No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset

by J. S. Donvan Donvan

  The older woman shook her head. “Frankly, I believe this is an absolutely stupid idea.” She scanned the crowd. “But if that’s what you people want, I’m not going to let that monster walk over us. And, if Harper’s information is factual, and I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt, I say that we teach Brandy what it means to mess with Brighton.”

  Sawyer chuckled. “Well, congratulations, Harper. You win.”

  “You’re in this too, Sawyer,” James stated. “Join us or leave. Choose wisely because your decision is final.”

  The roguish man looked to his silent teenage daughter. After taking a breath, she nodded. Sawyer returned his crafty gaze to Harper. “Any idea where to start?”

  Harper turned to her left. “Yeah.”

  Dustin spit into a bottle. “I’ll inform our guests.”

  Chapter Seven

  Warriors

  The table boasted Trudy’s fine china plates loaded with cuts of grilled rabbit meat, steamy potatoes, and sliced squash neatly complemented by Brighton’s finest well water. The culinary aroma and picture-worthy spread made Harper salivate. Her last good meal had been Brighton’s celebratory festival after the Briersville mission. James had danced with her that night, and never had she felt more connected with her husband. Since the factory, he hadn’t said much to her and even less after the town hall meeting. He twisted a ceramic vase in his hands, which he lifted from the nearby hickory sideboard. His brown eyes were shot with blood and his silver-spotted beard reflected in the white mold. The yellow wildflowers jostled with each turn.

  Harper hugged herself anxiously and used her nails to pick out a thorn lodged in her elbow. Her foot tapped. Though spacious, the dining room’s walls closed in around her. With a creak, the dining room door opened.

  James put down the vase and mumbled, “Finally.”

  Francis led his band of mountain men inside. Hesitant, the five good ol’ boys sheepishly parted around the table and took their designated seats: two on one side, three on the other. Dustin followed them inside, nodding at Harper. She approached him, acknowledging Trudy and the armed men in the hall.

  “They’re all yours,” said Dustin.

  “Did they give you any trouble?”

  “Not a lick.” He propped his shotgun on his shoulder.

  Harper glanced back. “That’s worrisome.”

  “I can stay in here if you’d like.”

  Harper chewed on her inner cheek. “Nah. We got this.”

  “Whatever you say, but at the first sound of… well, I’ll be right outside the door.”

  She thanked him for that and let him shut the door on his way out. Harper wandered to her seat at the table’s head. The hand crank lantern strung up by the chandelier chain flickered briefly, but the abundance of candles up and down the tabletop compensated for it. James pulled out his chair, scraping the legs across the wood floors.

  Harper scanned the bearded and malnourished men, realizing that the first meal in her new house would be with a group of savages.

  Francis, the gaunt one, and the three on the other side watched their food with longing.

  “Go ahead,” Harper gestured for them to get started.

  The gaunt one with a small cut on his neck drove his dirty fingers into the rabbit meat and took a hearty bite, tearing off a long juicy strip of meat. He slurped it up his chin, chewed briefly, and went in for a second munch.

  Francis bounced his eyes on both sides of the plate that held no silverware.

  James leaned back in his chair, not touching his food. “Use your fingers.”

  With two fingers, the husky man gingerly lifted a chunk of rabbit and tossed it on James’s plate.

  Everyone stopped eating.

  Harper straightened up, sharing an alarmed glance with her husband. Francis leaned over his plate and shoved his meaty finger at James. “You first.”

  The skinny guy let his food drop from his mouth and splat on the plate. His beady eyes were full of worry.

  James lifted the chunk of meat, presented it to the table like a fish held by a hook, and let it fall in his mouth. He chewed for a long moment and then gulped down, opening his mouth as proof.

  Francis smirked and started eating. The others followed.

  The meat was harsh and tough, a bit overcooked, but it was still a godsend. A gulp of water followed most bites and then Harper started on the squash and potato. Though tasty, it could’ve used some melted cheese and country bacon bits.

  As the faces of plates began to reveal themselves, Harper cleared her throat.

