Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  Harper joined them and introduced herself.

  “Ah, the last one,” Dr. Hanson said with a tired grin. “I’ve looked after your husband and son. Both took quite the beating in DC. Nonetheless, time should heal ’em right up.”

  The doctor led her to the back and began his examination. Harper covered her breasts as he objectively looked over her wounds. “You are lucky you only have a bruised rib. Most people are killed when they are trampled.”

  “Anything else you can tell me?” Harper straightened her posture on the padded diner stool.

  “Cuts, bruises, minor hemorrhaging. You need sleep and some stronger pain medication.”

  “How much?”

  Dr. Hanson stroked his chin. “Depends on the medication and what we have to offer.”

  “How much sleep?” Harper clarified.

  “Oh, yes. Days. At least a week. You need to stay hydrated, as well. Drink lots of fluids. Talk to Mayor Church about what he can offer.”

  “Tell me about him,” Harper requested, putting her shirt back on.

  “Good man. Excellent marksman. He’s been mayor for many years, and his father was mayor before that, and his father before that. You get the picture. Brighton can’t exist without Church, and Church can’t exist without Brighton.”

  Harper let it sink in. The way he’d gunned down the highwaymen without hesitation made her rightfully uneasy. It was plainly obvious that he was unlike any city mayor she’d encountered.

  After reminding Harper of her need for rest, Dr. Hanson waved good-bye. He opened the diner door and exited into the lone street. James’s eyes followed him through the window. “He’s meeting with that Church guy. I know it.”

  “So,” Eli said groggily. “What are we going to do about it?”

  James didn’t say anything. He turned to Harper. “How’d it go?”

  “He said I should stop pushing myself.”

  “Of course.” James returned his eyes to the window. “They want us to stay. They want our stuff.”

  “It’s not our stuff,” Harper reminded him. “It’s property of the United States Army.”

  “No. It’s a gold mine, and the Humvee, that’s worth killing for. Clearly.”

  Through the diner’s long window, they looked out at the military vehicle and imposing town hall building behind it.

  A nineteen-year-old female diner worker, still dressed in her outfit, provided them each with a meal of hamburgers and salad. She had blond hair in a pixie cut, a cute smile, and big brown eyes. Her name tag read Kimmy. “Enjoy it. Freezer’s out, so we won’t have more than a few days before it all goes bad.”

  “Wow. Thanks,” Eli said with a wide grin. The girl smiled back before vanishing into the kitchen.

  “She’s a cutie,” James said with a full mouth.

  “James.” Harper squinted her eyes. “He’s sixteen.”

  “What?” James forked a piece of lettuce and pointed at her. “That’s how old we were when, you know.”

  Eli pushed his clean plate away. “Gross.”

  “Gross?” James exclaimed. “Your mother’s a firecracker.”

  Harper just shook her head and kept eating.

  It was nearly sunset when they left the diner. The meal gave them time to vent about the blackout and theorize about the insurgents. With all the craziness, it was easy to find stuff to say. Unlike the time during their unofficial divorce. Over the course of twenty-four hours, the world had fundamentally changed. Everyone had something to say about that.

  They strolled out into the street, and for the first time in three days, Harper felt full. The birds had returned to the telephone poles, and the hammering at the town’s entrance had started to fade into quiet thumps. Harper stumbled going down the curb. Before she hit the ground, James caught her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She caught a whiff of his burger breath and felt the warmth of his toned body. “You know, I think… I think you’re right. Maybe a few days’ rest won’t be that bad.”

  “One hamburger, and you change your mind. I should remember that.”

  As they rounded the Humvee, they spotted Mayor Church, Trudy, and Dustin standing nearby. At their feet were the three supply duffels, unzipped and spilling out guns and medical supplies. The mayor had switched to a button-down shirt and had combed his thin graying hair to the side. Trudy and Dustin hadn’t changed.

  “What the hell are you doing?” James pulled away from Harper. His stubbled face went red. “Back away from our stuff.”

