Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  The tension between the United States and Canada hadn’t been nearly as volatile as it was with Mexico, although it should have been after the United States commandeered all of the Great Lakes once things started to get really bad five years ago. Canada didn’t have the military to stop them, and with their snow in the north, they weren’t in a hurry to try.

  “My debate is one of the reasons I wanted to meet with you, Ambassador. I was hoping we could talk about a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Smith said.

  “And what type of arrangement did you have in mind?”

  Smith’s fork clanged against the porcelain plates. He wiped his mouth with the edge of his napkin and rose from his chair. The Ambassador was caught mid-chew as Smith sat down next to him.

  “It’s no secret that we’re drying up, Ambassador. If it isn’t obvious by the weather report, then it is by the extreme actions our government has taken. The drought will spread. The deserts are growing, and it won’t be long before the shaky alliance between our two nations dwindles and comes to another military conflict. And I don’t believe that’s what either of us wants.”

  Lucas swallowed. “No, it’s not.”

  “The scientist who designed the filtration process that can create clean, drinkable water from any liquid source in cheap, massive quantities is in Halifax. I need your help in acquiring the permits needed for him to build a station on Canadian soil.”

  Lucas dabbed the corners of his mouth. He rested his back on the velvet-cushioned seat behind him. The food-stained napkin hung limp in his hand. He tossed it on the table next to his half-finished salmon.

  “If I do this, then the Great Lakes debt is forgiven. All of it. And immediately,” Lucas said.

  “Done.”

  “Then I better get on the phone. Once I see the paperwork with our deal laid out, your scientist can begin his work.”

  Smith and Lucas shook hands. Smith turned to leave, but Lucas stopped him. “Congressman, if your government doesn’t approve the debt forgiveness, then I’ll have Dr. Carlson detained in a Canadian prison. He’ll never set foot on American soil again.”

  The boldness of youth was something Smith had always admired. He still liked to consider himself bold, although he found that the older he became, phrases such as “time tested” and “battle proven” seemed to replace it. Smith simply nodded and smiled.

  Smith buttoned his suit jacket on his way out of the embassy. Beth was waiting for him in the front offices. She snapped her laptop shut and joined him walking out of the building, falling right into stride with him.

  “We need to get in touch with Senator Harris,” Smith said.

  “What? Why?”

  “He’s chair of the budgetary committee that handles all balances owed to the U.S. government. We’re going to need him to sign off on something.”

  “You know he doesn’t like you, right?”

  “Yes, Beth. I’m aware. Has Jones reached out to us yet?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “What about Dr. Carlson? Where’s he at with assembling his team?”

  “He’s setting up some meetings with colleagues.”

  Dr. Carlson was the final result of a chain reaction, but it all started with Jones. If Smith couldn’t get Jones in front of a camera, then he’d lose momentum. And if he lost momentum, then so would the cause. He needed to strike while the media was still buzzing. It wouldn’t be long before attention would be pulled back to the war with Mexico. And now with the Canadian ambassador’s request, the spinning plates Smith was holding up seemed to keep multiplying. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep them going.

  8

  The familiar buzz of the alarm chirped in Dave’s ear. The room was still dark, as the sun was still sleeping. Dave smacked his palm against the button, silencing the din that woke him. He lay in bed for a moment and rubbed his face, which started his morning routine.

  Get up. Get dressed. Put your pants on. Eat breakfast. Clean the dishes. Check the water gauge. Check the weather. Head into the garage. Check the supplies.

  It wasn’t necessarily the routine that Dave enjoyed, but the discipline of it. Each day he forced himself to get things done more quickly and efficiently than the day before.

  Before he left the garage, he grabbed another IV from his medical bag. When he checked on Eric, he was still asleep. Dave replaced the empty IV bag with the fresh one and closed Eric’s door quietly behind him.

  The sun was starting to peek over the horizon, and the first colors of morning shone through the windows. Brooke was still passed out on the couch. Dave set a glass of water and two aspirin on the small coffee table next to her. He figured she’d probably need them.

  With everyone still sleeping for what seemed like the foreseeable future, Dave grabbed his rifle and headed out the front door. He nestled the Winchester Model 70 Alaskan over his right shoulder as he made his way out to the side of his fenced yard that separated his property from the surrounding woods.

  Dave peered through his scope and into the forest. Every few yards, he had set trip wires loaded with shotgun shells to alert him to danger. Part of his morning routine was making sure that none of them had been disabled.

  Dave stepped over the vegetation carefully, making sure not to stumble. Each wire he checked remained untampered with. Satisfied with the outcome, he retraced his steps and headed out of the woods the same way he’d come in.

  Brooke was sitting up with her head hung low between her shoulders when Dave walked back inside the living room. She had both hands cradling her face.

  “What did I drink last night?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t so much what you drank, but the amount,” Dave said.

  The two aspirin were gone and the glass of water was half empty. Brooke’s hair puffed out in all different directions.

  “You look terrible.” Eric was standing in the hallway entrance to the living room holding his IV stand. “And that’s coming from a guy who has a bullet hole in him.”

