way. Metal hoods crunched, and side-panel plastic exploded into the sky like confetti as the disabled and battered street vehicles skidded to the curb. More Humvees enlarged in Harper’s rearview.

  “It looks like the cavalry has finally arrived,” James said gleefully.

  Harper loosened her grip. “Thank God. We should make way. The faster we get the western flank, the better.” She swerved the Humvee into the next street over and found herself on a main road. Around her, angry civilians lined the street and sidewalks. Trash and goods were cast across the street. Stores were robbed, violated by vandals. Men with bats, bludgeoning tools, and knives chased a screaming woman. Harper commanded Eli to look away as a man in a suit was beaten to a pulp by a masked killer. Blood dripped down his forehead and mouth bandana, and his numb eyes glared at Harper as she drove past. Then he snatched the dead man’s watch.

  New York Avenue was far worse. A massive horde--hundreds strong--piled into the street. Why they were there, Harper couldn’t tell. So
me had bloodstained riot gear pulled from police. Others were charred from an explosion. A woman in a silk dress lay dead on the roof of a car from a knife wound. The crowd quickly noticed Harper and darted her way, screaming of passage. Harper slammed the gas and flew down First Street. Hands out and begging, a bloodied man jumped in her way. The Humvee collided with a nearby trash can. Milk along with a concoction of liquids splashed over the windshield. Her wipers smeared the mystery drink left and right, only worsening the situation. Heart pounding, Harper pulled to a stop on the curb.

  “Get it off,” she barked at James.

  He took off his shirt and lifted his upper torso out of the window. Grunting and cursing, he swiped the liquid off the glass. After a few swirls, he wrung out the shirt and started again.

  Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she eyed the approaching crowd. Her Hummer was like freshly dead meat to starving vultures. “Come on. Come on,” she whispered nervously. Eli twisted back, and his jaw dropped as he looked at the mob. He gave Harper a desperate look. Walker yelled down through the gunner’s station, “S-Should I… Should I shoot?”

  “Hold your fire!” Harper shouted. Her mind went to all the persuasive arguments used to calm the crowd, but she knew it wouldn’t be as easy as it was with the civvies around Eli’s high school. This was a different kind of beast. One trapped in the confines of skyscrapers and boxed in by terrorists. The cry of the people grew louder and louder to point where the noise wasn’t even human.

  “They’re going to take the car from us!” Eli shouted. “Mom, drive!”