No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset

by J. S. Donvan Donvan

  “We’re wiped if we attack head on. At least we have walls in Brighton,” Levi pointed out as he combed his salt and pepper hair.

  “I agree with pretty boy,” Sawyer said. A nasty baseball stitch curved from his hairline to his brow. “Let them come to us. We can take them.”

  Trudy shook her head. “The children are here. If we lose, they’re as good as dead.”

  “If we lose, honey, it won’t be a pleasant experience for anyone,” Sawyer retorted. “Besides, we can send the kids on a field trip. Crisis adverted, in my opinion.”

  James paced and rubbed his hand over his shaven head. “This guy still has our son. He’ll use that against us if he comes here. I know he will.”

  “When Brandy did what he did to Church,” Harper started, “he promised to destroy this place. Last time he wanted our supplies. This time, it’s personal. Brighton will burn if he marches on the Fence. Remember, this guy has explosives.”

  “We have C4,” Cowl added.

  “He’s cocky,” Harper continued. “He won’t expect us to attack his home with our measly force. From his perspective, it’s suicide.”

  Sawyer locked his fingers behind his head. “So what’s the plan, Harper? Surprise attack suicide mission, final stand in memory of our late mayor, or bet our lives on Hamsburrow and their reinforcements?”

  Chapter Eight

  Exodus

  Harper rolled the gun in her palms, taking a moment to get acclimated with the assault rifle. She peered down the iron sight. Her calloused thumb rolled the ridged elevation knob. She ejected the magazine, checking the cupronickel bullets.

  “All good,” she said to Cowl just before sliding the magazine back in place.

  The police sergeant sniffled, took the gun, and laid it with the five others in the Humvee’s backseat.

  “When I was teaching firearm safety, one of the new guys said the same as he looked down the barrel,” Cowl stated as he scratched his gray handlebar mustache.

  Harper fixed her ponytail. “He okay?”

  “It wasn’t loaded, but he never lived down the embarrassment.” Cowl locked his cold eyes on Harper. “I hope everyone will be ready tonight. One mistake is all over.”

  The people of Brighton buzzed around them, moving in and out of storehouses, listening to Pastor Bruce’s on-the-move encouragement, and doing quality assurance on knives, arrows, and other weapons, not like they could really be choosier in the current situation. The children delivered food and snacks to the workers while Trudy and the discombobulated trafficked girls loaded backpacks and fannies with survival items. Most of them were college age, but some were younger. All had experienced their own sliver of hell; of that, Harper was sure.

  Sawyer kissed Karla on the forehead. She embraced him with a strong hug. Harper never noticed the beautiful brown sheen of the teenager’s hair until all the dye had vanished.

  “Be careful, Dad, and don’t be an idiot,” Karla said, half joking.

  “Using my own advice against me?” Sawyer shook his head. “The perils of parenthood.”

  “I’m serious.” Karla rested her head against her father’s shoulder. “I already lost one friend.”

  Sawyer patted her on the back and pulled away. “Stay out of trouble, okay? And no talking to boys, but when you do, remind them that your father has military-grade weaponry.”

  “Jerk.” Karla smiled and playfully punched him in the shoulder.

  Sawyer said his goodbyes and wandered over to the Humvee. “I’m glad we’re keeping Church’s spirit alive. These six a.m. gatherings really give you energy throughout the whole day, especially without those pesky caffeinated beverages.”

  “If everything’s packed up early, there will be a few hours of solace before the march.”

  “Just not for us,” Sawyer sighed.

  Walking and talking, Dustin and James joined them. James rolled up the map and shoved it in his denim’s back pocket. He scratched his bushy beard. “I’m ready. You?”

  Harper and Cowl nodded.

  “Let’s get moving.”

  The Hummer rolled out of town and sputtered down the nature-scorned road. With the bullet damage, tears, and overuse, Harper knew that the weathered truck wouldn’t make but a few more trips. She dreaded the day it would go but had to admit that it had a good run.