  “Someone once told me that there is no hospitality like Brighton hospitality. I hope you agree.”

  “Oh yeah,” Francis said with his mouth full. “Having a machete held to the genitals and then being locked in a cellar for a day really proved your point.”

  “Watch it.” James put down his glass. “She’s the only one keeping you alive.”

  “James,” Harper settled him and directed her attention to Francis. “I want to know everything about Brandy.”

  The husky man wiped grease from his sausage fingers to his black t-shirt. Large tears exposed his armpits rippled with burgundy stretch marks. “I told you. He’s at Bimberg.”

  “I know that,” Harper replied, slightly peeved. “But I need more. Where his camps are. What his people are up to. Does he have commanders? If so, who are they? What settlements is he attacking, plans to attack, or has already attacked. How big is his army? His favorite book. How he likes his steak. Everything, Francis. I need to know everything.”

  The guests tensed up. Francis pointed his finger. “I’m a lackey. I know where he lives. I drop off women and supplies there. That’s it.”

  “I’m playing nice,” Harper said honestly. “But you boys better start talking.”

  “That’s all we know,” one of the men said.

  Francis nodded and pushed his plate to the middle of the table. “I’d like to go back to my cage now.”

  James dipped his napkin in his glass and patted a grease stain on the corner of his mouth. He got to his feet. The chair screeched against the wood. He approached the flower vase and rested his hands on the sideboard without saying a word.

  Harper sighed and spoke to the table. “You’re not going anywhere until we get answers.”

  “It’s going to be a long night, then,” Francis declared and turned to his friends. “Tell this bi--”

  The ceramic vase smashed against the man’s fat head, exploding into dense, white fragments. His face smacked against the table’s lip. The three men opposite of him leaped from their chairs. The skinny man at his left fell to the floor and scurried to his feet.

  Dustin burst into the room, shotgun aimed and ready. James let the remaining shards in his hands fall and break on the floor. Dustin lowered the weapon.

  “Hell. You good?”

  “Spectacular.” James said sarcastically. The yellow flowers stuck to the side of Francis’s head.

  Harper was the only one still in a chair. “Back in your seats.”

  The men traded looks.

  “Now.”

  They obeyed.

  The skinny man frantically finished his water, not looking away from his limp friend beside him. He turned his desperate gaze to Harper. “I-I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Shut your trap, Howie,” one of the other men barked.

  Howie ignored him. “You give me a map a-and I can show you.”

  Within the hour, Francis was back in the cellar and awaking from his forced slumber while Howie filled out a map encompassing miles up and down the Piedmont. He explained that Brandy would hold a meeting once a week to inform his people of future prospects and current challenges. The last one was held right before the attack on Brighton, so the information wouldn’t be perfect. Nonetheless, Harper had something. She would try out his first tidbit of information in the morning: a police outpost erected after the EMP and brimming with firearms.

  After sweeping up the vase
and washing Trudy’s china, Harper returned to the motel room. On her way up the stairs, Pastor Bruce called her name. She turned back to the middle-aged man.

  “Everything alright?” she asked.

  The holy man smiled wearily. “I was going to ask you the same thing.” He plopped down on the steps. Harper accepted his invitation, relieved the day was coming to a close.

  “I appreciated your support today,” Harper said.

  The pastor leaned back, resting his elbows on the step behind him as he gazed up to the stars. “I didn’t stand with Jonathan when Brandy first threatened us. I thought we could take a page out of the Word and feed the masses at our doorstep.”

  Harper remembered. He was one of the first to object to the Mayor’s harsh but pragmatic defense plan.

  “When he came,” the man sighed. “And I saw his people charge our gates like wild animals, I locked myself in the bookstore. I avoided the chapel because I thought they’d burn it. That shows you where my head's at.” He laughed sadly and then broke into a fit of coughs. Harper put her hand on his back until the hacking died down. Bruce continued speaking, his tone going serious. “You saw how Jonathan died, didn’t you?”