  The mayor crossed his arms. “Tell your man to calm himself.”

  Harper stepped up and gave James an assuring look. She directed her attention to the large man in front of her. “Jonathan. Trudy. We appreciate all you’ve done, but this is unacceptable. That’s our privacy you’re invading.”

  “We’re just being safe, hun,” Trudy said bluntly. “Learned you got yourself some nasty firepower.”

  “Yeah. But no bullets,” replied Harper. “I’ve taken inventory of every gun, pill bottle, and bandage in each one of those bags. I’ll know if any are missing.” She hoped they’d buy her bluff.

  The large man looked down at her. His brow crinkled. “We aren’t thieves. That scum isn’t welcome here. Count it right now if you want. You’ll find it's all there.”

  Harper bounced her eyes between them. “What do you want?”

  “I want to help you,” Church said flatly. “I want you to join my community.”

  “Hell of a welcoming committee,” James mumbled loud enough for them to hear.

  “Let me guess,” Harper stated. “You want something in return?”

  The mayor nodded. “Brighton is a community built on trust and responsibility. Everyone plays a part. Everyone contributes, in turn, for food, water, shelter, and freedom. Your family is going to die, Harper. Your husband’s going to pick to the wrong fight, your son’s naivety will be his downfall, and you can barely stand straight.”

  Harper locked her jaw. Her lack of sleep made it challenging to mask her discomfort.

  “You know I’m right. So this is what I’m offering: you, your husband, and your son become part of the Brighton family. We’ll feed you, clothe you, and protect you from any threat that may come.”

  “In exchange for what?” Harper asked, still insulted.

  “The Hummer, everything in these duffels, and your family’s service.”

  “I knew it,” James said from behind her. “He’s robbing us, and we’re letting him.”

  “I’m offering you a home.” Anger burned in Church’s voice.

  “Mom, where else are we going to go?” asked Eli rhetorically, making it clear which side he was on.

  Harper’s mind raced.

  Church turned his tired eyes to her. “What’s it going to be, Sergeant?”

  3

  New Order

  The room consisted of twin beds, three nightstands, a tall dresser, a small table with four chairs, and a box television set they would never use. Harper sat on the corner of her hard mattress and yanked off her black army boot. The scented candles on the nightstand and window frame lessened the room’s stench of damp sweat and feet.

  In a T-shirt and boxers, James slouched on the corner next to her. A heavy frown sat upon his face as he adjusted the bandage hugging his hairy thigh. Outside the open second-story window, murmurs from the night guardsmen filled the starry sky. Harper removed her other boot and scrunched her face at the smell. “It’s not forever.”

  Her husband didn’t speak.

  After aligning her boots together at the foot of the bed, Harper looked at her husband. “Eli needs the rest.”

  James straightened up for a moment and, pressing his hands into the mattress, turned to his wife. His sleepless brown eyes met hers. “Is that what you want? Truly?”

  Harper looked at her toes. “I don’t completely trust Church either. But what other option do we have?” She chewed on her lip. “DC screwed me up, James. I can’t go an hour without thinking about
the bridge, my unit, or those families… I… I know I should just let it go. Just move on, but every time I try to ignore the thoughts, they get worse. And with all the driving and shooting… I feel that if I could just have some stability in one part of my life, then--”

  James’s warm touch met her hand. When she turned, his lips met hers. It felt like they kissed forever. Harper pulled a breath length away. James caressed her cheek, tucking a few auburn locks behind her ear. “I want us to be a family again.”

  He kissed her again, more passionately. When he was finished, he brought his mouth up to her ear. “I want to be your husband again.”

  He put his calloused hand on her shoulder and started lowering her to the bed. Flashes of the other women filled Harper’s mind. She took him by the palm and moved his hand away, giving her room to gently sit up. James looked at her with confusion and hurt. Pursing her lips, Harper shook her head.

  James returned his hands to himself and looked at the floor. “I know saying sorry doesn’t mean much. But I’m trying, Harper. You got to give me that.”

