Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  “If that’s not the Outlaws, I don’t know who is,” she said.

  Martinez tapped on the back of Burke’s seat. “Now’s the time. We need to organize and get out of here before the authorities take notice.”

  Ever cautious, Burke stayed in place, eyes in the rear-view mirror watching as the convoy approached with a trail of dust billowing behind them. Martinez’s cell phone rang. He picked it up in a hurry.

  “Talk to me,” he said. After a brief pause, he nodded. “That’s us. Just park beside us, and we’ll lay everything out from there.”

  The lead van drove past Burke’s car and screeched to a halt ten feet ahead, right at the rock. The SUV and off-road truck followed and parked beside the van. Angela kept watch over the hill, where police were setting up shop, surrounding the fairgrounds like watchful overlords.

  Fortunately, their meeting hadn’t caught the attention of the authorities. Angela thought it foolish that they were reduced to sneaking around, but Burke had warned her of the reach of the ISIS sleeper cells. You could find them in law enforcement and even within high levels of government. It was unconscionable to consider, and even harder to accept, if that was the case.

  ISIS was a very real and effective threat, partly because it operated in the shadows. And there were still many Americans whose eyes had yet to open to the terror on their doorstep. There were those who could see it and those who couldn’t or wouldn’t. Angela opened her door fully, and stepped out, ready to meet the Outlaws and move on with the plan. There wasn’t much time for introductions, however. They could be scorched to ash in a split second if they stalled any longer.

  Burke stepped out of the car, opened the rear door and helped Martinez onto his feet. The van next to them quickly emptied, with six men, all with large, bulky physiques jumping out. They were gruff sounding, most with beards or some facial hair, tattoos, sunglasses, and bandanas. The T-shirts tucked into their jeans displayed a skull logo, and below it, two rifles interlocking and angled downward. This, Angela would learn, was the Outlaws’ own symbol. Below the skull was a phrase written in Latin: arte et marte, meaning “by skill or valor.”

  In demeanor, they seemed like normal men of all backgrounds and ethnicities, and Angela wondered why the FBI had placed such interest in the group. They did look a little rough around the edges, but they weren’t animals. They certainly weren’t ISIS. Men piled out of the other vehicles and rallied around the rear of the van. Angela quickly counted the number before her. There were eighteen men.

  She was ready to count herself the only female in the entire group when two women approached from the SUV. They introduced themselves to Angela as Tara and Taia—sisters from Indiana. They wore tight-fitting black clothing and had several tattoos and piercings. They each had their hair tucked under black ball-caps, and Angela considered doing the same. She just needed to find the right hat.

  As a group, they looked to be mainly in their late thirties or early forties. Some older. They were physically imposing and fit. They dressed similarly—blue jeans, T-shirts, leather vests, and checkered bandanas. They had a collective steely glare detectable even from behind dark sunglasses, and were not the type of people someone would want to mess with.

  “Welcome,” Martinez said, leaning against the back of Burke’s car for support.

  A man stepped forward, digging the tip of his boot into the sand. He was at least six feet tall, with a thick, leathery face, a trim goatee, and short black, curly hair that was graying on the ends. He flipped up his Oakleys, revealing crystal-blue eyes and a wide smile. He had a loaded pistol holster on one side and a knife sheath on the other. In that regard, he nearly mirrored Burke in appearance.

  “Damn,” he said, examining Martinez’s frail appearance—bruised face, arm sling, knee braces, and all. “You look like shit.”

  Martinez mockingly laughed. “I was captured by terrorists. What’s your excuse?”

  The man took another step forward and shook Martinez’s hand, pulling him in closer by his good arm. “Glad to see you, old buddy.”

  Martinez smiled and backed away as the man released his grip. “Special Agent Burke. Agent Gannon. This is Hendrickson.”

  Hendrickson nodded and shook both their hands. He eyed Angela intently. Almost too long. She got the idea, but tried to remain as polite as possible.