  Harper blinked, and she was transported to the moment Brandy opened Church’s throat and proceeded to take his head. A sickening feeling formed in the pit of her stomach.

  “I thought as much,” the pastor said dreadfully. “I’d seen evil and done my fair share, but that…”

  “I know,” Harper replied.

  He turned his tired, teary blue eyes to Harper, the moon bouncing off the sheen of his retreating hairline. “I don’t know if it’s the right thing to--the Father seems silent all of a sudden--but that man has to go. If you need me in the front lines of this crusade, I’m willing.”

  “I’m grateful,” Harper hugged him from the side, feeling his rigid frame and bony shoulder. “But the people need your words much more than your sword. What we’re going into will be unlike anything anyone of us has experienced. They'll need all the encouragement they can get.”

  The pastor smiled, looking her over for a moment. “Have you thought about joining the seminary?”

  Harper chuckled and rose to her feet. “Goodnight, Pastor.”

  She returned to her room suitably shrouded in darkness. The bed was empty. Dim candlelight spilled beneath the bathroom door. Harper changed out of her clothes and scooted under the scratchy covers. In the darkness, her fingers constricted the fabric. She clenched her eyes, trying to remember Eli’s face, but it drifted far from her and soon only a thought tethered mother and son.

  The sun crept up the window, cutting through the blinds and closed eyelids. Harper awoke to her sleeping husband and his newly shaven head. The beard remained, but all the rest had been removed by a straight razor. A red nick on his crown laid testament to the barber’s amateurish skill. Harper caressed the back of her fingers just above James’s ear. Invisible stubble scratched her knuckle.

  “Why?” she asked, not facetiously.

  With his eyes closed, James replied, “I had to clear my head.”

  Somehow, it made sense.

  Dustin, Levi, Trudy, and Sawyer gathered with Harper and James in the town hall meeting room. They were dressed in sturdy walking boots and travel ready clothes. All of them were restless from the previous nights.

  Harper informed them about all she had seen and heard at Bimberg. From the slaves in the basement to the rough dimensions of the building, she spared no detail, aware that miscommunication was the father of faults.

  Sawyer twisted his wrist. The bone popped. “I’m inclined to avoid an immediate full-on assault, mainly because I value my sorry existence. How about you, Harper?”

  “We don’t have the numbers anyhow. Thankfully, people don’t like Brandy,” she started. “But they don’t think they have a choice. We show up as figurative and/or literal knights in shining armor, and they are bound to join in.”

  “Great.” the roguish man replied. “But how do we convince them to be part of our brigade? We aren't exactly winning.”

  “We even the odds,” Harper said, pointing at the weapon stash Howie had marked on the map. “Brandy scouted this before his attack on Brighton. He was planning to send a splinter team to retrieve the armaments from a small squadron of police officers holed up in a roadside barbeque joint.”

  “Oh, now that’s ironic,” Sawyer chuckled.

  Dustin scratched his chin. “I don’t get it.”

  “If we move now, we may be able to beat Brandy to the punch,” stated Harper.

  “Harper, these men are officers of the law, and I’d rather not provoke them.” Trudy said earnestly. “Hell, I’d rather not provoke anyone.”

  “No one’s getting hurt,” Harper promised. “But we need to have a contingency if they are less than friendly.”

  In detail, she went over the proposal, expressly telling the other leaders to improvise if Howie’s intel proves false.

  Trudy stayed behind, setting up a number of patrols on the Fence and a new bell ringer in the chapel. Knife-spears and hatchets were given to all and placed in certain “stash” zones throughout the town. A number of watchmen constructed hidden outposts in the ruins of the outlying ranch homes. They crafted inconspicuous piles of wood that they could easily light at the sight of any forthcoming danger. Consequently, those working inside the walls were instructed to remain quiet and watchful, ready to attack or retreat at a moment's notice.

  James and Sawyer paired up while Dustin and Levi formed a team. Harper drove. Crammed inside the Humvee, they made a quick detour to the highway. Finding a diesel truck, Harper used a plastic tube and her mouth to siphon the gas, filling up a quarter tank. The last little bit she put into the metal gas jug in case they needed to burn anything quickly.