  “Leave the woman alone, Eric. The only reason she was drinking was to forget she ever met your sorry ass,” Dave replied.

  “Alas, another female casualty in my history of torrid romance.”

  Brooke grabbed one of the pillows from the couch and slung it at Eric’s head. He ducked, the pillow narrowly missing his face, and almost knocking his IV over.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll find someone else,” Eric replied. “What’s for breakfast?”

  After finishing the glass of water, Brooke managed to stand up and took a stroll to wake up the kids. Dave fired up the stove, and Eric sat down, still taking advantage of the fact that he was recovering.

  “How long do you plan on milking that?” Dave asked.

  “Are you kidding me? Free room, staying hydrated, decent food. I don’t plan on leaving. Besides, I know you could use the company,” Eric answered.

  “You use the word ‘free’ like I haven’t been keeping track of everything I’ve had to use for you. You can expect an invoice next week.”

  Dave cracked a few eggs over the skillet and dropped a few pieces of bacon on it as well. The sizzling pops of grease, bacon, and eggs sent delicious aromas into the air.

  “Hey,” Eric said. “Thank you.”

  Dave almost dropped the spatula in the pan. “What was that?”

  “You heard me.”

  Dave slid the bacon and eggs onto the plate and smiled.

  John and Emily came down the hall, accompanied by Brooke.

  “That smells amazing,” John said.

  “I hope you like your eggs sunny side up,” Dave said, setting the plate down and pushing the empty beers from last night aside. The movement caught John’s eye as he made the connection between his mother’s groggy state and the clinking bottles.

  “Dang, Mom,” John said.

  “Not so loud,” Brooke replied.

  “And that, kids, is what a hangover looks like,” Eric said.

  Brooke, John, Emily
, and Eric inhaled their breakfast, and Dave picked up their plates almost as fast as he put them down. John helped grab some of the dishes and joined Dave in washing them in the sink.

  “Oh, Brooke. I have a friend up in Mobile that might be able to take a look at your car. He could probably replace your windshield and do something about the bullet holes,” Dave said.

  “I don’t know if we have that kind of time,” Brooke said.

  “It wouldn’t take long. He used to do wrap jobs on boats and cars before the economy started to go bad. I think he still has some of the materials left. I’ll give him a call.”

  “Thanks, Dave.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “So how about seconds?” Eric asked.

  Before Dave could fry up another egg, a gunshot echoed outside. Dave immediately went to the rifle still propped up by the front door. Brooke was close behind him.

  “Where did it come from?” Brooke asked.

  “East. It’s from a trip wire I have set in the woods,” Dave answered.

  Brooke nudged past him, looking down the roads.

  “What it is?” Dave asked.

  “Someone’s been following us,” Brooke said, still looking around. “The guy who shot Eric. I think it’s him.”

  “How would he even know you’re here?”

  “I don’t know. He just…”

  Brooke trailed off and then sprinted to the garage. Dave followed her through the house, rifle in hand, trying to keep up with her. John and Emily had joined him in pursuit of their mother, and Eric tried to keep up while dragging his IV behind him.

  The light in the garage was already on when Dave turned the corner. Brooke was bent over, roaming around the cruiser. She checked the tire wells and the undercarriage of the front, sides, and back. The backs of her arms, legs, and shirt were covered in dirt, but when she came up from the back, she held a small, black, rectangular device with a blinking red dot.

  “It’s him,” Brooke said.

  The crash of broken glass sounded in the back of the house. Dave stepped forward, aiming his rifle down the hallway. The slight thump of footsteps grew louder until the tip of a boot and the rim of a black cowboy hat edged around the corner.

  Dave fired a round down the hallway that echoed a deafening roar in the garage but sent the bounty hunter recoiling behind the safety of the wall.

  “Go! I’ll hold him off,” Dave said.

  Brooke helped Eric into the car and removed his IV, and John buckled Emily into her seat. Dave hit the garage door opener, and as the door lifted, the morning sunlight slowly seeped inside. Dave backed out of the garage, keeping his rifle aimed down the hallway.

  The cruiser’s engine cranked to life, and the vehicle peeled out of the garage. Dave heard the sound of broken glass and gunshots again and realized that the bounty hunter was shooting from the front window. He turned the corner and fired a few rounds into his own house.

  Dave slammed his back against the hard concrete pillar for cover and tried to squint through the shards of glass to get a better look. The black cowboy hat was the first thing Dave saw before the bounty hunter sent three more rounds from his shotgun that sprayed concrete over his right shoulder.

  “Shit.” He knew he was in a bad position. And he’d be damned if he was going to let this guy run through his house. Dave sprinted back into the garage and down the hallway. He paused before entering the kitchen, listening for any signs the bounty hunter had moved or opened the front door. After a few seconds of silence, he crept around the corner and edged along the tile that ran up against the living room carpet. He followed that line until he made it to the wall that separated the front hallway down to the living room by the front door.

  “This is your last chance! Put your gun down and I won’t kill you,” Dave said.