  “I know,” Harper replied quietly.

  The buzz of the hand-cranked lantern filled the silence.

  James extended his hand. “A fresh start? For Eli.”

  Harper studied his outstretched hand for a moment then took it in her own. She smiled softly. “A fresh start.”

  They shook.

  Eli returned from the outhouse a few moments later. He switched off the lantern, blew out the candles, and huddled under his covers. “Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad.”

  “Good night.”

  That evening, the night terrors felt far less strong.

  The sound of knocking awoke them. It must’ve been before six a.m. because the sun was still hiding in darkness. “The mayor and my mother would like to see you,” Dustin said in the doorway. He wore a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves, dark blue jeans, and a cobalt-and-white trucker hat with an intensely curved and faded bill.

  After thanking him, Harper shut the door. She dressed herself in borrowed cargo pants, an Old Navy t-shirt, and clean socks but kept the army boots. She quickly brushed her short auburn locks while Eli and James put on shirts and jeans with small scuffs and loose stringy threads.

  Dustin yawned as he welcomed them to the roofed balcony. Their steps clacked across the coarse concrete as they made their way past the other residents’ rooms. Many were uninhabited, but the ones with guests living inside were already empty.

  “Earlier risers,” Harper pointed out.

  “Yep,” said Dustin as he led them down the stairs. The morning air nipped at them.

  “Church has everyone getting up bright and early now. Got to keep the place functional, you know.”

  “I see,” Harper said, unsure of how much freedom she’d given up for a twin-bed hotel room and a hot meal.

  As the sun peeked into the sky with vibrant color, they crossed the two-lane street equipped with parallel parking, leaving behind the motel, chrome diner, Laundromat, and pub. The old white chapel and colonial-inspired brick town hall greeted them with shade. Down the road, residents of Brighton hammered away at the beginnings of a wooden wall. The man with the large straw hat jockeyed the telephone pole and tinkered with the power box. His wife, a countrywoman, shook her head and continued down the sidewalk. Harper made note that her Humvee was no longer parked out front.

  They bounced up the three stairs and between the towering colonial pillars supporting the roof’s lip of the town hall. Harper’s reflection looked back at her in the Bible-sized windowpanes that covered the two double doors. She was never the type to cake on makeup, but her pasty skin and tired green eyes made her wish she had a little eyeliner and light blush. She appeared older and felt like it, too.

  “You look fine, Mom,” Eli said as his reflection appeared next to hers.

  With chapped lips, Harper smiled back. Eli ran his fingers through his thick hair, fixing the brown mop to one side.

  “It’s unlocked.” Dustin yawned. “Go on in.”

  “What can we expect?” James asked.

  Dustin shrugged. “Ain’t got a clue.”

  James shot Harper a perturbed glance. They each took a wooden handle and opened the double doors.

  They walked through the greeting hall lit by natural sunlight, passing two adjacent bathrooms and waiting benches. Black-and-white photographs of Brighton hung in matching gold-leaf frames across the white wall. The oldest dated back to 1910, with the lone town hall standing amidst forty hard-faced farmers and their plump wives. Above the town photos hung painted portraits of every Brighton mayor. The artist in question needed a brushup, as most of the paintings featured slightly elongated heads and lifeless eyes. Apart from a few outliers, every mayor boasted a metal plaque with the name Church pressed into it. The most recent portrait was of Jonathan. It dated back seven years. The man had a healthy head of hair and a million-dollar grin atop his round chin.

  Solid wooden doors opened into the Great Hall.

  The large room had to be the most impressive aspect of Brighton. Lavish crimson curtains tumbled over tall, intricate windows, four on each side. Wide, dusty rays of sunlight rained through the clear glass and across the dense columns of red chairs that ran down the right and left sides of the glossy wood and crimson-carpeted floor. At the head of the one hundred chairs and seated on top of a fenceless platform flanked by two sets of six steps was a curved desk bolted to the floor. It was backed by the American flag, the Virginia state flag, and a third flag featuring a familiar white steeple on a blue background. Above them, a large plaque read In God We Trust.

