Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  The man stepped forward and pulled off the hood of the person in the center of the first group. Angela grew dizzy as the room began to spin around. It felt like a dream or some kind of out of body experience. The exposed man looked eerily like her husband, Doug. But his normally neat hair was all messed up, and besides, it couldn’t possibly have been Doug.

  “We have the family of one your agents,” the masked man said, pulling his captive’s head by the hair and holding the knife to his throat.

  He then pointed at the camera with his gloved hand. “You have twenty-four hours to meet our demands or we will kill Doug Gannon and his two daughters.”

  Chief Drake whipped his head around to see Angela quickly losing color in her face with tears already streaming down her cheeks. She couldn’t breathe. She grabbed the side of his chair as her vision became more blurry.

  Drake jolted up from his seat. “Angela!”

  For Angela, the room went black, and before he could catch her, she was on the floor, briefly safe from the new nightmare that was now her world.

  Terror Rising: Reckoning

  1

  Intruders

  Doug Gannon was worried. It was late at night, and he hadn’t heard from his wife, Angela, in the past two hours. She said she was working late at the office but had promised updates as they came in. She had become involved in a big case with her job at the border patrol. The FBI had even gotten involved. Details were scant, but Doug understood it was something important.

  His only question was why Angela, a rookie border patrol agent, had to be involved in a high-level investigation.

  It was Wednesday night, and he had worked all day at the engineering plant where he was a planner in the development of targeting systems for military vehicles. His team was behind in one of its projects, and he had foreseen a long, hard day. That was, of course, after he had made breakfast for the girls and sent them off to school.

  Chassity and Lisa were close in age and attended middle school. Chassity in eighth grade and Lisa in sixth. They were getting older, that much was apparent. Where had the time gone?

  With the girls in bed, Doug sat atop the bed he shared with Angela in his jeans, T-shirt, and bare feet, cell phone at his side. He stared ahead at the television on their dresser, watching the evening news.

  The reports of a truck explosion along the Del Rio border was the big story. Authorities had cordoned off the area for miles due to possible chemical agents released in the air. This concerned Doug, but Angela’s direct involvement in the case concerned him most of all.

  His head jolted to the side when he saw the hall light come on through a crack in the bedroom door. Someone was up. Doug stood up and walked to the door just in time to see Lisa standing outside his door in her blue pajamas, rubbing her eyes. Doug turned and glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was 12:35 a.m.

  “Lisa, honey. What is it?”

  “Is Mom home yet?” Lisa asked, her voice tired and her long hair hanging over both sides of her face.

  Doug walked to the door and opened it fully, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She’s still at work and will be home soon.” He paused and squeezed. “But you need to get back to bed. It’s a school night.”

  Lisa peeked around her father, casting an eye over his queen-size bed. “Can I sleep in here?”

  Doug shook his head and smiled. “You have your own bed, sweetheart.”

  Lisa hung her head and sighed in frustration with a tinge of sadness.

  “Come on,” Doug said, taking her hand. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

  She reluctantly followed him to her room at the first door on the left.

  “The sooner you go back to bed, the sooner you’ll fall asleep. And the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you’ll awake and see Mom tomorrow.”

  “She works too much,” Lisa said, putting one bare foot in front of the other in her dreamlike state.

  “I know,” Doug said, pushing her bedroom door open. “She has a tough job.”

  The light from the hall shone into the room as he led Lisa to the bed. Lisa climbed atop her covers and lay on her side against her pillow, her heavy eyelids already closing.

  Doug brushed back her hair and kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, hon.”

  “Night...” she said in a soft voice, drifting.

  Doug smiled and pulled a sheet over her side. Just as he was about to turn, he heard movement from the living room. Plates rattled from the dining room china hutch. Doug stood still, trying to decipher the faintest sound. Someone was in his house. He assumed it to be Angela but hadn’t heard her car pull in. He crept outside Lisa’s room into the hall, prepared to investigate the sounds.

  At the end of the hall, a lamp turned on. Eager to see Angela, Doug called out to her. But he halted at the sight of a white-haired man standing in the darkness near the living room sofa with his arms crossed. He was tall and dressed business casual—slacks, open collar, and his sleeves rolled up. He stared at Doug from behind circular-framed glasses.

  For a moment, Doug didn’t notice that there were others in the room. The masked men—six in all—blended in with the shadows in black sweatshirts and baggy trousers, long rifles slung over their shoulders.

  “Good evening, Mr. Gannon,” the white-haired man said with a British accent. “Pardon our intrusion.”

  Doug’s heart beat rapidly as he tried to maintain the outward appearance of calmness. Signs of forced entry were nowhere to be seen. There looked to be no windows broken or doors busted open. It was as though the men had just appeared in his living room. How many others are in the house? he wondered.

  “Who the hell are you?” he lashed out. “Where’s Angela?”

  He didn’t know why he’d asked about her. He only wanted to hang on to a shred of hope that the intruders’ presence was in some way related to her involvement in the case he knew so little about. Perhaps they were FBI. CIA even?

  “Why don’t you have a seat?” the man asked, arm extended to the sofa.

