EMP No Power Omnibus

by Donovan , J. S.

  A bloodcurdling scream erupted from somewhere on the other side of Brighton.

  “We just got here. I think we’ll stay. Maybe join Sunday school.”

  They laughed.

  Harper reached the crucible of the top step. On the opposing flight of stairs, a farmer rammed his pitchfork into a man’s belly and threw up.

  “Your friends are dying,” said Harper.

  The men before her frowned. “So are yours.”

  They charged.

  Harper bolted down the steps. The men followed behind. A plank snapped, and one’s leg dropped through. He screamed. The others kept chasing. Harper headed for a barricade made from a table turned on its side.

  Boom!

  The gate behind her exploded into a deadly fury of jagged wood and bent nails. Harper crouched down as a plank twirled by her head. She skidded behind the second table and reared back at the gaping hole in the front of the Fence. Dust and smoke obscured the threshold and settled on the cracked asphalt street. Brandy, his two main men, and the pregnant woman stepped through. The leader smiled and took in the sight of Brighton.

  “So this is what you’ve been hiding. I expected something… bigger.”

  The bell tolled rapidly.

  Brandy whipped out an ebony revolver from the back of his jeans and shot at the belfry. A flash of fire burst from the barrel. The baseball-size hole blew through the blinds, and whoever rang the bell went silent.

  “I’d thought that thing would never shut up.”

  A pitchfork-wielding farmer crept down the stairs. In a moment, Brandy twisted back and put a bullet in the farmer’s chest. The older man sunk down and bled out on the wood.

  The two thugs and drunkard joined in beside their leader. Harper kept her back against the makeshift cover, unsure if she’d been compromised. At the other end of the long road, she saw what she needed but couldn’t find a way to get there without being caught. She could outrun the thugs, but Brandy’s bullets were a different story.

  From behind another nearly vertical table, Jonathan Church frowned at Harper. A light splatter of red stained his beard. She pointed to her goal. After a brief pause, he deftly moved his tactical rifle from his back to his hands and rose from cover.

  Brandy took aim, raising the warped, burnt, and battered riot shield with his other arm. “Finally ready to discuss that deal?”

  Church stopped in the center of the road, looking through the scope trained on Brandy. The invaders behind Brandy took steps back, readjusting the grip on their weapons.

  “Negotiations ended the moment you arrived on our doorstep.”

  “That’s a little unfair. I think you should reconsider. Look around. We’re winning.”

  On the Fence behind him, bodies of both farmers and invaders scattered the wall-walk, with various appendages dangling over the edge. Fire ate away at certain sections of the front, leaving behind black stains and charred wood. Harper couldn’t speak for the other towers. Or whether or not her son and husband were being overrun.

  “And while we are speaking honestly,” Brandy continued, “if your gun had ammo, you would’ve shot me already. The same way you hit my boys in the mist that one morning. By the way, I’m still sore about that.”

  Harper got down in sprinting position and lunged to the nearest cover. Her heart pounded. Her boots skidded across concrete. Her ponytail waved behind her. She landed behind the wooden table, the corner of her gray T-shirt catching on a nail and opening a hole a few inches to the side of her belly button.

  Church held his ground. The long barrel of his rifle was pointed directly at Brandy.

  Brandy let the shield fall to the ground. He shook out his hand, letting the sleeve of his jacket become un-scrunched. He flipped his revolver around and handed it to the pregnant woman.

  The woman trained it on Church.

  Brandy started walking. He slid the two-inch-wide bowie knife from its sheath and let it hang at his side. “Come on, old man. You can put the gun down now. You aren’t fooling anyone.”

  Harper didn’t spectate. She moved to another table and then to the last one. James had cleared the rest to the sidewalk after most of the town believed Brandy's threats were idle. She twisted back to make sure no was following her. The thugs behind Brandy were no longer there. Harper kept a lookout around the chapel, diner, and Laundromat.

  Suddenly, a blur dashed toward Church’s flank. He turned and shot. The drunkard collapsed at his feet. He twisted the gun to aim at Brandy, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the bowie knife that thrust into his meaty gut.

