Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  The furniture, floors, and ornaments were covered in dirt. Trash littered the living room, and the only light that was shining into the house was the fading sunlight behind her.

  There was no way anyone still lived here, but this was the address Beth had been able to find for Edwin Carlson, the original inventor of the process turning anything from salt water to toxic water into fresh, drinkable liquid. If he wasn't here, then Beth had no idea where to look. The road ended here.

  The front door rattled when she pounded on it. Dust disturbed by the shaking fell to the porch floorboards and onto the tops of Beth's polished black heels.

  “Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked.

  She knocked on the door again, even harder than before.

  “Dr. Carlson, my name is Beth Fryar. I'm with Congressman Smith's staff,” she said.

  A gunshot sounded, and Beth instinctively ducked, covering her head. After a moment she looked up, checking her surroundings and patting herself down, making sure she wasn't hit.

  Then another gunshot blast echoed through the air. It was coming from behind the house.

  Beth's heels thumped on the wooden steps as she made her way from the porch to the side of the house. She unlocked the gate latch that separated the front yard from the back. Another gunshot sounded, this one louder, as she made it to the rear of the house.

  The backyard opened up into a large field of dirt and mostly dead grass. Toward the middle of the field, she could see a man standing with a rifle, aiming at some objects lined up on a table ten yards in front of him.

  “Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked, yelling and waving her arms.

  The figure in the field lowered the rifle and turned toward her. She could see him waving his fists and shouting something, but she couldn't tell what it was. He came rushing toward her, but something was wrong. The rifle was aimed in her direction. The next gunshot rang out and hit the backside of the house.

  “Holy shit!” Beth said, almost tripping over herself as she ran as fast as she could in her heels to her car.

  The man's screaming was becoming louder. Another gunshot went off, and the dirt to her left exploded into the air from the bullet that struck it.

  “Jesus Christ!” Beth yelled.

  Beth reached into her purse and ripped her keys out. She fumbled them in her hand while making it to the driver’s-side door of her car. The man shooting at her was running through the front yard now, still aiming his rifle at her.

  Before she could stick the key into the door lock, the barrel of the man's rifle was in her face. Beth held her hands up, the keys still dangling from her fingers.

  “What the hell are you doing on my property?”

  Beth could smell the booze on him. His face was bearded, and he had long, matted strands of gray hair. His clothes were stained and torn.

  “My name is Beth Fryar. I'm a member of Congressman Smith's staff,” Beth said.

  The end of the rifle's barrel made contact with Beth's blouse, flattening her against the car door.

  “The same congressman that tried to help Dr. Edwin Carlson pass his filtration process in Washington,” Beth added.

  The man's shoulders went slack, and the rifle lowered a bit, but it was still aimed at Beth's stomach. Beth straightened herself, flattened out her suit jacket, and tilted her head up. She knocked the rifle's barrel away from her, and it fell to the man's side.

  “Are you Dr. Carlson?” Beth asked.

  The man wobbled on his feet, and he used the rifle as a cane to help steady himself.

  “Once upon a time,” Dr. Carlson said.

  Past the dirty clothes, wild hair, and dark circles under his eyes Beth could see the dim spark of intelligence.

  “Well, I'm here to speak with you about restarting your research. Congressman Smith will be reintroducing the bill to allow your filtration process to be used around the country,” Beth said.

  Dr. Carlson wheezed in a gasping laugh. Beth could smell his rancid breath, and she backed up as he continued the hacking chuckle until he was bent over with tears running down his face.

  “Once the bill is passed, we'll need to start producing the water as quickly as possible. The country's in a dire state, Doctor,” Beth said.

  Dr. Carlson wiped the tears from his eyes, holding his stomach, still struggling to keep his balance.

  “Lady, the country isn't in a dire state. It's dead,” Dr. Carlson said.

  Dr. Carlson turned around, dragging the rifle through the dirt of his front yard, barely able to keep his head from hitting the ground.

  “I don't think you understand what's going on here,” Beth said.

  “As long as Congressman Jones is still in office, which I know he is, your congressman's bill will never see the light of day,” Dr. Carlson said.

  Beth yanked the rifle from the doctor's limp grip, pinned him against the front wall of the house, and aimed the gun at him.

  “Listen, I don't know how long you've been drinking yourself to death, but I need you to march inside that house, put on a pot of coffee, and sober up. This plan only works if you're able to recreate the filtration process, and you can't do that stinking drunk,” Beth said.

  “And what if I don't? Are you going to shoot me?” Dr. Carlson asked.

  Beth slammed the lever of the rifle down, loading a bullet into the chamber, then placed her finger on the trigger.

  “Then I’ll go home and sleep like a baby,” Beth said.

  Dr. Carlson's smile faded from his face. He squinted at her, trying to focus on the situation at hand.

  “You know, I think I do remember you,” Dr. Carlson said. “You were just as mean back then, too.”

  Jones's gavel smacked the podium, calling everyone to order. After the Pledge of Allegiance, the session began. Smith checked his phone. Beth hadn’t texted him. He had no idea whether or not Dr. Carlson was alive. He’d be going into this vote without that knowledge.

