Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  Out from the wall of fire, another figure joined the fight: Leonard. He fired multiple shots with an antique Ruger into the enemy. He locked eyes with Harper. For a moment, the battle seemed to stop. The older man swung his free hand up and waved it forward with passion.

  Funneling out from the fire, dozens of men and women from Hamsburrow holding both firearm and melee weaponry rushed around Leonard like he was Moses. They clashed into Brandy’s people with brutal jabs. More stepped from the fire, shooting hails of bullets into the enemy. Being hit from both ends, Brandy’s circle around Brighton’s forces shattered. In perfect chaos, they engaged enemies from both fronts. Some dropped their weapons and scattered into the woods. The rest would hit one man but get stabbed by another.

  Harper looked at the revived battle with confidence. She grabbed her left forearm, touching the sensitive flap of meat peeled back from her exposed muscle. Groaning from the god-awful pain, she re-closed the skin back to its intended position. A tingling feeling vibrated under her skin. Sparkling spots induced by pain flashed in her peripherals. Sickness lodged in her throat. She shook her head to keep it in the fight.

  Levi and Dustin and the police officers ran past her and pursued the fleeing enemy. Someone knocked into her back. James. His shirt was tattered and a few buttons were torn out of the casual button up, revealing the shallow slashes on his hairy chest. He looked her up and down with heaving breathing. His eyes were dark and his brutish expression proved that his mind hadn’t left the battle. When his brown eyes met hers, the expression smoothed. His arched brows evened out and his eyes watered.

  “We’ll deal with it later,” Harper said when he looked at her arm.

  Her husband nodded, planted a light kiss on her forehead, and retrieved a lead pipe from the pile of bodies. He looked at the fight continuing around them.

  “Get our son and blow this place to hell,” he said and, with a noticeable limp, plunged back into the chaos. Before he stepped into the first fight, he turned and gave her a soft smile.

  Harper turned to the factory. The glowing upper window beckoned her. No silhouettes. She quickly adjusted the satchel strap that ran from her shoulder to her opposite hip and jogged for the front doors.

  The bullet-riddled metal doors slammed behind her, projecting a metallic ring through the quiet factory. Harper stood before tables of weapons, food, and empty backpacks/suitcases with note cards reading “Brighton.” Harper’s battle fatigue lessened when she looked upon the corner of the room designated for Brighton’s stolen supplies. She withdrew the C4 from her satchel. In case we lose, Brandy, so do you.

  Keeping an eye on the catwalk up ahead, she knelt at the first four support beams on the main floor and stuck the C4 on it. She slid the non-electric blasting cap inside the explosive bar and secured it with tape. She swiftly set the next three and approached the basement door. The key ring rested on the counter nearby, probably abandoned once the fight began. She picked it up and opened the basement.

  Traveling down the cramped and dusty stairwell, she arrived in the dank, dark room. Only the faint candlelight from the factory main leaked inside the room. Something scurried in the blackness. Harper’s hand became her eyes and she walked across to a nearby side table, gripping the cold grip of a candelabra. She used the lighter in her pack to light up the three wax candles jutting from the silver handle. Rows of large dog cages ran the length of both sides of the room. Curled up and underdressed, a woman her age stared at her with sleepless, fearful eyes from inside the cage. Harper angled the candelabra so its light would carry through the room. In each cage, a woman looked back at her, starting from the oldest being around fifty to the youngest, who looked about twelve.

  Harper gawked, wanting to vomit. Wanting to cry. She fought her emotions and unlocked the first cage. The woman crawled out. She shivered and hesitated in taking Harper’s hand. Once Harper got her to her feet, she handed her the key. “Get the rest of them out of here. Quickly.”

  The woman looked at the stairway with longing, but compassion took her when she turned back to the other cages. She knelt before the first lock and started unlocking. Harper waited until two were open before bouncing up the stairs, her mind on Brandy. She slid the detonation trigger in her back pocket and headed for Brandy’s office.