  “Manny tells me we have quite the situation,” Hendrickson said, hands at his hips. His “team” stood behind him in a perfect arch, eager to hear further instructions.

  “That’s correct,” Angela said, taking a step back. “We don’t have a lot of time, so here are the details. Special Agent Burke and I discovered information that reveals the next terror target as the Dallas power plant. We need to guard it at all costs from what could very well be a catastrophic attack.”

  Hendrickson turned to his group with an unseen facial gesture. All their eyes went to him and then to Angela as he turned back around, skepticism evident on his face. “Manny told me as much over the phone, and I don’t doubt you. But we don’t like to put ourselves out there for too long. We move low and stay low. That’s how the Outlaws operate.” He stretched his back with his arms out in the air. “What I’m trying to say is that we’re not guards. We don’t do security details. What we do is kill terrorists.”

  His group threw their arms up with a rambunctious cheer. It was clear they were a tight-knit group who did things their own way. There was a certain edge to them, as though they were drifters assigned their own rules with no concern what anyone thought of them at any time. Angela admired them but looked around, afraid that they were already making too much noise.

  Burke extended his arms to speak as the cheering died out. “Trust me. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to do so.”

  Hendrickson smiled and looked down at the ground, shaking his head, and then back to Burke. “Well, tell me something, Mr. CIA. If you’re so badass, where are the rest of you? Where’s all your government buddies?” He rocked his head back and laughed. “They leave you holding the bag on this one or what?”

  The others laughed along as well. Burke remained calm and collected despite the jabs aimed in his direction, though Angela was worried that his inherent distrust of people would make him wary of the Outlaws, or worse, not willing to work with them at all. Instead, Burke seemed to understand. “Let’s just say we’re in the same boat.” He pointed between himself and Angela. “None of this is official.

  “I guess you can say that we’re both off the radar.” Burke paused with a deep breath while maintaining the Outlaws’ attention. “Agent Gannon’s husband was murdered by these subhuman cockroaches. Her children were kidnapped. She has no faith in this government or its agencies to handle this, any more than I do. But we do want to stop this thing. We drove hundreds of miles to stop it, and stop it we must. But we need your help.”

  Hendrickson crossed his arms, thinking to himself. Martinez opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t seem to find the right words. Angela certainly didn’t want to have Doug’s name brought into the conversation, but maybe it was important for the Outlaws to know just how far the three of them had come and were willing to go. Hendrickson turned to his group. No one else had said a word. “What do you guys think? Time to play hero again?”

  Another cheer followed, as though the decision had been made. Hendrickson smiled. “I told Manny we would be there, and I’m a man of my word. Now let’s send these sons of bitches to Allah.”

  The group erupted into fervent applause just as something caught Angela’s attention out of the corner of her eye: a police cruiser, driving up the road to their far right.

  “Quiet,” she told everyone, holding her arms out as if to tamp down the noise. The boisterous clamor quickly died out. Hendrickson looked at her funny at first but then noticed the approaching vehicle, looking like someone spotting an enemy sub on a radar screen. Angela moved hastily forward, closer to the group, giving instructions.

  “You follow us. There’s a lookout p
oint at a safe distance from the power plant. But close enough that if something happens, we can move in. We drive normal, don’t bring any attention to ourselves, and we’ll get there no problem. If security at the plant looks light, we move in closer. Every step we make needs to be determined by the situation.”

  “Got it,” Hendrickson said in all seriousness.

  Martinez looked around, seemingly satisfied with how everything had turned out so far. Burke opened his door, ready to ride out, as Hendrickson spun around and clasped his hands together. “Let’s go, gang. Outlaws have been called to action.”

  Everyone piled back in their vehicles, with whatever firepower they had. Angela wasn’t sure what that might be. They seemed raring enough, feisty even. As she got in her seat, with the police cruiser still in view, she felt strangely optimistic about how things might turn out, though the storm in the distance might signaled an ominous symbolic warning: that everything could end with the strike of a single bolt of lightning.