  She drove on, curving up the mountain pass. Outside, nature ate away at neglected vehicles and massive semi-trucks. Green leaves stuck to asphalt. Branches snapped like bones under the massive tires. A horizontal school bus appeared in view. Other sedans and trucks were crammed at its sides, fashioning a barricade four cars deep. The words “Food & Water Here” were spray-painted across the bus’s yellow body.

  James and Harper traded looks. She took his hand in her own, intertwining their fingers and gently squeezing. Slowly, they left the asphalt and bumped up a shallow hill, catching brief glances at the five decayed cadavers that wasted away on the roadside. With keen and cautious eyes, they rolled around the vehicle blockade and back to the road. Memories of their first encounter with Church lingered as the Humvee climbed farther up the Smokies. The barometer dropped into the sixties, and fog lingered in the air like God’s smokescreen. Trailing upward, Hamsburrow entered their sight.

  No more than four roads, a handful of eateries, and a Baptist chapel, it was a blip on the map much like Brighton. The town started where the mountain dipped in on itself, forming a forested valley with two steep sides. Beyond the point-peaked homes and flat-roofed buildings, the main street continued to a place only the locals knew. Porches jutted from the trees of the valley walls. The concealed and elevated houses stemmed from hidden driveways invisible to trespassers.

  Harper heard clicking sounds from the backseat and two assault rifles passed between the front seats, landing in James’s grasp. He slid the weapons between his legs, keeping the safeties on and barrels to the ceiling.

  The Humvee bobbed off the road, trucked over uneven earth, and dodged trees. It maneuvered down a shallow dip and curved behind a cluster of oaks and thorns. Quietly, Cowl and Sawyer exited the backseat and fanned out. Dustin slinked down from the gunner station, grabbed the final M16, and joined them in their triangle formation. After a moment, Cowl gestured to Harper, who nodded at James, and together, they left the Humvee. Popping the hood, they removed the battery, slid it in the potato sack, and buried it. Once dirt concealed the battery and the disguisable rock marked the top, the party hacked at low-hanging branches and ferns, creating enough camouflage to mask the Humvee’s sandy exterior. Though not perfect, the earthy facade would hide the vehicle from most unaware hunters.

  “Expect resistance,” Harper reminded her squad as they moved through the often sloped and unpredictable terrain. “According to Howie, Brandy’s people have this place on lockdown by now. We need to make sure the locals know that we’re the good guys.”

  “We are the good guys,” James said as he skipped over a large rock.

  “Not if we gun down our adversaries without mercy,” Sawyer added.

  “As a lawman,” Cowl interjected. “I see it as delivering Texas justice.”

  “Brandy’s folks don’t stand a chance.” Dustin filled his lip with tobacco dip. “They’ll break quick when they see our weapons. We scare ‘em and the place is ours.”

  Through the surrounding tree line, Hamsburrow grew into view. At its front entrance, two tall watchtowers--erected from plywood--flanked the road. Empty paint cans rested beneath wooden slabs on the tower’s faces. “No Trespassing,” it read in yellow letters that dripped bright tears.

  Harper and the others dropped to their bellies. Held breath and beating hearts, they waited for a moment. When no alarm bells rang, Harper mustered the courage to crawl to a tree trunk and draw out her binoculars.

  “See anything?” James asked in a whisper

  Harper let her magnified sight wander from tower to tower and across rooftops. “Two snipers; one in each tower. They have scoped hunting rifles.”


  “Could they have seen the Humvee?” James asked.

  “Not sure.”

  “In a valley like that, I bet they heard our truck in their basements,” Cowl remarked.

  Dustin armed his assault rifle, readjusting the elevate knob on the sight. “Helluva shot, but I think I can drop ‘em with burst fire.”

  Harper pondered for a moment. “No. We’ll find another way inside and take them from behind. Best-case scenario, they surrender without casualties. Worst case, we’ll be hitting their flank.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” Sawyer asked with an outstretched hand.

  Harper surrendered the binoculars and let the roguish man do his thing. “Huh, they have some kind of cable running from the outlying houses and into the town.”

  “It couldn’t be electrical cables, right?” Dustin asked.

  Cowl shook his head. “No, the EMP finished that noise... unless they're running on some kind of jerry-rigged power generator.”

