No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset

by J. S. Donvan Donvan

The next day at camp was no less difficult than the day before. Josh and Kelly were back, but Rob’s absence left a gaping void from which she didn’t think she could recover. All night long, she lay in bed, dozing off fitfully and waking suddenly, drenched in sweat and trying to devise a plan to get Rob back.

  Their entire group was more fractured than ever. News of Antonio’s passing had brought everything to a standstill. It took all of their combined energy to prevent Carlos from storming back into town, seeking vengeance. The mayor had won for now, and there was no getting around it. By the next morning, an air of gloom and defeat encompassed the camp, but there was still hope for Rob. That much, Mila knew. And she would do everything she could to get him back.

  She rolled out of bed at sunrise and stood on the cold, creaking floorboard. She got dressed—jeans, flannel jacket, and work boots—but had no idea how they were going to save Rob. He was a resourceful person and problem solver, but leaving his fate to the mayor wasn’t an option. She had to take action.

  She quietly walked down the hall past Josh and Kelly’s rooms and went to the kitchen, where Rob’s coffee mug sat empty on the counter—a white mug with “I ♥ New York” written in big black letters. She placed the mug in the sink as an overwhelming sense of anguish came over her. Rob was really gone. She filled the coffee maker on the counter and began boiling water on their butane stove. The cabin was cold inside, but it was much colder outside. One look outside frosted kitchen window indicated that much.

  She heard voices outside—Carlos and Mayra—and it sounded heated. She walked to living room window and looked out. Carlos was headed toward Peter’s cabin, dressed all in black, with a rifle slung around shoulder. Mayra, still in her bathrobe, called out to him to come back.

  “Where do you think you’re going? This isn’t going to solve anything!” she yelled.

  “I have to do this,” Carlos said. “We did it Rob’s way last time, now we do it mine.” He banged on Peter and Krystal’s door without care. Mila walked outside as the cold air gave her chills.

  “Peter, it’s Carlos. Open up!”

  His incessant pounding continued as both Mayra and Mila approached.

  “Please stop this,” his wife begged with a hand on Carlos’s back.

  “I don’t have a choice, Mayra. You know that.”

  Mila kept a careful distance but asked, “What choice?”

  Carlos turned to face her with eyes worn and distraught. “Going into town and getting answers about my son.”

  The door unlocked and opened slightly, with Peter’s face peering through the crack. “What is it, Carlos?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “You scared the hell out of us.”

  Carlos turned back toward the door, determined. “We’ve got a situation, Peter, and I need your car.”

  Peter opened the door fully, standing in his pajamas and slippers. “What are you talking about?”

  Neither Peter nor Krystal had been told yet what had happened and had not been seen outside their cabin the day before.

  “We can get answers,” Mila said, stepping forward. “But we have to be smart about it.”

  Carlos shook his head. “I’m through listening. This is about blood for blood now.”

  Peter stood dumbfounded. “What happened out there? Did you get the kids back?”

  Carlos balled his bruised fists. “While you’ve been here lying low, we’ve been out there risking our necks for this camp.”

  “Carlos!” Mayra said.

  He continued, unabated. “So it’s only fair that you loan me your car this time around.”

  Peter backed away cautiously, with his hand on the door. “You’re lost your mind,” he said.

  “Let’s talk this out,” Mila said, stepping in between them. Blocking Carlos was the last thing she wanted to do, but to her surprise, no one argued back. Instead Carlos turned and hugged his wife as she cried into his chest.

  Peter stood silent, trying to figure things out.

  “We have some major problems right now,” Mila said to him. “We got the kids back.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Except for Antonio. Josh said that they shot him.”

  Peter gasped and covered his mouth. “No…”

  “And… they took Rob.”

  “My God,” Peter said. He looked over Mila’s shoulder to Carlos and Mayra. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea…”

  “There’s still hope,” Carlos said. “Josh didn’t say that he was dead.”

  Mayra wiped tears from her eyes. “We haven’t slept all night.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Peter said “I mean, Krystal and I planned to leave today. We were just waiting for you guys to return.”

  Carlos narrowed his eyes. “Leave? Where are you planning to go?”

  “I don’t know. Canada is unaffected?”

  “They’ve got two of our vehicles,” Carlos snapped. “Tried to make deal with them, but things went south real quick.”

  “Listen, I want to help. I really do,” Peter said. “It’s just… I would need to talk to Krystal first.”

  “Everyone slow down,” Mila said, mediating. They needed a plan. There was no honor in foolish heroism. There had to be a solution, though she could feel the thread of the group’s bond unraveling. “Carlos, what about your station wagon? It still runs, right?” she asked.

  “That’s why I’m here. I tried to start it this morning. It’s fucking dead.”

  “Yeah, but Krystal and I need our car. It’s the only hope we have,” Peter said.

  “This is about more than you two!” Carlos barked. “I want that mayor’s head.” He pulled a long hunting knife from a sheath on his belt.

  “I understand your anger,” Mila said. “They have my husband. But you can’t just go around demanding people’s cars.”

  “So what do you propose we do?” Carlos asked.

  Shivering, Mila turned to Peter. “Can we all sit down and talk this out?”

  Peter stood there for a moment and then nodded, seeming more agreeable. “Yes, yes of course. Please come in.”

  He stood aside as Mila thanked him and walked in, with Carlos and Mayra behind her. Peter shut the door and rubbed his dry hands together. “Sure gettin’ cold out there.” He turned and followed the group to the living room, where four chairs were positioned in a circle over a large multicolored rug. “Please, have a seat. Can I get any of you some coffee?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Carlos said, placing his rifle against the chair as he sat down. Mila declined as well, completely forgetting about the water she had left boiling on the burner.

  “I would love some, actually,” Mayra said.

  Peter walked off toward the kitchen, talking to them over his shoulder. “I’m just going to let Krystal know what’s up and then start us a pot.”

  They sat as he left, and Carlos wanted to dive right in. “Okay, you got us in here, Mila. What’s the plan?”

  “I’m going with you,” Mila said, leaning forward and talking quietly. “But we’re not going to rage our way into town. We need numbers, and you know it.”

  Carlos shook his head, looking around. “Well? Where are they? The numbers.”

  “We go out and find them. Build our strength with new people, just as Rob originally suggested.”

  Carlos leaned back in the wicker chair, displeased, and crossed his arms. “That could take days. Weeks. We don’t have the time. My son doesn’t, and neither does Rob.”

  “Part of the reason we’re in this mess is because we went into town with so few people. I take responsibility for that. I pushed Rob to go, and I’m kicking myself now because of it. Will it take time? Certainly. But if we act now, find people, like us, who may have suffered or are suffering. We can give them hope. There are good people still out there. We need to find them.”

  Carlos sighed and looked at Mayra. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I don’t want you needlessly putting your life in danger. You can’t do that to me. Mila’s right. If we�
��re going to do this, we need to do it right.”

  Carlos turned to Mila with a slight smile. “Well, General Mila. What do you have first on the agenda, then?”

  “We borrow Peter’s car, as planned. I think Elliot’s truck is on its last leg,” she answered.

  “And he’s done far too much as it is,” Mayra added.

  “We travel to the nearest town opposite Nyack. Stay low, and stay safe. Find who we can,” Mila said.

  “So, we’ll be, like, recruiters,” Carlos said. “Interesting.” He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “But why do you think anyone would help us? How could we possibly convince them to risk their lives for complete strangers? Would you?”

  “All we can do is ask,” Mila said.

  The group was quietly thinking as Peter walked into the room with two coffee cups.

  “Lo and behold, Krystal already had a pot running. She’ll be out in a minute.” He handed Mayra a cup. Mila and Carlos appeared to be in deep thought. “So any decisions yet? What’s the plan?”

  “Well, Peter,” Mila said. “We’re going to travel north. Search throughout Rockland County for another town. Carlos and I are going to try to recruit some people for our cause.”

  Peter tilted his head and looked up, considering the proposal.

  “And we’d be extremely grateful if we could borrow your car for the day.”

  He nodded. “And you’re not planning to go into Nyack?”

  “Not today,” Mila said.

  He then grimaced and shook his head. “I suppose that would be all right. No hard feelings, but Krystal and I are not going to be sticking around here much longer. She’ll be fine with a day or two, but—”

  “I understand. We’ll work fast,” Mila said. “We have to. Rob is depending on us.”

  It seemed settled. They had a viable plan, and Peter was on board. Mila felt much better. Now all they had to do was convince a large number of good people to reclaim their town from a horde of madmen. Defeat wasn’t an option. The battle was just beginning.

  The Messenger

  Rob sat in his cell, quiet but strategizing. Nothing had been explained to him. Arthur hadn’t spoken of their plans or why they wanted him in the first place. If out of spite or vengeance, they hadn’t done anything to him yet. He was left to wait and wonder—which was probably the idea. They had stripped him away from his family, blindfolded him, and escorted him to a dank, darkened room made up of four concrete walls and a tiny window above. He sat on a single mattress with his back to the wall and his arms resting on his knees.

  Blood had been spilled and Rob thought that whatever his fate, the outcome would probably not be in his favor. The children had been a ploy to pull him out from the safety of his camp. Arthur had admitted that much earlier. It was time to be ready for anything. And if he had any chance of surviving and getting back to his family, he’d have to play his cards right.

  He thought of Mila, and his heart sank. He thought of Josh and Kelly and everything they had been through. He didn’t want them to suffer anymore. Getting back to them wasn’t a question of chance. He had to make sure that it happened. He reached into the side pocket of his torn jeans to grab his wallet, but it was gone. The men had taken it, along with his car keys. In his wallet was a family picture. He folded his hands together, pressed them against his forehead, and prayed under his breath.

  The door to his cell creaked open. It had been hours since he had had contact with anyone. A tall, skinny man with a thick handlebar mustache and long hair braided in the back from a receding hairline walked in holding a shotgun. Rob looked up as the man introduced himself as Larry.

  “Boss wants to see you,” he said.

  “Okay,” Rob said, slowly rising from the mattress while holding his back.

  “Turn around and get against the wall,” Larry said with his shotgun aimed.

  Rob gave no resistance and did as told. He placed his hands against the concrete wall as he had seen in a dozen different cop shows. Larry’s boots clicked as each step brought him closer. He stopped, and Rob could feel his hot breath against his neck.

  “So you’re the crazy son of a bitch who ran over my friend and left him for dead.”

  “I don’t know what you’re taking about,” Rob said, still keeping his hands against the wall. He felt as vulnerable as anyone could possibly feel. The shotgun barrel pressed against the back of his head caused him to wince.

  “Of course not. Before you start feelin’ sorry for yourself, just remember, you started all of this.”

  Larry swung his arm back and punched Rob in the kidneys, hard and fast. An intense pain rushed up his back and sent him to his knees, clutching his sides.

  “That’s for Johnson,” Larry said.

  Another punch hit him square in the center of his spine. Rob fell over, clenching his teeth in agony.

  “And that’s for me.”

  Just when Rob thought it couldn’t get any worse, a swift kick of Larry’s boot knocked him on his side and into a fetal ball.

  “And that’s for all the stupid bullshit you’ve started since.”

  A puddle of drool had formed on the ground below Rob’s mouth. He could barely breathe. Numb from the pain all over, he just lay there in a defeated heap, which Larry seemed to find amusing.

  “Yeah, tough guy,” Larry scoffed. “If it was up to me, we’d have killed you by now.” He leaned down and pulled Rob to his knees by the collar of his shirt. “But I don’t call the shots around here.” He paused. “Right now, anyway.”

  Rob could hear Larry’s knees crack as he stood over him. He wondered if the worst was over or if he would just be some kind of punching bag for Arthur’s goons until the end.

  “Stand up and put your hands behind your back.”

  Rob nodded, placed his hands on the ground, and pushed himself up slowly. The moment he put his hands behind his back, he felt a zip tie being yanked around his wrist and tightened.

  “Now we can go,” Larry said.

  He grabbed Rob by the arm and pulled him away, leading him out of the room and into the hall. Everything looked blurry to Rob, who was still reeling from the beating. There were two other men in the hall, armed and patiently waiting—one overweight man with a shaved head and tattoos up to his neck, and the other with shaggy hair, a goatee, and a scarred face.

  They greeted Rob with the same look of contempt he had received from Larry. It was clear he wasn’t a very popular man about town. The feeling was mutual.

  He tried to see how many other rooms, or cells, existed down the hall, but it was so dark, he could only make out a few metal doors with faded red paint chipped away.

  “What is this place?” he asked in a tired voice.

  “This is where we keep heroes like you,” the large man belted out. “Now move your ass!”

  Before Rob could say anything more, a blindfold went down over his face. The black rag covered his eyes and was pulled tight and knotted in back. Larry pushed him forward, and he limped down the hall, disoriented, with only their echoing footsteps to guide him along.

  He heard a door open, and they entered a room where many other voices were in conversation. Hammering and sawing rang out. A factory of some kind? The noises continued unabated as Larry gripped his arm again and led him past the noise and to another door, which they opened.

  A cold breeze hit him. They were outside. Rob could smell burning wood and could see some light through the blindfold. Pebbles crunched under his shoes as they led him down a curving path. A small hole tripped him, causing him to stumble forward. Larry gripped his arm tighter and pulled him back. “Watch it there, dumbass.”

  The thought of killing the men crossed his mind. They had certainly caused him and his family enough grief. But he wasn’t like them. They were murderers and criminals. He was just a man trying to survive. There had to be a difference. Or maybe the EMP had blurred the lines between good and bad, innocent and guilty. Rob thought of Arthur’s men taking residenc
y in his home, raiding his business, and destroying everything he owned. That was the difference, as far as he saw it. Those men were takers, and they’d take all they could until someone put a stop to it.

  “Here he is, Mr. Mayor,” Larry said, pulling Rob to a stop.

  He could see only a faint outline of someone standing in front of him.

  “Excellent. Take his blindfold off.”

  Rob heard the snip of a knife cutting the back of the rag as it fell down on his face. Arthur stood there inches away in his tan fatigues and beret. The man was certainly letting the despot image go to his head.

  “Nice to see you again, Rob,” he said with a smile.

  Rob narrowed his eyes, with his bottom lip pressing against the top in a drooping grimace.

  “Not much for hellos. That’s okay,” Arthur said. He then looked at Larry, standing behind Rob. “Go ahead and remove the zip tie.”

  Larry hesitated and stepped forward, objecting. “But… he’s our prisoner.”

  Arthur pulled him aside. “Just do it. See all the men with guns around here? Where’s he going to go?”

  “You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Larry said in protest.

  Rob surveyed the scene as the two men bickered. They were on the outskirts of town, surrounded by wilderness, and away from the residential neighborhoods. There was a fire pit ahead, down a dirt trail, where a few logs were burning. A circle of men stood around in jackets and wool caps, drinking from some kind of bottles, maybe beer.

  The other two guards kept a careful eye on Rob, their rifles, resting in their gloved hands, pointed at him all the while. The bickering between Larry and Arthur stopped, and Larry walked slowly over to Rob and cut the zip tie.

  “If he runs, he’s your problem,” Larry said, pointing his knife toward Arthur.

  “That’s fine,” Arthur responded. “I don’t think Rob will be going anywhere anytime soon. Not until we come to an agreement.”

  Rob brought his hands around to the front and rubbed his wrists. He quickly observed the pistol at Arthur’s side. He got the point. Arthur was trying to make him feel comfortable. The games never ended, and judging by what kind of person Arthur was, games were all that he had.