  “I respect your honesty,” Brandy said, sawing the blade up to Church’s ribs then yanking it out.

  The mayor stumbled and twisted back, giving Harper a final look before falling on his knees, insides spilling out of his belly.

  Brandy stood behind him and held back Church’s grimy forehead so he could see the whole town. “Look at what you built.” He yanked Church’s head back. “I’m going to strip it all away.”

  Harper covered her mouth and turned her eyes away as Brandy brought his knife across Church’s thick neck. He didn’t stop until the mayor’s body leaked across Brighton’s street and his natty gray hair knotted around Brandy’s fingers. The blond-haired man turned back to the pregnant woman and presented the head. “It would make a good mantelpiece, wouldn’t it? I was thinking we could put it on that cross up yonder.”

  The woman smiled. “It would teach them a pretty good lesson.”

  Harper didn’t bother wiping the tears away. She took off at a sprint toward the town’s far end. A revolver sounded off behind her, cracking the diner’s windows as she slipped into the alleyway. She glanced up at the eastern watchtower.

  Sawyer drove a spear into a thug’s body until the knife was at least a foot out of his back. He put his foot on the dying man’s stomach and kicked him off the wall, holding the spear so it wouldn’t go with him. At the same time, James smacked a scrawny man with a rock and flipped him over the wall. The two men nodded at one another.

  “The last of them?” James asked.

  Sawyer peeked over the wall. “Yes, please.”

  “James!”

  Both men turned to Harper.

  “Harper? What happened?”

  “Brandy blew the front gate,” Harper said, unable to hide the fear in her voice. “And Church… Church is down.”

  James cursed.

  Sawyer rested the spear on his shoulder. “If Church is dead, who’s in charge?”

  Harper shook her head. Reality collapsed around her. If no one took the lead, Brighton would burn. “There are more weapons stored in the town hall,” Harper said directly. “James, get them. Sawyer. Move to the south tower. Tell them to make a distraction. I have a plan.”

  And please, God, let it work.

  Harper’s legs took her. Her hunger fled. Her fear faded into instinct. James and Sawyer vanished down the wall-walk behind her. Flames jutted from multiple points on the Fence and spilled into the town, overtaking a small mom-and-pop restaurant with a blanket of fire. The farmers, hunters, and gatherers of Brighton were scattered throughout the town, engaged in their own mini-battles that fed the chaos. Harper needed to get to Westwatch. She needed to find Eli.

  Brandy marched down the center street. His lackeys branched off into the surrounding buildings, hitting small homes first. They smashed in a door with fire axes, and Harper heard the butchering cries of the elderly folk inside.

  She zipped across the street as Brandy fired off a few more rounds. The blond gunman dumped the shell cases from the cylinder. The metal rolled across the street, and he crunched the cases underfoot as he fished out another fistful of .44 Magnum bullets from his jeans pocket.

  “Running only makes it more fun for me!” he shouted at Harper as she dipped between the town hall and general store.

  Harper cut through the alleyway to the western wall. Eli, Mitchell, and a few of the other farmers fought off the thugs that had run from the front g
ate.

  “Eli!”

  Her son slashed a knife-spear across an attacker’s chest, opening both his jacket and skin. The invader stumbled back, and the farmers used the opportunity to press forward. Eli withdrew and turned to his mother, eager to get back in the fight.

  “You need to draw them into the middle.”

  “Mom, they’ll be easier to handle in smaller batches.”

  Harper checked to make sure no was behind her. “You have to trust me. Please, Eli.”

  Eli shook his hair out of his eyes. He stood back as the other farmers combatted the thugs. “Okay.”

  Harper escaped deeper into Brighton. She stole an axe from a corpse and fought off two more invaders that scaled the lower portion of the western wall. More residents from Briersville, she realized. They lunged at her. She hit one in the heart. His ribs gripped the axe’s wedge, making it a pain to yank the weapon from him. The other man flanked behind her and thrust his combat knife. She bent to the side, barely dodging his blow. He went in for more slashes. Harper caught his wrist and kneed him in the groin. He lurched over. She slammed her fist into the side of his head. Ripping the knife from his sweaty hand, she stuck it into him and darted down the end of the street, gesturing to the snipers to bring the fight to the center street.