  The wind and rain had killed the few candles in the main room, but Harper could still navigate to the metal stairs leading to the second floor. Her right palm slid up the coarse handrail. Her left arm had gone completely numb. Outside, lightning struck. The millisecond strobe cast light through the shattered windows and on Mary standing at the top of the steps. Her jet-black hair, cut into a bob, blew gently across her heart-shaped face and intensely gorgeous, deep-set eyes. She lifted the tactical shotgun up to her shoulder. Harper sucked in her breath. Blackness returned as soon as it left.

  Without another moment of hesitation, Harper vaulted over the handrail. Her injured arm almost failed her and made her go dizzy. A shotgun blast tore right by her and blew a hole in the floor.

  Harper smacked the cold floor, bruising her breasts and chin. She forced herself up with both hands, unable to stifle a cry of pain.

  The shotgun blasted a foot behind her. The gun cocked. A shell casing bounced down the stairs, followed by the sound of Mary’s shoes.

  Clenching her wounded arm, Harper dashed behind the nearest support beam. Chunks of concrete exploded off its side as the scattershot punched it.

  Harper grimaced and mouthed a scream. She let go of her arm and pulled her pistol from the belt holster. Breathing through the nose, she listened for Mary. Footsteps. Left side. She leaned out of cover and fired two shots into the dark. They pelted the back wall. Another shotgun blast sounded, blowing off another chunk of Harper’s cover. She dashed for the next support beam. Another shotgun blast. Harper’s ears rang. She counted to herself. Four. She ran to the next support beam. Two blasts from the dark. Six.

  Mary moved swiftly. Her footsteps zigzagged. Harper listened. She twisted, spotting the pregnant woman at her flank.

  Boom!

  Harper’s back hit the floor harder than she had intended. Mary walked over to her and let the shotgun hang on at her waist. The eye of its barrel hung a yard and a half away from Harper. A small wisp of smoke snaked out of the opening. Harper slid her pistol just out of reach and showed open palms.

  “Sorry,” Mary said with unapologetic smile. “There can only be one queen B.” She pumped the shotgun. A shell casing ejected from the side. “I’ll comfort your boy tonight. Losing a mother can be a terrible thing.”

  The pregnant women pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Mary reached into her pocket and grabbed a shell. Harper had already aimed her pistol. The shotgun clacked on the ground.

  Harper forced herself to her feet, keeping the gun trained on the woman. Her finger slid over the trigger. “Where is Eli?”

  Mary gulped. “Upstairs with Brandy. He’s waiting for you, but I can talk to him. He does whatever I say.”

  Harper glared at the terrified woman. “Run until you can’t even see the state of Virginia, and keep running. If I even hear about someone matching your description, I will find and kill you. Understand?”

  Mary frowned and nodded.

  Harper looked at her for a moment. “What are you waiting for?”

  Mary nodded and darted to the factory’s back door. Harper trained the gun on her until the pregnant woman had vanished into the storm.

  Harper lowered her pistol and gripped her bleeding arm. She lurched over, ready to vomit. She spit and rubbed the remaining saliva from her lip before turning her attention to the second floor platform. Forcing herself to move, Harper marched up the stairs. Every step closer to Brandy’s office was another step to saving Eli and ending this war. She could almost feel of the warmth of the fireplace in the cabin James had promised. The false heat turned quickly cold as she neared Brandy’s office on the other side of the metal walkway. The metal creaked beneath her a
rmy boots.

  “You have a good heart.” Brandy’s voice sounded from the opposite end of the walkway.

  In an instant, Harper fired a shot down the dark walkway. It pinged on the unseen metal wall on the opposite end.

  Brandy chuckled. His laughter bounced off the walls. “That’s a little unfair. Spare the women and kill the men. You have a double standard, Harper.”

  Harper tried to track his voice, but the factory’s acoustics distorted Brandy’s location. Harper took a small step forward, aiming her gun in the darkness, flinching at the slightest sound.

  “I would’ve killed Mary if I were you. That woman’s dangerous. A femme fatale, some might say. But she has a life inside her, therefore all is forgiven.”

  Harper fired another round into the dark.

  “How do you know she doesn’t just have a potbelly? Some guys are into that, just saying.” Brandy chuckled.

  Movement.

  Harper shot.

  Silence.

  “Helluva shot!” Brandy exclaimed with boyish excitement. “You almost blew your boy’s shaggy head into smithereens.”