  “Seems impractical, don’t you think?” James said.

  “Practicality doesn’t apply to most people,” Cowl replied. “‘Sides, if you could have power, wouldn’t you?”

  Sawyer lowered the binoculars and blew a bang out of his turquoise eyes. “It isn’t too late to turn back. We can get some beauty sleep before tonight.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Harper said, as more of a demand than reassurance, and reclaimed the binoculars. She carried her gaze up from the town’s buildings to the porches protruding from the distant woods.

  The hike left their knees aching, clothes sticky, and hair sprinkled with barbed seeds. They stepped onto a hidden driveway that curled up the valley. Looking both ways, they crossed the asphalt and snuck toward the house’s front door. Two stories high and coated in flawless paint, the house appeared to have been constructed within the last ten or twenty years. Perhaps a summer home? Harper peeked into the window and at the large den with a couch, TV, and French doors to the balcony. No movement. No candlelight. She turned the knob.

  Unlocked.

  The men shuffled beside the door in a disciplined riot formation. Harper opened the door a quarter way before slamming her shoulder against it and swiveling inside. The M16 barrel moved across the room. She treaded lightly, suspicious of any creaking floorboard or closed doors. Fully alert, Sawyer, James, Cowl, and Dustin stepped in behind her. After a few hand gestures, they branched into the kitchen, bathrooms, and bedrooms alike.

  Harper moved throughout the home, tracking in crusty leaves across the surprisingly clean house’s wood floor. She perused the family photos of an attractive couple and their golden retriever. Some were backed by snowy ski hills, others with the crystal clear oceans of Hawaii. Happy days. Harper regretted not traveling anywhere exotic with James. She made a mental note to do so when, or if, the power returned.

  Seemingly not wanting to ruin the picturesque moment, Harper gingerly returned the photo to the wall-mounted sideboard. She approached the balcony double doors. In the clear glass, her tired but alert reflection moved toward her. After Eli was back and Brandy dealt with, she’d have a nice, heated bath built over a fire and take a thirty-six-hour nap. Harper never felt entitled to anything, but that would feel real nice.

  She opened the doors.

  A cool gust splashed against her and tousled her ponytail. The view stole her breath: mountains dipping up-and-down forever, nature as green as the eye could see, small clouds lingering in dishes formed by ridged terrain, and the entirety of quaint Hamsburrow sprawling below like her very own little world. She absorbed the refreshing mountain air, filling her lungs with fresh delight. She brought her attention back to the porch, noticing the cable Sawyer mentioned earlier. It was a thin but sturdy black rope that extended dozens of yards into the town.

  “Don’t move. Don’t talk,” a voice said from behind her, robbing her of the moment.

  Harper craned her neck far enough to spot the attractive tan man--an Abercrombie type--rising from a porch chair. He clenched a snub nosed revolver, its short chromatic barrel trained on Harper.

  “Give me your gun,” the man said carefully and quietly.

  Harper recognized him from the photos. “We can talk.”

  “Be quiet and hand it over.” The man glanced through the French doors as Dustin slipped into the kitchen, a head turn away from seeing the situation. “Right now.”

  Harper bit her cheek, waiting for any one of her allies to enter into view. No one. She lowered the barrel, flipped the safety on, and surrendered the M16 to the man. He slung the strap over his shoulder.

  “Pass me the harness,” he commanded.

  Harper traced his eyes to the harnesses clumped on a chair. She tossed it to him, deftly letting the second harness slip out of the clump. “I want to talk to whoever is in charge.”

  “Turn around. Count to 100. Quietly.”

  Harper followed his command, mumbling the numbers and listening to the rustle of the harness. She heard a click followed by a zip and swiftly turned around. The stranger leapt from the wooden railing, letting the zip line carry him through the air.

  “James, Dustin. Out here. Now!”

  The men came running as Harper hastily threw on the second harness.

  “Someone saw me. We can’t let him warn Brandy’s men.” Harper checked the loose strips. Good enough. She searched under the chair, snatching up a metal trolley.

  “Babe, what the hell are you doing?” James asked.

  Harper jogged to the rope and clipped on the trolley. “See you down there.”