  The answer Dave received came in the form of a canister that exploded in a flash of light. Dave dropped his rifle, and all he could see was white. Before his eyes could adjust, he felt a hard thump on the back of his head and collapsed to the carpet.

  For the first few miles, Brooke had no idea where to go. She drove blindly and without purpose. Eric kept his hand clutched over the hole from his hastily removed IV, and Emily wouldn’t stop crying. All Brooke could think about was moving forward, getting out, staying alive.

  Before she realized it, she was coming up to a major highway. She hit the brakes, thinking about the condition of her car, and the cruiser skidded to a stop.

  “Everyone all right?” Brooke asked.

  Emily still had her ears covered from the gunshots and was curled up next to John, who stroked her hair. Brooke reached back and held onto her daughter’s leg. “It’s going to be all right, Em.”

  “I can’t believe he put a bug on us,” Eric said.

  “I know,” Brooke replied. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “It’s better. Still sore. Although I’m going to need another round of antibiotics soon to keep fighting off the infection.”

  “Right.”

  There. Something to focus on. Hospitals were still out of the question, so their next stop would have to be North Carolina. They were still about a full day’s drive away, and that was if she kept to the main roads, which she knew she couldn’t.

  “You think he’ll be all right?” Brooke asked, thinking of Dave.

  “Yeah. He’s one tough bastard. I doubt he’ll let some mercenary get the best of him.”

  Brooke thought about phoning in an anonymous tip to the police, but the police meant questions for both Dave and the man following them, and the authorities wouldn’t stop until they had answers, one way or the other.

  She pulled the cruiser deeper into a wooded area for cover and decided to take a quick inventory. She knew they were running low on water. She had been hoping they could stock up with some of Dave’s supplies, but that opportunity had come and gone.

  They were down to their last gallon of water. It was only enough to last the four of them the next couple of hours. They still had a few MREs left, enough for one more day, but they didn’t have any spare fuel. The tankful they’d managed to get in Dallas was almost gone.

  Water and food would be easy enough to get with the cash they had on hand, but pulling into the gas station with the condition the cruiser was in was bound to raise suspicions. Brooke needed to find a remote location that wouldn’t think twice about allowing a bullet-riddled car the chance to fuel up with no questions asked.

  Brooke sprawled the map out on her car seat and tried looking for any small towns in the area where she could fuel up. She could squeeze another forty miles out of what she had, but after that, they’d be hoofing it.

  There were a few back roads north of Mobile if she kept along the outskirts. It was within her range and probably her best bet to remain unseen by local authorities. She did another quick scan of the cruiser’s undercarriage in case the bounty hunter had managed to sneak two tracking beacons on but came up empty. She couldn’t afford another mistake.

  Terry zip-tied Dave’s hands behind his back and did the same to his feet. He then wrapped a few layers of duct tape around his torso and chair to make sure he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere if he woke up. Once Dave was securely immobilized, Terry checked the rest of the house.

  He picked up one of the beer bottles on the counter. The dishes were thrown hastily in the sink, other bottles were knocked over, and the water was still running from the faucet.

  Terry pulled the laptop out of his bag and entered the tracking device’s code in the software. The beacon showed his current location. He slammed the laptop shut, cursing under his breath. He looked back over to Dave, who had a welt forming on the back of his head.

  The throbbing pain in Dave’s head was what woke him. Then, between the pulses of ache, he slowly became aware of the restraints on his legs and hands. His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. He could hear scraping, the drip of water, and the thump of boots. Then, before he could see it coming, he felt the ru
sh of icy water wash over him.

  Dave’s heart rate accelerated. He could feel the wetness covering his shirt. The water rolled off his face. He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus on the figure appearing in front of him. All he could see was a blur at first, but then an outline formed. The first thing he noticed was the wide brim of a cowboy hat.

  “Time to wake up,” the cowboy said.

  The frigid water made it feel like his skin was being poked with thousands of tiny needles. He could feel his body shivering, convulsing from the drastic change in temperature. Dave squinted his eyes shut hard, trying to push the pain aside.

  “Smart with the trip wires. I didn’t see them,” Terry added.

  Then the sting of a blow across Dave’s right cheek sent another stab of sharp ache rippling through him. He heard himself let out a cry, and a warming sensation started to replace the coldness in the cheek that was struck. When Dave opened his eyes, he could see the blood on the cowboy’s hand and the stain left on the ring he wore.

  “Pain in my ass. You know how far I’ve traveled to get those two? Farther than I’ve ever had to go before. Fucking pricks,” Terry said.

  Dave started to take in his surroundings. The shelves lining the walls, the speckled concrete floor, the light above, the empty ten-gallon bucket next to Terry’s legs. He was held captive in his own garage.

  The cowboy grabbed the tuft of hair on Dave’s head and pulled hard, exposing Dave’s jugular. The steel of the blade pressed against his throat felt as cold as the ice water.

  “Where’d they go?” the cowboy asked.

  Dave swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple rose from the base of the blade’s edge, then sank back down. His eyes roamed the ceiling, trying to avoid the incandescent lighting from the bulbs above. The brightness only brought more pain.