  Harper’s stomach dropped. “Eli!”

  “Yes, ma?” Brandy mocked Eli’s voice. “Can you stopped shooting uncle Brandy?”

  Rage boiled in Harper. She moved forward, firing into the dark. Bullets pinged on metal. Harper moved past the middle of the walkway and jogged to the other end and turned the bend, ready to shoot. Lightening flashed. The office door slammed shut. Harper paused near the few steps leading to the door. She waited for a moment, hearing the sound of her own breathing and the echoes of battle outside.

  Teeth chattering, Harper hiked up the first step. Creeeeeak!

  She closed her eyes, sucked in air to steady herself, and claimed the second step. She heard shuffling on the other side of the door. She kept her gun trained. The weight made her arm tired. She reached the final step and reached for the handle.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Three bullets blew through the wood, splitting splitters and dust at Harper. She coughed and checked herself for any new wounds.

  In a quick sprint, she dashed forward and smashed her shoulder into the door. The old door burst open far easier than she had anticipated, causing her ram to end in a stumble. She ran for a cluster of antique lamps and an uneven stack of chairs. Brandy’s gun fired off, sending a large flame from the barrel. The bullet blew off the leg of a chair, causing the stack to crumple in half. Harper ran to an old cupboard. She peered into the cramped room straight out of hoarder heaven.

  “Like the place?” Brandy asked from out of sight. “Every piece has a history of a forgotten settlement.”

  Harper crawled to a pool table.

  “I’m thinking of moving Brighton’s chapel cross somewhere in the back. I haven’t decided yet.”

  Hand-cranked lanterns lit up the front of the room near the window. The rest was pitch dark. Trophies masked the area where Eli had been during Harper’s last visit. From her current position, it was impossible to know if he was there.

  Harper crept under the pool table and foosball table and into the maze of buck trophies that lay on the ground, faces looking at the ceiling. Their black beady eyes followed her.

  Boom!

  One of their heads burst into a puff of cotton. Akin to running through a field of tires, Harper bounced from foot to foot to get past the trophies. Bullets blew by, blowing apart furniture, museum paintings, and more. She cowered behind the couch roughly two thirds through the long, rectangular room. Getting a clearer view of Brandy’s blackjack table and battle map on top, Harper took aim with her right arm. Her left arm felt like it was being torn from her body.

  Brandy dashed by the casino table. Harper took the shot. It breezed past him, almost hitting the large window. Harper ducked back down. “Come on. Come on.”

  She ejected the magazine. Empty. Her machete had vanished in the field minutes ago. She quickly scanned her surroundings and grabbed ahold of a rusty pipe running up the wall. Pulling with all her might, she yanked it until the rusted metal bowed outward and snapped. The texture didn’t meld well with her palm, but it was all she had left. That and the detonation trigger.

  Harper stooped low and moved closer to the upper end of the room. A dirty foot stepped into view. Eli hobbled forward. Dozens of puncture wounds dotted his bare, bony chest. Rope rubbed his wrists raw and red. Greasy hair covered his eyes. A cheap eye patch concealed the other. Brandy had wrapped his arm around the teenager to straighten his slouched posture. The ebony revolver was pointed at an angle to Eli’s jaw. The bowie knife dangled from his belt. He grinned. The corpses on the hill where Harper had come from could be seen through the large window behind him. “Don’t keep her in suspense. Say something, dog.”

  “Mother…” the teenager mumbled.

  Harper felt the world spin.

  Brandy’s blue eyes locked onto Harper. “Do you know how hard it is to find a pirate patch when it’s not Halloween? I sent out a few scout parties to retrieve one, but your posse took them out. I had to settle for the el cheapo brand.”

  Harper ignored him and spoke directly to her son. “I’m going to get you home.”

  “Mary wanted to protect his features, but I warned the dog. I always give one warning and whatever happens next, happens.”

  “Brandy, let him go. He has nothing to do with this.”

  The blond chuckled. “Really? Was it not your parental instinct that drove you to attack me?” Brandy paused. “You don’t have a gun, do you?”