  “Today's session is for the vote on Bill H.R. 395150, exiling California, Arizona, Nevada, Utah, and New Mexico from the Union. We are all aware of the situation with the Colorado Basin and what that means to the natural resources of the country. If the people from those states migrate to the rest of the country, the population influx will decimate what precious resources we have left. Now, I think we all understand the gravity of this decision, but we also understand what will happen if we don't choose to act now,” Jones said.

  Jones's eyes fell right on Daniel, who shifted in his seat. Finally, Jones looked away, and Daniel felt himself exhaling, unaware he hadn’t been breathing.

  “I have personally spoken to our representatives from these states, and they have all agreed that while this action is dramatic, it is vital to the preservation of the rest of the country,” Jones said.

  A group of congressmen from the Southwest rose in unison.

  “Congressman Jones is right. We understand the need for sacrifice in times of crisis. The survival of our nation is at stake, and it's a sacrifice we're willing to make.”

  “And will you be joining your constituents in their exile, Congressmen?” Smith asked.

  The room's attention shifted over to Smith, who adjusted the buttons on his suit as he stood up. Whispers broke out, and Jones silenced them with three smacks of his gavel.

  “Congressman Smith, if you have anything you would like to say on the matter, the floor is yours,” Jones said.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Congressman Jones's bill suggests that there is no other course of action. He proposes that there is no other hope than that of sentencing millions of Americans to their deaths,” Smith said.

  “And you would have those that chose to live where they are by their own free will choke the rest of our nation until there's nothing left,” Jones said, pointing his finger at Smith. “There is no other way.”

  “There is. That's why I'm introducing a revised version of Bill H.R. 285016,” Smith said.

  The Congress hall doors opened, and both Daniel and Smith's staffs came i
n, holding transcripts of the proposed bill. Copies were passed down each row. Conversations broke out, and the room went into a quiet uproar. Jones rapped the gavel on the podium.

  “Order. I call order in this house. Congressman Smith, we went through this process three years ago. This bill was voted down by Congress due to the toxic nature of Dr. Carlson's formula. Those facts haven't changed,” Jones said.

  “We haven't changed the facts you presented from the last vote, Congressman Jones, but we have introduced new evidence refuting the information that you provided,” Smith said.

  “All of the information I provided was from certified experts in the fields of chemistry and biology. Now, if you're telling me that your staff recently obtained their doctorates in those chosen studies, then I will have to bite my tongue, but since they haven't, you have no grounds to argue.”

  “The evidence we introduced is your involvement with the Strydent Chemical Company—a company which was a major benefactor in your reelection over the past two terms.”

  Daniel watched the congressmen around him thumb through the pages. Jones kept smacking the gavel, losing his cool. They might be able to pull this off.

  “Need I remind the congressmen of the public's distrust of Dr. Carlson's purification process. The expert analysis provided by a committee, which I was not a part of, denounced the process's effectiveness and raised concerns about the potential hazard of increases in cancer and other health ailments. In fact the patent office revoked Dr. Carlson’s designs after the evidence was presented,” Jones said.

  The murmur through Congress started to sway back in Jones's favor. Daniel could hear the men and women around him second-guessing themselves.

  “Jones is right. My district will fry me if I vote for this bill.”

  “Is it really worth the risk?”

  “I'm not just thinking of my child's heath, I'm thinking of the families with children that elected me to represent them.”

  Congressman Edwards rose from his seat. He raised his fist to the air, grabbing the attention of the room. “I say we vote!”

  The rest of the hall mumbled. Some were in agreement, others were not. Jones struck the gavel hard, again silencing the rising temper of the room.

  “We shall vote on Congressman Smith's proposed bill then move on to mine,” Jones said.

  The Speaker of the House started roll call, and the voting began. The electronic counters in the Capitol building had long since been removed. The funds to maintain much of the buildings computer systems had been diverted to keeping the water flowing. Daniel pulled a piece of paper out, tallying each vote into a yes and no column. After sixty votes, it was dead even. His name would be called soon. His mind went back to what Jones had mentioned before the session began.

  He couldn't know.

  “Congressman Gene Hart,” the speaker called out.

  “I vote nay.”

  I made sure it was buried. The plan was too well thought out. None of it could have been traced back to me.

  “Congressman Keith Hemen,” the speaker said.

  “I vote nay.”

  Daniel rubbed his palms together so hard it felt like the skin would rub off. He adjusted his collar, trying to let some of the heat building under his suit escape into the air.

  “Congressman Jay Holmon,” the speaker said.

  “I vote nay.”

  What if Smith's bill didn't pass? What if the science behind Dr. Carlson's process was incorrect? What if it really was dangerous? Forget what Jones would do to him; if Carlson was wrong, the people from his state would crucify him.

  He felt an elbow nudge his side. He looked over to the congressman that shoved him, and the man pointed to the Speaker of the House.

  “Congressmen Hunter, how do you vote?” the Speaker asked.

  Daniel felt light headed. The lights in the room seemed too bright. The muscles under his suit spasmed, trembling at the indecision his mind was dealing with. He closed his eyes and listened, searching for that faint voice of courage.