  Without a second thought, Harper leaped over the railing.

  The trolley screamed as it raced down the rope at breakneck speed. Harper's fingers clenched it tight. She squinted her eyes as the wind pulled back the skin on her face. The town got closer and closer. Pings of fear signaled inside at the full realization of the deadly heights. Her heart pounded; she could feel the harness loosen up. The rope line bowed at the center. The trolley jiggled. At the far end, the stranger vanished behind a church. Harper zipped past the crucifix, spotting the encroaching safety net sprawled over the street beyond. The man landed with a grunt. Harper knew if she waited till she’d reached the line’s end, the stranger would be long gone and the whole settlement would be up in arms. Gulping down her fears, she pinched the trolley, freeing herself from the line.

  It felt like falling in slow motion. She clinched her eyes, praying to hit the safety net from twenty feet up. Suddenly, the net absorbed her and dipped an inch from the asphalt. Keeping her mind on the mission, Harper forced herself out and collapsed onto the pavement a few feet below. The shadows of the surrounding stores and buildings crawled over her. She pushed herself up and darted down the street. She turned right, passing by the chapel and entering the main street, to face a gun barrel.

  The snub nose hovered a breath’s length from her face. Harper held her hands out. The man’s eyes watered. His hand lightly shook. All signs of an amateur. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

  With a quick motion, Harper lunged, snatched the gun, and forced the barrel back at the perpetrator, snapping the man’s fingers in the trigger. He screamed. Harper braced for a blast but heard nothing. She yanked the gun out of his hands, strode back, and took aim before taking off the safety. “Let the rifle fall.”

  Whimpering, the man allowed the M16 to slip off his shoulder and clack on the street. He clenched his broken finger.

  Harper took a deep breath and scanned the street, noticing a bearded gunman in the second floor window. She turned to an adjacent rooftop, seeing a female with a hunting crossbow. From a faraway building, another man zip lined in, taking aim with a pistol. Three more middle-aged residents appeared out of an alley, removing kitchen knives from their belts. Most of the people were skinny but well dressed, wearing smooth long sleeves shirt or jackets and only slightly blemished boots.

  Harper kept her gun aimed at the Abercrombie model, knowing she was surrounded.

  A thirty-something-year
-old woman exited from one of the nearby homes. She’d shaved half her head and braided the other side. A large holster on her belt contained a sawed-off shotgun.

  “You’re going to want to drop that gun about now.”

  Harper looked at the faces of those around her. They didn’t look like Brandy’s savages, but the half-shaven woman in the plaid shirt made her question herself. Cautiously, she lowered the snub nose to the ground. “You with Brandy?”

  “Like the drink?” the woman asked. “Boys, contain our guest.”

  Two men flanked Harper and frisked her with their large hands, retrieving the knife from her ankle and the machete from her back. On the woman’s command, a third ran inside a cozy home to retrieve zip ties. Harper didn’t resist, but inside she screamed.

  “There’s another,” the tan man said as he gripped his index finger with his whole other hand.

  The woman glared at him. “What are you doing? Go find him!”

  Harper’s captors shoved their hands under her armpits and led her farther down the road. People and children of various ages stepped out of their homes to stare and gossip. Everywhere she turned, another gun was aimed at her. Small shell casings nestled the curb of the road. Painted-over bullet holes spotted buildings while plywood slats barred broken windows.

  “My name is Harper,” Harper told the woman who followed behind.

  “Nana,” she replied, acknowledging the town folks with a stern stare.

  “I’m in the Army, Nana. I’d like to talk to whoever is in charge. It’s life or death.”

  “This way,” the woman pointed to an unassuming single-story home near the end of the street. The two men who’d zip tied her opened the door and Harper caught a whiff of cinnamon and other strong aromas. The interior room was completely devoid of furnishing, excluding a few folding chairs popped against a wall. One of the men grabbed a chair. Nana continued to a door on the left with a single yellow line painted on it. She removed a ring of keys from her pocket and began fiddling with the lock.

  “Nana, I’m not the enemy. I want to talk like civilized human beings. It’s important.”