  Brandy gunned down the first few farmers that burst from the buildings and alleys but quickly found his ammo lacking. He called for his henchmen. They ran out from the church and lower portion of the hotel, filling the two-lane street in the center of town. James, Sawyer, Eli, Dustin, and the other people of Brighton formed up on the other end of the street. Only the length of the town hall separated the two opposing forces.

  Harper used the distraction to reach the battered army Humvee. She popped open the door and pulled herself inside.

  “Taking it to the streets,” Brandy said, holding his blackened riot shield and bowie knife. His forces stood behind him.

  The people of Brighton held their ground. After the casualties, they were still outnumbered roughly two to one. Of all ages, sizes, backgrounds, and builds, the locals clenched melee weapons and planted their feet, ready for the charge.

  “And here we are. All of this could’ve been avoided with a little hospitality,” Brandy said. “Now, your mayor is dead and your town is burning away.”

  Another building surrendered to the inferno and crumbled into a pile of burning embers.

  Mary, the pregnant woman, spoke up. “Give up, and we might spare your life. After all, who better to farm these lands than yourselves?”

  James stepped forward, bloodied and clenching a lit Molotov. He gestured to the town. “You want this? Come and take it.”

  Dustin joined next to him, then Eli, followed by Sawyer and the rest of the farmers. They reached their hands into their back pockets and removed the bags of mashed pepper.

  Brandy sighed. “Have it your way.”

  He held up his shield. His people pumped themselves up, shouting and pounding their chests. They aimed their weapons forward and readied a charge.

  Brighton tilted their cracked and bloodied spears. Sweat poured down their cheeks and noses. Their eyes became dark, and their wills turned to stone. They looked at each other and then the enemy, each preparing for their end. The surrounding fires danced in the wind. The shadow of the town hall overtook them.

  “Now!” Harper’s voice cut through the air.

  With knives raised and axe heads glistening in the sunlight, Brandy and his army of ragged scavengers charged. They yelled fiercely and in unison. Their decrepit shoes and muddy boots smashed against the asphalt and pushed headlong to James, Eli, and the remaining twenty-odd people of Brighton.

  James and the front line charged forward, but only far enough to chuck spears, Molotovs, and bags of homemade pepper spray at their opponents. Without stopping, they branched to both sides of the street, opening the way for Harper and the M60 machine gun mounted on the Hummer.

  As blinding pepper spray, flying spears, and a rain of flaming whiskey bottles bombarded the attackers, Harper yanked back the weapon’s sliding hammer, tucked the hard stock against her inner shoulder, and squeezed the cold trigger.

  A wave of bullets splashed against the invaders as the people of Brighton slinked into the adjacent alleys. Bursts of heavy machine-gun fire and screams shot through Brandy’s front line as the people were shredded by a barrage of metal death. Chunks of Brandy’s riot shield blew apart as he bolted waywardly to the chapel. His two main men charged forward, covering behind their shields as the massive M60 rounds broke the glass and punched through their flesh. The rest of Brandy’s people scattered in a fury of chaos and blood. They screamed, their weapons clashed to the ground, and they sprinted to the gate.

  The steaming machine gun ceased firing. Harper’s arm felt numb from the frequent bursts of gunfire. She slinked down through the gunner station and hopped in the driver’s seat. She turned the ignition. The metal beast came alive. Harper pushed it into drive and slammed the accelerator.

  The vehicle cruised over bodies. On the Fence around her, James led the people of Brighton across the wall-walk. When they reached the obliterated front gate, they threw spears, knives, rocks, and hatchets at Brandy’s scattered force.

  Harper stopped at the Fence’s smoking threshold, watching the invaders retreat into the flaming farmland and body-littered hills. They disappeared over the bend, taking with them screams and pleas.

  Harper took a breath. She shut off the ignition and forced herself out of the vehicle’s front door. Flames curled from large portions of the wooden wall. The corpses of friends and enemies rested across the street, dangled on the Fence, and bled out on the sides of buildings.