  10

  Flesh and Blood

  They managed to leave together, a short line of vehicles driving carefully in their desire not to bring too much attention to themselves. Angela held the map close, always on the lookout for alternate routes free of traffic, or the presence of police or military. It would prove difficult to get close to the power plant if the authorities were doing their job. Troubling enough were Asgar’s detailed notes on the probability of facing tight security.

  The ISIS militants were to engage the power plant from all sides, some teams providing a distraction while the others infiltrated the gates and got in by whatever means necessary. The plan, as written, would take twenty minutes. And once the explosives were attached to the core reactors, all they had left to do was press a button.

  The very thought terrified Angela, as they continued past the largely vacated industrial sector of downtown. The wailing sirens in the city faded as helicopters continued their constant and inescapable hovering. They passed a line of military Humvees that seemed to show no interest in them. The soldiers’ attention was elsewhere. Farther down the road, a Dallas P.D. armored truck sped past them in a flash with the roaring engine of a Boeing 737. For a moment, they didn’t see any other vehicles down the street. And not a single person.

  “Awful quiet now,” Martinez said from the backseat. “Could be a trap.”

  Burke drove on, disregarding Martinez’s suspicion. “I think it’s safe to say that we’re not their top priority right now.”

  Martinez shook his head. “You of all people should know about priorities. The CIA has bungled this thing every bit as much as the FBI.”

  Burke turned slightly to the back. Angela feared an argument between the two men, but Burke appeared to shrug the comments off.

  “Can’t say I don’t agree. But there are a lot of good people in those agencies, patriotic Americans, trying to protect the country. Trust me, they’re frustrated beyond belief.”

  “I know the feeling,” Martinez said.

  Burke reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge, holding it up for everyone to see. “If we are stopped and questioned, all I have to do is show them this badge.”

  “You really think that’ll work?” Martinez said. “Hell, you and Gannon here are wanted by the FBI.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Burke replied, lowering his badge. “Just stay alert and follow my lead.”

  Burke’s words seemed to resonate, and Martinez questioned him no more, though he was showing increasing signs of anxiety. His head darted around, searching beyond each window, and he was constantly looking at his phone.

  With more cracks and potholes, the road got bumpy again. The radio continued its report on the unprecedented terror alert sweeping the city. They were living a surreal nightmare, and no reporter, commentator, or state official seemed to know exactly what to say or do about it.

  Angela turned to face Martinez. “What kind of firepower do the Outlaws have?” she asked. “I saw some pistols and a couple of knives but nothing more.”

  “They have plenty of weapons and ammo. Semiautomatic rifles. Long range rifles. Shotguns.”

  Angela thought of Burke’s machine gun in the trunk. “What about ammo?”

  Martinez tilted his head back in surprise. “I can’t really say. What are you looking for?”

  Angela signaled at Burke to elaborate. He raised his head in response. “We’ve got some pretty heavy fire power. But that’s the problem. We’re a little low on ammo.”

  He slowed at a barren intersection and stopped. A field of dying grass lay ahead on one side of the road and a wavy tree line on the other. Just ahead, a road sign displayed their destination: Dallas Nuclear Power Plant, 2 Miles. Below the road sign read another sign: No Trespassing.

  The Fusion sat idling for a moment as Burke looked around. “Need to find another way. This road leads right to the gate, where I’m guessing the National Guard is lying in the wait.”

  “No problem,” Angela said, examining the map. “Take a left. We’ll hit the overlook in less than a mile. We’re in rural country now.”

  “The wild west,” Burke said. “Keep your eyes open.”

  He turned left as the car stereo crackled. The news was fading in and out as though the signal had been jammed. It was strange, considering that Angela was having the same problem with her cell phone. She simply couldn’t maintain a signal. She felt grateful to have a map, however, and even more grateful to know how to read it.

  Never leave home without it, she thought to herself.

  They continued down the road, eager to reach a spot where they could see the power plant in full view. They might even have to split up. A chain link fence continued along their right, with three parallel lines of barbed wire running along the top. The message was clear enough: No trespassing.