  Though the curved desk had six chairs, only the center three were in use. Trudy sat to the left. An unfamiliar man with gelled salt-and-pepper hair, intense brown eyes, and a thick and well-groomed beard with curve-like hooks bowed in both directions sat to the right. In the center, Mayor Jonathan Church locked his fingers on the smooth desk. A dusty ray of light made his suit and wide figure glow. Tiny ashen hairs sprouted from his heavy cheeks, rounded chin, and meaty neck.

  “Harper, James, and Eli Murphy, please approach.” Church’s deep voice bounced across walls.

  Together, the Murphys walked down the red carpet that ran down the center of the hot and musty room. The tall ceiling and high walls seemed to be closing in on them as they came to a halt a few healthy yards from the curved desk.

  Trudy smiled at them apologetically while the other bearded man eyed them with caution.

  “Before we can welcome you into our town, we must determine what role you will play in this community,” said Church, keeping his eyes on Harper.

  “Yes,” Trudy chimed in. “Until the government sends help, we need Brighton functioning and safe. We have vegetable and herb gardens needing tending to, a small number of livestock from the Raley farm that must be nurtured, milked, and skinned properly. Lastly, we need hands working around the clock to build our defensive system.”

  She gave the floor to the bearded man, who ran his hand down his chin mane. “Yeah, uh. I’m Levi. The defense grid is my little passion project. It’s Brighton’s solution to a prolonged period without power. I think we all agree that flooding the town with strangers is not ideal, especially considering our limited resources. The Fence, as we like to call it, is far from finished, but with capable hands and a little elbow grease, we’ll have it completed in no time.”

  “We also have crop stores and basic maintenance all throughout the town,” Trudy added. “We’d like to limit this repair to the inner workings of Brighton. However, there are a few farms in the surrounding area that could use a good fixing up. They supply us with the bulk of livestock and crops.”

  Levi nodded, looking nowhere in particular. Church readjusted himself in his seat. “Your contribution has bought you access to our home and assets. To continually enjoy these privileges, you need to help out.” With a stern expression, he counted on meaty fingers. “This means loyalty, perseverance, and a willingness to take up a
rms against our enemies.”

  James scoffed. “How many enemies could you possibly have?”

  Church leaned over the desk. “Anyone who enters our town uninvited is our enemy. Anyone who steals from us is our enemy. Anyone who attacks our roads is our enemy.”

  James didn’t say anything.

  After a lingering glare, Church turned his focus to Harper. “Tell me about yourself.”

  Harper straightened her spine. “My name is Harper Murphy. I am a sergeant in the Army Reserve supply track. I have firearms training, tested leadership skills, and years of cataloguing under my belt. My son--”

  “He can speak for himself,” Church interrupted.

  Eli nervously fidgeted. “I’m a student. I was a Boy Scout for three years. I can cook, clean, and am willing to learn just about anything. I probably would’ve joined ROTC next year.”

  The three council members turned to James. He sighed. “I’m a carpenter. In DC, I did mostly interior furnishing. You need help with your… fence. I can do that.”

  Trudy, Levi, and Church pulled their chairs close and talked quietly amongst one another. James rolled his neck while Eli rubbed his cast-covered forearm. Outside, the morning sun climbed into the blue sky.

  “We have a verdict,” Church said, grabbing the Murphys’ attention. “James will work with Levi, building the Fence and taking care of any other fortifications around the town.”

  James sucked in his lips and nodded.

  “Eli will assist Trudy’s son, Dustin, making sure the inner town and surrounding farms are looked after.”

  Trudy smiled at Eli. “My son will take good care of you.”

  “As for you, Harper, you will help Trudy manage supply. You’ll find that this task is more than just counting cans.”

  Just like old times. Harper thanked him.

  After the meeting had adjourned, the Murphys grabbed a bite to eat at the diner. Their breakfast consisted of over-easy eggs cooked on a fire out back and the last of the non-moldy bread.