  “Did we win?” Dustin asked from the platform above her.

  “I think… I think we did,” James said, hunched over and resting his hands on his knees.

  A man fell over weeping and held his wife. Another cheered. A third just dropped his weapon and sunk to the ground, pressing his palms on his eye sockets.

  Sawyer jabbed the spear into the Fence’s wood. “I’m going to fetch some alcohol to numb my… numbness.”

  “Harper!” With wet eyes and a relieved smile, James shouted down to his wife.

  She turned back as she walked toward the chapel. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. “Take care of these fires,” she commanded. “Send out a party to find the injured. Hanson should be inside of the Laundromat. I’ll join you all in a moment.”

  James nodded and turned back to the tired men and women around him. “You heard her! We aren’t done yet. Dustin, get the well pumping. Mitchell…”

  His voice faded as Harper lifted the stained machete next to Church’s decapitated corpse. As she rose, Harper didn’t take her eyes off the chapel and marched to the white building’s stairs. A cracked and burnt riot shield was abandoned outside the entrance. With both hands, Harper pushed open the double doors.

  Darkness shrouded the long room. Pews were turned over, and torn Bible and hymnal pages littered the wooden floor. The doors slammed behind her. Small droplets of blood ran the length of the middle walkway. Harper tightened her grip around the machete and proceeded forward. The stained-glass windows darkened as the sun fell beneath the horizon. She reached the podium. The red trail led to the back office.

  She turned the handle slowly. With a swift motion, she pushed inside, machete readied for a strike. A desk. A few chairs. No Brandy.

  The wind whistled through an open window at the back. Harper crept to it and peered at the west watchtower and beyond. She climbed through the frame, tracing the injured man’s trail as if it were her own. The blood took her up the wooden stairs of the wall-walk and ended at the battlement. She overlooked the fallen ladders, bodies, and far-stretching woods beyond.

  “Harper!”

  The machete trembled in her hands. “I thought I told you to take care of the fires.”

  Her husband wrapped his arms around her. “They have it handled. I wanted t
o hug my wife. It’s the least I can do after all this.”

  She didn’t resist him, nor did she drop the blade. His lips pecked her cheek. Her attention stayed on the woods. “I thought I saw Brandy run to the church, but--”

  “Either way, he’s gone,” James said with a reassuring touch. “Let’s go find Eli.”

  Harper felt a stinging in her chest. “I thought he was with you?”

  James’s eyes went wide. He slowly shook his head. “No, the last I saw him, he was running behind the…” He looked at the chapel.

  They pulled away from each other.

  “Eli!” Harper shouted at the top of her lungs. Her world spun. Her heart pounded. Is this another nightmare? It has to be.

  James cupped his hands around his mouth. “Eli! Come out here!”

  Out from beneath the wall’s stairs, Karla emerged. She clenched her arm, unable to stifle the blood leaking between her fingers. She averted her bloodshot turquoise eyes from Harper as she climbed up the wall-walk.

  Harper and James took each other’s warm hand, waiting for the teenage girl to speak.

  “The man…” Karla said through her tears. “He… he took him. He took Eli.”

  EMP No Power: Post Apocalyptic Fiction- Book 2

  Chapter One

  The Deep Dark

  Trees, tall and twisted, caged them in the rural dark of the Virginia Piedmont. A felled branch grabbed the boy’s ankle. He stumbled, kicking up leaves into the black night. His knee smashed onto a rock. Sighing, Brandy reached out his hand. His fingers tangled in the teenager’s thick brown mop and yanked him back by the roots of his hair. The kid grunted through his teeth, suddenly silenced by Brandy’s cold blade. The blood-crusted edge caressed the teenager’s rosy cheek and, like the shave of a gentle barber, it easily scraped away a patch of sprouting fuzz from his soft face and creeped toward his terror-struck hazel eyes. Brandy felt the boy tremble in his vise-like grip. He kept his hand steady.

  “Careful,” he said into the kid’s pink ear. “You don’t want me to take your eye out.”

  The bowie knife’s point poked centimeters below the kid’s eyelid.