  “I’m fine standing,” Doug said. “How did you get into my house?”

  The man, with his astute, clean-shaven face, took a step forward and held up a wallet-sized border patrol headshot of Angela in her uniform. “Your wife’s doings brought us here. We’ve come to take you and your daughters away.” He paused, placing the photo back in his pocket.

  Confused, Doug observed the steely eyes of the masked men before him lined up like stone fixtures with their hands on their rifles. “I want to talk to Angela.”

  The Englishman nodded with a slight grimace as though Doug’s insistence was making him uncomfortable. “I’m sure you have plenty of questions about who we are and what we’re doing here. I personally volunteered to come here to ensure that you came along safely and quietly.”

  Doug stood dumbfounded by what the man was getting at with no better understanding of who the intruders were and why they were in his home. His eyes shifted around the room toward the kitchen to see if there were more gunmen. So far, he had counted up to six.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Gannon. My name is Peter

  Graves. I was born and raised in Sheffield, England. Some time ago, I worked for the crown. A security minister. Like you, I have a wife and children.”

  Doug placed his hands the couch in front of him, leaning closer with questions of his own. “Why are these men armed?” he said, pointing across the room.

  Peter looked to both sides where the men were standing and then back to Doug with a shrug. “Purely a cautionary measure. You needn’t worry.”

  Doug searched his jean pockets for his cell phone but couldn’t find it. It was resting on top of his nightstand, far out of reach. He thought of the .38-caliber pistol locked in its case on the top shelf in his closet. Both items were useless to him at the moment. “Look. If this is about Angela—”

  “It is about Angela,” Peter said, cutting him off. “Your wife has been instrumental in interfering wit
h our organization, and we have been dispatched to take you and your two daughters back to a safe house, where you will be held in captivity until we can come to an arrangement with your government.” There was no irony in his tone or sense that any of it was a joke.

  “I want you out of my house. Now,” Doug said, narrowing his eyes.

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Peter said without hesitation. “There were several ways we could have done this. I opted for a more civilized, diplomatic approach, if you will.” He then extended his left hand toward the line of men on his side. “Many of these well-trained men, however, have a different approach. And they’ll think nothing of beating the holy hell out of you and dragging you and your daughters outside, bound like wild game, and tossing you into our van.”

  Doug felt a crushing combination of anger and fear reverberate through him. He balled his fists as his stomach twisted in knots. Things were beginning to get clearer. The intruders weren’t there on Angela’s behalf or that of anyone else he knew. It was a home invasion, he was in trouble, and the most immediate concern on his mind was Chassity and Lisa.

  “I don’t know who you work for, but—”

  “We are members of the Islamic State,” Peter answered, cutting him off yet again.

  Doug paused, astonished to hear the name of the notorious terrorist organization. Peter, it seemed, found the hushed response amusing.

  “Do I not fit the bill of someone you might associate with ISIS? Am I not dark or bearded enough?” He shook his head with a light chuckle. “I can assure you, Mr. Gannon. The beauty of the Islamic State far transcends cultural upbringing. And you’d be stunned to find how fast it’s catching on back home.”

  Doug struggled to find the words as he shot Peter a cold glare. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “I can assure you that it’s not,” Peter said.

  At that moment, the masked men raised their rifles in unison, aiming at Doug.

  On instinct, he put his hands up, just above his chest. The answer was obvious, but he asked anyway. “What if I say no?”

  “That wouldn’t be wise.” Peter clasped his hands together as though he were praying. “I implore you to do as we ask, and I can guarantee that no harm will come to you or your family.”

  Doug shuffled in place, exasperated with the impossible choice before him. “Where are we going? What do you want me to do?”

  “Easy. Wake your daughters, grab them some clothes, and bring them out here. We’ll all leave together as one happy family.”

  Doug squeezed the couch until his knuckles went white.

  “You leave them out of this,” he seethed. “Whatever it is you want from me, it doesn’t involve them.”

  Peter nodded with a feigned look of understanding. He then signaled the masked men to surround Doug. In an instant, they swarmed as Doug backed against the wall. As they circled him, the men remained chillingly silent, with only their indifferent eyes upon him and rifle barrels aimed at his head.

  Doug shielded his face with his hand, believing that his next best bet would be to grab his daughters and run. But it seemed as though any opportunity to escape had long passed. Even with the rifles pointed at him, he had the faint hope that he could grab his cell phone or maybe even the .38 in his closet.

  “This isn’t necessary! My daughters have school tomorrow. They are of no use to you. Take me. Just please—”

  A buttstock swung into his gut, fierce and without warning, knocking the wind out of him. Doug fell to his knees in an instant, clutching his stomach.

  “Insufficient, Mr. Gannon,” Peter said, approaching his immobilized captive.

  Doug raised his head just as Peter stepped in between the gunmen, staring down, holding two fingers in the air. “Two choices. That’s all you have. And if you waste any more of our time, we’ll make the decision for you.”

  Doug choked on the air as the pain in his stomach began to subside. He shook his head, ready to tell Peter where he could shove his two choices.

  “Doug...” Peter said. “Listen to me.” He crouched down right in his face. “Get your daughters and come with us willingly, or I let the boys here do what they came here to do.”

  “They’re just children...” Doug pleaded. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Peter sighed. “Believe it or not, Doug, I’m here to help you. To implore you to come with us peacefully, and ensure that no one gets hurt.”

  “Get out of my house,” Doug said. “Now.”

  Peter looked to his men and said something lightly in Arabic. They responded with swift strikes to Doug with their rifle buttstocks, clubbing him in the head, chest, and side.

  Doug fell to the floor in agony while desperately trying to shield himself from their blows, but the hits came hard and fast.

  After a series of white flashes and a debilitating dizziness, Doug knew that he was powerless to do anything, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. He placed one hand on the ground and pushed himself up in a rage just as he heard some of the men burst into Chassity’s room, followed by the sounds of her screaming.

  “Don’t you touch her!” he shouted, tumbling against the wall. The faint shape of Peter came into view, standing close.

  “You had your chance, Doug. Now we’re going to do things our way.”

  At that moment, he could see two men carrying Chassity’s small, thin, pajama-clad body out of her room as she kicked and screamed, with her hair flapping wildly in the air. Lisa’s fainter scream could be heard from her bedroom as soon as the men kicked open her door.

  “Stop it!” Doug shouted, covering his head, where he could feel warm blood trickling down his forehead. “You’re terrifying them!”

  Lisa passed by, kicking and screaming, held by one man as they headed toward the couch. The gunmen tossed both girls onto the couch and immediately set about binding their wrists and feet with zip ties.

  Doug took a forceful step and pushed Peter out of the way, prepared to charge his way into the living room and tear the men to pieces. “Leave them alone!”

  A thud came into the center of his back, followed by the most intense pain in memory as he fell once again to the carpet. One of the gunmen had hit him with his rifle.

  The girls’ screams were muffled by balled socks stuffed into their mouths. Doug couldn’t imagine hearing a more horrifying sound in his life. He pulled himself back up and over the couch, fully expecting another sudden blow.

  “Chassity... Lisa! Just stay calm. I’m here. Everything is going to be okay.”

  He only heard muffled cries in response, which enraged him to no end. Through pure adrenaline, he managed to stand on wobbly legs, only to find Peter still standing next to him.

  Doug turned his head to the couch, where they were picking up his daughters. His face went white with panic as he grew tense. “Where are you taking them? Stop this!”

  A direct punch to the nose followed, courtesy of Peter himself, which sent Doug reeling back, unable to cover his face due to his arms being held back.

  “Let him go,” Peter told the men. They released Doug, and he crouched, hands immediately on his face, trying to dull the pain.

  Peter shook his wrist and splayed out his fingers, stretching them. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

  Before Doug could respond, the men pulled his arms behind his back again, zip-tying his wrists together.

  “Barack, go grab a bag and throw some of the girls’ clothes in it,” Peter said.

  Doug tried to stand, but one of the men pushed him back down on his knees with a gloved hand.

  Amused, Peter looked down and took notice of his struggle. “Bag ‘im.”

  A burlap sack suddenly came over Doug’s face, blinding him. The air was already dank and stuffy. They lifted him, gripping the backs of his arms, and told him to move. As they pushed him out the doorway, he wished he had done things differently. He wished he had grabbed his gun at the first sign of noise. He wished that he had warned his daughters to run
as far as they could from the house. He wished that he had called the police—anything to prevent the mess they were in.

  The back doors to the van creaked open. Different sets of hands grabbed him, pushed him forward, and tossed him inside. He nearly landed on one of the girls—Chassity, he believed. As the doors slammed closed, he tried to reassure her that everything was going to be okay.

  He wasn’t going to let anything happen to them. All they needed to do was to stay calm. And even though he tried to keep his voice steady and comforting, he was crippled with fear on the inside—a fear that could only be matched by that of his two rumpled, confused, and terrified daughters, neither of whom had any concept of the very evil that had catapulted their family into submission.

  2

  Angela’s Nightmare

  In Salah Asgar’s world, no bad deed went unpunished. There had to be repercussions, and Border Patrol Agent Angela Gannon had recently come onto his radar. She and her partner, Captain Jorge Martinez, had inadvertently intruded into his activities and delayed an attack Asgar had been planning for nearly two years.

  With Angela’s help, Martinez had taken it upon himself to lead the FBI to a strategic outpost located past the Mexican border, where they had slaughtered more than a dozen of Asgar’s men and compromised what had been a secret location. The setback cost Asgar greatly, and his intricate team of terror sleeper cells throughout the state of Texas was told to stand down.

  The high-ranking ISIS leaders back home weren’t happy, and Asgar knew all too well what that meant. They would be more than happy to dispose of him and make him an example, as he often did with his own men. To survive, he had to get a handle on the situation fast. The first thing he did was order his most-trusted operatives to find out all there was about the two star border patrol agents in questions. It was remarkably easy, and within hours they were able to gather personal information—names, contact numbers, and addresses—and put everything to motion.