  They followed the road until they reached a curvy gravel driveway masked with felled branches.

  “Just as Howie said,” Harper pointed out.

  She let the Humvee slow and roll behind the cover of three large trees before cutting the engine with the flip of a switch. In the rearview, the men popped open the doors and climbed out of the vehicle, armed with low ammunition firearms, axes, and a bow for Levi. The injured carpenter had quickly fashioned a quiver from a cardboard mailing tube and an oversized belt before leaving. The arrows inside showed visible wear after being recovered from corpses, but they had to make do.

  Harper rolled down the window, watching them slip into the woods. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel. She waited for a report or the sound of gunfire.

  James appeared out of the woods and stopped beside her window.

  “Four of them,” he said, still panting from his run. “Armed with army-tier weaponry outside a backroad barbeque joint.”

  “Army tier?” Harper couldn’t believe it. “How?”

  James shrugged. “Dunno, but they’re dressed like cops.”

  “Any civvies?”

  James shook his head. “None that I saw. They have a solid perimeter and a sniper on the roof.”

  “Dustin has the others ready for plan B?” Harper asked.

  “Yep. If you want me to drive, I can.”

  “They’ll be more trusting of a woman. Go on ahead. I’ll be there in ten.”

  James left her and Harper counted mentally, psyching herself out the longer time went on. She forced herself to focus and hit the accelerator. Gradually, the Humvee rumbled over dirt and gravel bordered by trees. She kept her rifle slanted on the foot well on the passenger side and double-checked the knife on her ankle.

  Squinting through the bullet-busted windshield, she grabbed a quick peek at the shrubbery, unable to spot James or the others. She felt confident of their hiding skills but was also fearful of their absence. As she neared the flat-topped building, the glint of the sniper’s scope caught her eye. She kept on until the small, rectangular, trailer-sized structure came into view. Tin cans and rustic cutlery dangled from the ceiling of the roofed in porch, adding to th
e rural restaurant’s rugged country aesthetic. The men and woman in uniforms rose from their rocking chairs, keeping their pistol holsters unbuttoned, their riot guns cocked and their assault rifles ready.

  Wood barricades curved ten yards from the building, leaving a small opening for a man or motorcycle.

  A fit man with a handlebar mustache waved her down. Harper let her boot slowly release the brake pedal while she said a silent prayer. The vehicle rumbled to a stop in the same way it always did. The outside air felt dry and humid all of a sudden. Harper checked her camouflage uniform, getting used to the heavy fabric again. In the tread and on the cuffs, light crimson stains remained. She quickly rolled up the sleeves as the officer approached and made her hands visible on the steering wheel.

  The man before her wasn’t the DC city cops she’d grown accustomed to. He had a long face, wavy gray hair, and all the charm of a junkyard dog--tired, damaged, but absolutely unrelenting. Wrinkles creased the blue uniform. The stringy threads stood in place of patches that represented his town and district. He looked up at the looming driver side window. “Sergeant Cowl.”

  “Sergeant Murphy, DC army reserves.” Harper replied. “Mind if we talk?”

  The man sniffled, tracing the outlying woods. He nodded and stepped aside, giving Harper room to open the door. Her boots hit the gravel and she left her weapon inside the Humvee.

  Cowl let Harper lead while he talked. “I gotta say, Sergeant. I ain’t used to many visitors. Especially none of the army variety.”

  “That M16 says otherwise,” Harper responded, eyes on the other assault rifle wielding cop; a woman with stone face and intense stare.

  “Touché,” Cowl said. “I got beer inside. Interested?”

  Just outside the barricade, Harper paused. She took in the clouds and blue sky, but not before catching glimpses of the other three cops. “Weather’s nice. Call your friends over. They’d like to hear this.”

  Cowl gestured for the others. Unoccupied rocking chairs teetered while the two other officers sauntered over to Harper and into the exposed gravel parking lot. The sniper up top got low in an attempt to hide. He doesn’t know I’ve seen him.