Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  “Needless to say,” Harper started, looking out at the table covered in armaments and ammo, “guns can’t be our main line of defense.”

  “Why not?” asked James. “I mean, just look how many we have.”

  Church crossed his arms as people bustled by them on the main street. One knocked over a ceramic plate from the night before. “Harper’s correct. These bullets need to last us in the long run. If we use them now, future threats will surely eliminate us.”

  “And this guy won’t?” James scratched his beard.

  “Bullets aren’t the only thing that can kill a man,” said Church.

  James stopped scratching. “That’s possibly the scariest thing you’ve ever said, Church.”

  The mayor shrugged, and they sorted the weapons. Only the most proficient hunters would be equipped with firearms, they agreed. The rest of the weapons would be stowed away at certain checkpoints throughout the town. If the enemy broke the wall, the people would be able to retreat, find these hidden stashes, and defend themselves more efficiently. Nonetheless, most long-range weapons would be given to the watchtower guards, while the shotgun users would patrol the wall-walk. More ammo was given to a single weapon instead of only two rounds for many guns.

  The townsfolk returned with knives and hatchets, covering another table. Dustin led a small group into the outer woods to retrieve thick sticks and heavy stones while James gathered thin rope and duct tape. Meanwhile, Trudy brought out two crates of bear traps, explaining how to set them without getting your hand chopped off. When Harper thought of what it would do to someone’s foot, she re-tasted her corroding lunch.

  James gathered the other carpenters. They stripped the inner doors and cabinet wood from the surrounding houses to fortify the gate. A ladder was provided for Dustin and his posse to pass in and out. After the gate was sealed, Harper and a few others smashed windows and picture frames. They slathered glue on top of the battlements where someone may climb over, and spread the glass shards across it. Ferris flipped the picnic tables on their sides, creating cover spaced out down the main road. Cars were pushed as well. At the farthest end, they parked the Humvee, its turret trained at the Fence’s gate.

  Sniper posts were set up in the chapel’s belfry and the rooftops of several buildings. Female herbalists plucked hot peppers from their gardens, placed them in airtight Ziploc Baggies, and proceeded to mash the peppers into a soup. They wrapped them with rubber bands, effectively creating pepper-spray grenades.

  Dustin, Eli, and Karla whittled away at the branches they received until the wood was smooth. They held kitchen knives at the tip, grabbed tie-line, and secured the blade. After a few practice jabs, Dustin gave the spear to Eli. He tossed it across the road. It zipped through the air and skidded across the asphalt. Karla picked up one and embedded it in a truck’s tire. Air hissed from the rubber, and the three of them exchanged high fives. They took the rocks they gathered and set them up on various points of the wall.

  The Doyles reluctantly stripped their bar shelves of lesser liquors. They shoved dishcloths into the bottle necks and set lighters nearby. Molotov cocktails lined the Fence with a complimentary sticky note that read, Throw far.

  By nightfall, the people of Brighton had a dozen incomplete projects going. They consumed leftovers as they set bear traps and ran a low line of barbed wire around the outer wall. By the time stars ruled the sky, Harper had a full day’s work under her belt. The residents met on the main road, where Church assigned them a weapon and guard post. After that was complete, the night shift took charge while the others snuggled in their beds, ready to wake at a moment's notice.

  Harper yawned and headed for her motel room. A few more days, and her family would be inside of a real house. The other soon-to-be sleepers entered their adjacent rooms with an anxious silence.

  Harper stepped into her dark room. Candlelight flickered from the windowsill. Eli lay in his twin bed with his fingers locked behind his head, looking at his reflection on the dusty TV screen. James sat on the adjacent bed, neatly laying out his boots, cargo pants, and shirt for the next day.

  “Hey,” James said with a tired smile, folding his pants and smoothing out the wrinkles.

  “Hey.” Harper shut the door behind her, plopped down on the bed, and untied her boots. “How are you holding up?”

  “Considering we may die tomorrow… I don’t know.” James put his folded clothes and boots at the foot of the bed. “I guess I never thought I’d be in this type of situation.”

  “Tell me about it,” Harper replied. “I was sure the only action I’d see in the Reserves would be cleaning up forklift spills.”