  Beyond the fence, all they could see were trees, their barren branches shed of leaves, with patchy grass and dirt below. On their right they passed an empty parking lot to a seemingly vacant warehouse that looked at least a century old. Angela glanced at the redbrick building and its multiple loading docks, contemplating its strange and lonely aura. Several trees blocked the bar-covered windows, and as their convoy continued down the dusty road, there didn’t seem to be a soul in sight.

  The road gradually curved to the right, and they passed an auto salvage yard full of junk cars that seemed to stretch on for miles. The fence that wrapped around the power plant continued and pushed inward as they neared a winding hill off the shoulder of the road. A chain hung from two posts, blocking the path up the hill. It was here, Angela told them, that they needed to go.

  “Just wonderful,” Martinez said.

  “Not to worry,” Burke said. “I’ve got plenty of tools just for this situation.”

  Angela turned to Martinez with a look of reassurance. “He does.”

  Burke slowed his car and shifted to the side of the road, halting at the chain impeding their path. Martinez’s cell phone immediately rang. He glanced at the screen then at Angela. “It’s Hendrickson.” No doubt the Outlaws wanted an update.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” he said into the phone.

  After a pause, he continued. “Special Agent Burke is gonna handle the chain. This is the route we want to take. We should be able to see the whole plant from here.”

  Burke was already out of the car and at his trunk. Angela turned and saw him pull out a small pair of bolt cutters. He walked to the fence and cut the chain in half. The chain-link collapsed onto the dirt on both sides. There would be no explaining their motives at this point if caught. Their best bet was to proceed and hope that they could prevent the power plant from being overtaken.

  “This is the only way,” Martinez said on the phone. Apparently the Outlaws were getting skittish. “We can’t just go through the front gates.” After another pause, Martinez’s tone shifted to measured calmness. “Earl, I believe in this mission. I really think we can pull it off.”

  Angela hadn’t heard Hendrickson
’s first name until then. Martinez hung up the phone and sighed as Burke returned to the car, bolt cutters in hand, and closed the trunk.

  “They think we’re taking too long,” Martinez said. “Hendrickson wanted to know why we’re going around the place like this, but I tried to explain it to him.”

  “I think we’re all a little anxious right now,” Angela said. “It’s to be expected.”

  Burke opened the driver’s-side door and jumped in. Angela noticed he was wearing his tactical gloves. And his pistol was at his side. She was armed herself with her government-issued .40 Smith and Wesson. They had plenty of pistol ammunition left but had nearly extinguished their rifle ammo during their earlier firefight in the underground sleeper-cell compound. She was glad they had taken out the place, glad that the US government bombed it into rubble following the illicit drone strikes. But there was one major problem: Asgar had gotten away and seemed more emboldened than ever.

  “Good thing I brought my sniper rifle,” Burke said as he drove forward past the broken fence and up the grassy hill where skeleton-like trees concealed their encroaching convoy.

  “Sniper rife?” Martinez asked. “What else are you packing?”

  “I’ve got a 240B machine gun and M4 carbine action rifle.”

  “And a shotgun,” Angela added.

  Martinez looked stunned. “How did you get your hands on a machine gun?”

  “I guess you could say I’m a collector,” Burke said.

  “You better hope the government doesn’t catch you now. CIA badge or not, you could get in some serious trouble.”

  Burke glanced into the rearview mirror and smiled. “What can I say? I love my guns.” His smile suddenly dropped as he looked to Angela and then back at the road. “The sniper rifle… I haven’t fired that in a while. Not since my last assignment.”

  She could sense the somber realization in his tone. He was thinking of his family. He said no more, and it was clear why. Exposing any anguish made him vulnerable, and that was something he couldn’t show now. Not with so many lives on the line. Martinez got the hint and didn’t question him any further. They continued up, as the narrow dirt road veered left and then around the hill, eventually reaching the top, where the two large cooling towers could be seen from a distance, emitting vapor into the air like puffs of thick cloud.