  “I vote,” Daniel said then paused. “Yea.”

  He watched Jones's face morph into something more dangerous than hate. It had the calm, cool, collected precision of focus. Regardless of the outcome of this vote, he was a marked man.

  Smith charged out of the capitol building, his face flushed red with anger. Jake followed him down the steps and around to where he knew he was heading: Jones's office.

  “How the hell did he get those swing votes?” Smith said.

  “I don't know, sir,” Jake said.

  Jake skidded forward from Smith's abrupt stop. Smith pushed his finger into Jake's chest, wrinkling the checkered tie he was wearing.

  “I want to know how it happened, and I want to know now,” Smith said.

  “Yes, sir,” Jake said, burying himself in his phone, searching for answers for which he had no idea where to start looking.

  When Smith made it to Jones's office, Cindy stood up to try and stop him from entering, but Smith shoved the doors open and saw Jones sitting leisurely at his desk, smiling.

  “Hello, David,” Jones said.

  “What did you do, Raymond?”

  “I think it was more of what you did than what I did.”

  “Did you threaten them? Hmm? Was that it?”

  Smith had both fists knuckling into the wood of Jones's desk. He could feel the bones in his hands crunching and scraping from the pressure he applied to them.

  “Well, whatever you did, you better hope you have more in the tank, because I will fight this bill and push back its Senate date until next year. This bill will not go into law until I stop breathing,” Smith said, pounding the desk before he turned to leave.

  “The bill will be signed into law before the day is done,” Jones said.

  Smith had his hand on the doorknob when he froze.

  “What?” Smith asked.

  “The Senate is voting on the bill as we speak.”

  “That's impossible.”

  “An extraordinary session enacted by the president, which is well within his authority.”

  Smith felt his legs go heavy, like they were pulling him down, trying to drown him under the sea and bury him in the sand in the depths of the ocean.

  “Troops are already being called back from the Southwest, and patrols have been deployed along the United States’ new western border,” Jones said, smiling.

  Smith's tongue and lips felt numb. He tried to find his voice, but only hoarse whispers would leave him.

  “You're a monster,” Smith said.

  Jones threw his head back, his mouth wide open as his laughter erupted into the room. He clutched his belly and tilted his chair back.

  “No, David. I'm necessary,” Jones said.

  10

  Emily stirred, mumbling something, pushing herself off the sleeping bag. John helped her sit up, and Brooke dropped the circuit tools she was using.

  “Em, how are you feeling?” Brooke asked.

  “Thirsty,” Emily answered.

  John poured a cup of water from one of the jugs and handed it to her. Emily grabbed it with both hands and drank greedily.

  Emily lowered the cup and rested it in her lap. Brooke brushed Emily's hair back, feeling her forehead. She was still warm, but nowhere near the level of before.

  “What happened?” Emily asked.

  “You were stung by a scorpion. Do you remember that?” Brooke asked.

  “Kind of. I remember something burning my hand, and then I started getting dizzy. After that, I don't know what happened.”

  Brooke kissed Emily's cheek, and John rubbed her back.

  “You had us worried,” Brooke said.

  “Sorry,” Emily replied.

  “I'm glad you're okay,” John said.

  “Where are we?” Emily asked, looking at their decrepit surroundings.

  “We're at the solar station,” Brooke said.

  “Cool,” Emily said.

  Emily tried standing but los
t her balance. John caught her before she fell and rested her back on the sleeping bag.

  “You should still take it easy,” Brooke said. “We'll stay here for the night. I think we could all use the rest.”

  After twenty minutes of being awake, Emily passed out. John wasn't far behind. It had been a long day for both of them.

  Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon. The desert sky filled with pinks, blues, purples, and oranges. The remaining glow filtered through the windows as Brooke sat on the ground, still hunched over the radio circuits, trying to repair them.

  The battery connectors were corroded, and there were a few circuit tracks that had come undone, but after a couple hours, she had it repaired.

  Brooke plugged the battery back in and turned the power knob on. The speaker of the radio blew static, waking both her kids.

  “Mom!” both of them yelled.

  “Sorry,” Brooke said.

  She flicked through the channels, searching for any signals within range. It was a long shot but better than anything they had right now. Another blast of static came through, and then the robotic recording of the emergency broadcast system came whispering into her ears. Brooke turned the volume up to get a better listen.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States,” a voice announced.

  Emily and John both got up from their sleeping bags and walked over and crouched down with their mom on the floor. Then, in the silence of waiting for the president to speak, all of their phones started pinging. Brooke took out her cell, and text messages started to roll in, almost all of them from her sister. She had her index finger on the phone's screen when the president finally spoke.

  “My fellow Americans. I speak to you all this evening with a heavy heart. Early today I informed the nation about the continuing water crisis in the Southwest. Reports confirmed that the Colorado Basin, which provides fresh water to most of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, and Colorado had finally run dry. All of my attention today has been directed on coming up with solutions that benefit not just the Southwest but the entire country.”

  Brooke went back to checking her messages, the president's voice still lingering in her ear. She opened the first couple of unread texts: