Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  “They have all that?” Adam asked.

  “That’s a fraction of what they have. They’re holding out on us and they’re boarding up their house so no one can get in. They’re creating a fortress over there,” Bessie said.

  Adam shoved one of the loaded magazines into his pistol. The click brought a smile to Bessie’s face.

  “We hit them in the morning,” Bessie said.

  11

  Day Six

  Mike rolled out of bed. The room was pitch black. He stumbled to the bathroom tripping over one of Anne’s shoes again. His hands ran along the dresser until they wrapped around the pocket watch that his grandfather had given him. It was the only thing that still kept time in the house.

  He lit a candle in the bathroom and held the clock face up to the light. 6 a.m. The watch snapped shut and he scooped some of the water in the sink into his hands, splashing it on his face. He walked back out to the bedroom, candle in hand, and let the glow fill the room.

  The light hit Anne curled up under the sheets. Mike stood there staring at his wife, just like he had done for the past twenty-six years, every day, before he left for work.

  The second story floorboards creaked under Mike’s steps. He tiptoed to Freddy’s room and cracked the door open. His son lay still, quiet on his bed with all of the covers thrown off and his shirt up, exposing his belly. Freddy had his mouth open and all of his limbs were extended outwards like a starfish.

  When he opened the door to his daughter’s room she looked just like her mother. Curled up under the covers. The sheets rising and falling from her calm steady breath.

  He stood in the center of the hallway among the three rooms. This could be the last time he watched them sleep in this house.

  Pictures hung on all the walls around him. The memories came flooding back to him. The vacation to the Grand Canyon they took three summers ago. The Christmas mornings, Thanksgiving feasts, birthdays, anniversaries, all on display.

  The tear he wiped from his cheeks wasn’t one of sadness for having to leave, nor fear of what was ahead. It simply represented all of the joy he felt during those moments frozen in time along the walls, and the gratefulness he felt for still being able to remember them.

  Mike stepped down into the cellar to grab the guns and ammo and check for any last items he may have missed. He had the duffle bag strap on his shoulder, walked back up the stairs, and headed for the garage.

  “Don’t you all want to keep your family alive?” Bessie asked.

  Shouts and cheers filled Bessie’s living room. Fifteen families crowded together. Bessie stood on top of her coffee table in the center of the group, Tim standing by her side.

  “We tried to come together in a civilized manner didn’t we?”

  Hands clinched into fists while others wrapped tightly around baseball bats, crowbars, tire irons, pistols, and rifles.

  “Most of us answered that call and for that my family, and every other family here, thanks you.”

  All of the animosity they had for each other the night before had transformed to a single point of hate. A universal cry of fear and hunger rose from the crowd.

  “But one family did not answer that call. One family chose to keep what they had to themselves. One family is letting you starve.”

  She fed them hate.

  “Your family can’t survive without the food they have. We don’t know when help is coming. Help may never come, so we have to help ourselves.”

  She fed them fear.

  “But you can do something about it. You can make sure your family survives. You can make sure that they all have something to eat!”

  She fed them the answers they wanted to hear.

  Bessie threw her hands out, calming the crowd. The cheers slowly dissipated. She stepped down from the coffee table. Tim handed her the bullhorn and she marched everyone out the front door.

  Mike first heard the squeal of the bullhorn from inside the garage. He rushed to the front door; looking through the peephole he saw twenty people standing out front in the morning light. Bats, crowbars, tire irons, and rifles were poised at the ready.

  “Mike, we don’t want to harm anyone. All we want you to do is the right thing. We know you have supplies and there are people out here who need them,” Bessie said.

  Anne, Freddy, and Kalen rushed from their rooms and were leaning on the banister rail above Mike, listening to the words echo outside.

  “Dad?” Kalen asked.

  “Stay there,” Mike said.

  Ulysses came out of the guest bedroom fully dressed in a long sleeve shirt, jeans, and boots. He grabbed the duffle bag off Mike’s back and set it on the floor. He pulled out the .223 rifle. The clang of metal on metal rang through the foyer when he shoved a clip in.

  “How many?” Ulysses asked.

  Mike clicked the safety off the shotgun.

  “Around twenty, but there could be more around the house.”

  Mike picked up a box of shells and slid them across the floor over to the base of the kitchen window.

  “Anne, bring the kids downstairs.” Mike said.

  Anne grabbed both of their children’s hands pulling them down the steps. Freddy clung to Anne’s leg all the way down.

  “Dad, you take Freddy and Kalen to the Jeep. Get it ready. The moment we get a bad breach I’m going set the house on fire.”

  “What?” Anne asked.

  “It will send them running and give us enough space to getaway,” Mike said.

  Freddy started crying hysterically now.

  “Shh, it’s okay, buddy. Hey, you’re gonna be fine,” Mike said. “We’re all going to be fine.”

  “C’mon, kids,” Ulysses said.

  Kalen grabbed her brother’s hand and followed Ulysses into the garage.

  Mike handed Anne the other shotgun and tossed her a few shells. She fumbled the first one to the ground after attempting to load it in the chamber.

  “Shit,” she said.

  Mike picked it up and placed it back into her hand. When she went to take it he held her hand in his and squeezed. He locked eyes with his wife. There was no fear in them. Only the stubborn will to survive.

  “Take the kitchen window,” Mike said.

  Anne clicked her safety off and crawled over to the opening in the plywood at the corner of the window. Mike kept his head low heading for the living room. Bessie’s voice boomed outside.

  “We don’t want any bloodshed, Mike. Your family will still get their fair share of food. Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she said.

  Mike put his eye up against the corner hole of the plywood, looking outside. He watched Bessie motion to a few of the people on the edges of the group. They scurried over to the sides of the house. Only one of them had a gun.

  Mike hunched low as he moved to Anne, who was looking out her corner of the kitchen window through the hole in the plywood.

  “A few broke off and went to the sides of the house. I’m going to head to the back.”

  He leaned in and kissed her. The moment had his adrenaline pumping. He felt like he could smash through the walls if he needed to, but even with all of that, his lips still hit hers with tenderness.

  “I love you,” Anne said.

  “I love you, too.”

  At the back of the house Mike peered through one of the plywood holes giving him a view of his backyard. He saw the barrel of a gun peek around the back corner of the house. The hand and arm came next, followed by the face.

  Adam Stahl.

  Nelson came running out of his house, his slippers nearly flying off his feet and his robe flapping in the wind.

  “Bessie? What’s… What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Nelson, go home. This will be over soon,” she said.

  “But, what are you doing? Where’s Mike? Mike!”

  “Quiet!”

  “Mike! Are you okay?”

  Bessie pulled a revolver from her side and shoved the barrel into Nelson’s face. Nelson thr
ew his hands in the air and slowly backed away from her.

  “Go home, Nelson. Now,” she said.

  Nelson ran back to his house. Bessie pulled the bullhorn back to her mouth.

  “You have sixty seconds, Mike. If you don’t come out by then, we’re coming in.”

  A gunshot rang out. People ducked for cover, hiding behind cars, mailboxes, bushes, anything close that they could jump behind.

  The bullhorn and pistol that Bessie held dropped to the ground, followed by her knees, and then her chest and face hit the grass of the front yard.

  “Bessie?” Tim asked.

  Tim rushed to his wife. Her mouth was spilling blood. She coughed and hacked, spitting it all over his shirt. She grabbed Tim’s shirt desperately, wrenching his collar.

  A few final coughs of blood and her hand slowly let go. Tim snatched it up before it fell to the ground.

  Tim rocked her back and forth. He brought her lifeless body up to his chest. Both of their bodies shook, but he was the source of the shaking. He laid her gently back down and kissed her forehead. He looked up at the house. His face distorted from grief and pain to anger. He picked up the revolver from the ground and cocked the hammer back. The shrill screams of his voice silenced by unloading the entire .45 revolver into Mike’s front door.

  When the first gunshot went off, Mike watched Adam duck for cover. He took the opportunity to run back to the front of the house.

  Anne had her shotgun through the plywood’s hole and blasted through the glass. She pumped the shotgun sending an empty shell flying to the floor and squeezed the trigger again, the recoil from the blast knocking her shoulder into the chair behind her.

  “You all right?” Mike asked.

  “Somebody shot, Bessie,” Anne answered.

  What?”

  Anne scooted out of the way to let Mike get a look outside. He could see Bessie’s lifeless body sprawled across the lawn.

  A few bullets came splintering through the plywood and into the kitchen. Mike threw his body over Anne’s until the firing stopped, then aimed his shotgun through the window and squeezed the trigger, sending a dozen steel balls through James Sturgis’ chest.

  Mike pumped the shotgun and reloaded the chamber. He scanned the yard. He saw a few people hunched behind a car on the side of the street. He saw the pistols in their hands. He took aim and fired.

  The blast from the shotgun shell shattered the car’s windows and peppered the metal on the side doors.

  “Anne! Get to the Jeep, now!” Mike screamed.

  Anne nodded and ran, keeping herself low, through the kitchen into the garage. The front door thumped loud and Mike could hear the wood starting to crack.

  Ray watched the crowd around Mike’s house scatter with the exception of a few after he sent the bullet into Bessie’s back. He sat hunched behind a car on the other side of the street behind everyone. He re-racked the bolt-action rifle watching Tim make a beeline for Mike’s front door.

  Ray adjusted the pack on his back and headed up the street, keeping low and out of sight behind the cars parked on the curb.

  “Grandpa!” Freddy screamed.

  “Just stay down!” Ulysses said.

  The gunshots outside echoed loud from inside the garage. When Anne rushed inside she saw Freddy covering his ears and Kalen holding him tight.

  “Where’s Mike?” Ulysses said.

  “He’s coming.”

  Mike splashed the gasoline all over the basement. He poured it on the walls, the floor, the couches, shelves, everywhere. He threw the can in the center of the room and backed up all the way to the stairs. He pulled a match from his pocket.

  The head of the match scratched across the box and ignited into a tiny, yellow flame. Mike tossed it on the ground and watched the fire spread in a red glow around the basement.

  He rushed up the basement stairs and down the hallway to the kitchen where the garage entrance was. Smoke rose from the basement, chasing him. He turned the corner into the kitchen when the front door finally gave way and Tim burst inside.

  Before Mike could get a shot off Tim threw his pistol at him, sending the gun ricocheting off Mike’s shotgun. It gave Tim just enough time to fly into Mike, slamming him into the wall.

  Tim sent his fists into Mike’s ribs. Mike doubled over with each vicious blow.

  Mike grabbed the butt of the shotgun and smacked it into Tim’s head, relinquishing the assault on himself. Mike’s fist landed against Tim’s jaw. Tim countered with a left cross. Mike blocked it. Tim grabbed Mike’s head with both hands, and then head butted him. Blood spurted from Mike’s nose and he fell to his knees.

  Tim came up behind Mike and put him in a headlock. Tim’s muscles ripped through his arms, squeezing Mike’s neck, chocking the life out of him.

  Mike stretched out his arms trying to free himself, gasping for breath. The smoke from the basement was getting heavy now. The flames had crawled their way into the halls and were marching down toward the front of the house where the two men were.

  “You kill my wife and think you can get away with it?” Tim asked.

  The smoke had filtered into the garage. Ulysses looked at Anne and then reached for the keys in the ignition. Anne’s hand jolted forward to stop him.

  “Wait!”

  “Anne, we have to go now.”

  She looked at Freddy and Kalen in the back seat; both of whom were coughing from the smoke filling the garage. She let go of Ulysses’ hand and he started the engine.

  Ulysses pumped the gas pedal a few times before the engine roared to life. Anne reached up to pull the cord above them that sent the garage door flying open and Ulysses slammed on the gas.

  The Jeep tore out of the driveway and into the street. The crowds around the house had scattered and Anne looked behind her watching the smoke rising from all of the windows of the house into the night sky.

  They were almost to the end of the street when Ray popped out from behind one of the parked cars. He held both hands in the air, one clutching a rifle in his right hand.

  Ulysses slammed on the brakes, coming inches from hitting him.

  “Thought I’d offer my services,” Ray said running to the side of the Jeep.

  Ulysses shook his head at Anne, but she unlocked the door and he climbed in the back seat with the kids. Ulysses jammed the shifter back into first, hit the clutch and took off down the road.

  Mike gasped for breath. He squirmed, thrashed, and elbowed Tim in the ribs, but nothing would loosen his grip.

  The world around him was beginning to fade. He could feel the heat from the flames burning his flesh. He caught a glimpse of a picture of his family through the flames, the fire swallowing them up and crumpling the photo into ash and smoke.

  The pop that he heard sounded distant and faint when Mike’s head hit the floor. The blackness started to clear a little. He felt a hand on the back of his shirt pulling him backwards. He could see the damage of the fire more clearly than before. The fire danced along the walls. The floor above the stairs collapsed sending a flurry of sparks into the air. Then he saw blood dripping from the side of Tim’s head and watched his body catch fire.

  12

  Night of Day 6

  The heat was the first thing Mike felt. He was sweating profusely. He threw the covers off him and caught a glimpse of the bandage on his arm. He jerked his head up to get a better look, but fell back down on the pillow. He placed his fingers gently onto his temple and felt the bandage wrapped around his head.

  “Thank, God. You’re awake.”

  Nelson came in and set a tray down on the nightstand next to the bed. Mike watched him examine the bandages.

  “Looks like they’re in need of a fresh wrap,” Nelson said.

  “W-what? Where’s Anne? Where are Freddy and Kalen? Where’s my-”

  Nelson pushed him back down when Mike started to rise. Mike tried to resist, but was too weak.

  “You need to rest. I was barely able to pull you out of the fire,” Nelson
replied. “Here drink some of this.”

  Nelson tilted a glass to Mike’s lips and he drank thirstily. The water spilled, hitting his chin and rolling onto his chest. Nelson pulled the glass back and rested it on the table.

  “What happened?” Mike said.

  “When I heard the gunshots I took Sean down to the cellar. When I saw the smoke coming from your house I ran over. By the time I got over there the whole place was on fire. The front door was knocked down and I could see you and Tim on the floor. At first I thought the two of you were both unconscious, but then I saw Tim choking. There was a pistol on the ground and I picked it up. When I got to the door I-”

  His throat caught.

  “I killed Tim and dragged you out of there,” Nelson finished.

  Mike watched Nelson close his eyes and take a few breaths before he looked at him again.

  “Did you see my family get out?” Mike asked.

  “No, but I heard a few people talk about it today. Most everybody left after what happened, but a few stuck around. I think a lot of people were afraid the fire would spread to the other houses, but it just collapsed on itself.”

  Nelson saw the stab of pain shoot through Mike’s face.

  “Sorry.”

  But Mike wasn’t thinking about the house. He forced himself upright and swung his legs to the side of the bed.

  “I have to get to Ohio,” Mike said.

  “Whoa, no, you need to rest. I think you have a concussion.”

  “Tim didn’t hit me that hard.”

  Mike rose to his feet and then immediately fell back down on the bed. He felt dizzy. He clutched the sheets into a ball-sized fist on the bed, trying to anchor himself down.

  “Look whatever it is you want to do there’s no way you’ll survive the trip in your current state. You need to rest, at least for tonight.”

  Mike eyed the tray on the nightstand. There was fresh gauze and an unopened can of peaches. It was one of the same cans Mike had given him a few days ago. He picked it up and rolled it in his hands.