  Harper looked over her son, or the shell that remained. She shook her head. “I have this.” She revealed the detonator barely supported onto it in her left hand. “I’ll bring the place down.”

  The butt of the revolver slammed down on Eli’s head. The teenager collapsed to the ground like a bag of bricks. Wheezing breath leaked from his chapped lips.

  Brandy smiled. “Now what? Your son can’t run away from the explosion. Do you want to risk--”

  The rusted pipe flung through the air and smacked into Brandy’s nose. He stumbled back, befuddled. The detonator dropped in the satchel as Harper rammed into him. The high caliber revolver discharged, blasting an inch below Harper’s arm and into the floor. With a smashing impact, Brandy’s back slammed into the large window. A spider web crack branched out from his spine. Below, Brighton locals and Hamsburrow residents fought off Brandy’s army as fire rode up the sides of the factory.

  Brandy growled and dug his nails into Harper’s arm wound. She screamed as he shoved his hand against her face. She could taste his thumb in her mouth and bit down. Brandy yelped. Harper felt his belt, taking hold of the bowie knife. She pulled the blade from its leather sheath. Brandy must’ve noticed because he twisted Harper back and slammed her through the window. Glass shattered on her spine. Wind and rain rushed past her. Her feet teeter-tottered on the frame. The battle commenced below her. The bowie knife tumbled out of her hand as she quickly caught Brandy’s wrist.

  “Harper,” Brandy said calmly. “After I drop you, I’m going to kill your son.”

  Gravity pulled at Harper. Her left arm dangled. Her right arm pulled her up Brandy’s forearm. The sweat of the man’s arm caused her grip to slip. Suddenly, two hands wrapped around Brandy’s waist. His eyes went wide as Eli dragged him back in. Harper held on, relying on the blonde’s fingers to pull her up. She almost gained her balance when Brandy’s index finger popped.

  Harper felt herself fall but caught the rim of the windowsill. Two stories below, she could see James, Levi, and Dustin fighting alongside Leonard and Nana as the numbers between them and the rival faction finally evened out.

  Letting out a cry, Harper pulled herself up an inch at a time with one arm. It felt like her muscles were slipping like frayed rope, but she kept pulling up, her mind lost on Eli. She peeked over the sill, spotting Brandy on top of her son. The blond slammed his fists across the teenager’s face, cursing. “You stupid little…”

  Harper
forced her stomach over and desperately wormed across the floor. Her fingers coiled around a shard of glass and she painfully crawled, slowly nearing Brandy. She collapsed but used her one good arm to slightly steady herself. The glass cut into her palm, leaving behind a trail of blood starting at the window. A yard away, she forced herself up, mouthing a scream.

  “No one touches me, dog,” said Brandy. “No one.”

  Harper lifted the shard. Her bloodshot emerald eyes targeted the bulging vein on Brandy’s neck. She readied the strike. Her shadow stretched over him. Brandy stopped punching and his blond head perked up. He twisted back, blue eyes going wide with fear.

  The jagged glass cut the air.

  Warm splatter splashed Harper’s hand as the shape edge opened the side of Brandy’s throat and flicked out the other side.

  The blond toppled over, gripping his neck and gurgling. Using one hand, he dragged himself across the cold floor.

  Harper quickly lowered herself next to her son. His face swelled as blood trickled from his lips. “Oh please, Eli! Can you hear me?”

  She pulled her son close. His head flopped back, rolling on his neck. Harper supported his head under her hand. She clenched her eyes as tears streamed down her face. She could feel his warm breath.

  “Mom?” Eli said with a raspy voice.

  “I’m here, baby. We’re going home.”

  Eli’s one eye opened. Harper brushed his bangs away, and whimpered.

  “Touching,” Brandy said. Red stained his perfect teeth. Leaning slightly up from the floor, he flicked his wrist and the revolver's chamber closed. He cocked back the hammer. His other hand stifled the blood pouring down his neck.

  “You’re going…” Brandy scooted a few feet. “To help me… or I kill…” He clenched the hole in his neck. Red leaked through his fingers.

  “You only had time to load one bullet,” Harper called him out. “Who will it be?”

  Eli pushed himself away from his mother and lifted to his feet. The revolver traced him.