  “We’ll get through it,” Eli said. “We got through DC, remember? As long as we are together, we can tackle anything, right?”

  “That’s right, big man.” James scrunched his pillow and shut his eyes. “Now get some sleep.”

  Eli blew out the candles. “Mom, Dad. I love you.”

  “We love you, too, sweetheart.”

  In pitch blackness, Harper observed the ceiling. The bed felt like cotton under her back, but her attempt to shut her eyes became nearly impossible. She rolled to the side, looking at the shadowy lump of Eli under the covers. She listened to his soft snores. After a time, her son thrashed back and forth, mumbling pleas. A cold sweat soaked his trembling body. Harper felt warm tears roll down her face. She sniffled at the sight that had become far too common.

  James curled up behind her, wrapping his husky arm around her and cupping her fist, his heat and stench hugging her own.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” her husband whispered. “Neither of us is.”

  Eli pulled the covers up to his mouth, shaking.

  “Did I fail him?” Harper asked.

  “He takes after his mother,” whispered James. “You couldn’t if you’d tried.”

  Harper scooted back, bringing herself closer to her husband. She intertwined her fingers with his and let her eyes fall closed.

  Daylight. She stood in an endless field. Brandy faced her. He ran a plastic comb through his blond hair, slicking it back. Mid-stride, he stopped combing and smiled. His flawless white teeth twinkled like an actor’s in a Colgate commercial. Without warning, the sky turned black. Rain showered on the two of them. Red droplets splattered across Harper. The blood squall splashed against Brandy, staining his teeth and hair cherry red. His comb had vanished. He held the thick bowie knife at his waist. A drop of blood rolled down the blade’s edge. Tattered cloth was embedded in the groove on the weapon’s handle. Dead bodies were piled around his feet. He smiled and picked his red teeth with the knife’s point. Harper took a step forward, trying to make out the corpses curled around the man’s ankles.

  “Harper.”

  She jolted up, soaked and overheating. The thick covers fell to her lap. Moonlight and the sound of night critters spilled in through the cracked motel door. A figure stood before her bed. Harper turned to her son’s resting place. The covers were pulled to the side. Eli was nowhere in sight.

  Wide eyed, Harper turned her attention to the figure and opened her mouth to speak.

  The man interrupted her. “It’s time.”

  “James?”

  Her husband stepped closer. A sliver of moonlight cast across his big brown eyes. “Come on. Eli’s already out there.”

  Harper swiveled out of bed. She slipped on her pants, tightened her belt, and tied up her bootlaces. She followed her husband into the cold night, unable to fully shake her sleep. The freezing breeze awoke her flesh. She crossed her arms, hugging herself as she walked down the wide street. Harper passed makeshift table barricades and cars strategically parked on the road, heading for the Fence’s wide-open gate. Something swayed in the wide frame. Beyond, the outer street and acres-long farm fields stretched out and dipped behind a fold in the geographic landscape.

  James and Harper stopped at the gate’s threshold. The shadow of the hanged body enveloped them with each gust of wind. Eli’s lifeless bro
wn eyes watched her. Patches of decay spotted his pale face. The rope constricted his neck, sending purple bruising spreading out of her son’s twisted flesh.

  Harper gasped, and she was back in her motel room. Dressed and standing next to his bed, Eli stretched his arms above his head, yawning. “You all right, Mom? It looks like you saw a ghost.”

  “I’m…” Harper’s heart hadn’t slowed. “I’m fine.”

  The doorknob jiggled, and James entered with two steaming coffee mugs. “It’s time.”

  Harper swiveled to the side of her bed, blinking a few times. Confident her nightmare had ended, she got up, dressed quickly, and followed her husband into a darker reality. She walked close to her son, slipping her arm under his. Normally, she’d expect him to pull away, but this morning he did not.

  Thin clouds painted the dark-indigo sky, leaving little room for the remaining stars and moon.

  “Stay close to me, no matter what,” Harper told Eli. “I don’t want you to leave my sight. Understand?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “I mean it.”

  James handed her a warm mug. “It’s the last bit from Church’s secret stash. Cost me a spot behind the Fence. Enjoy.”

  “We’ll hold the wall together. Brandy cannot get inside,” declared Harper.

  From the belfry and adjacent buildings, snipers watched the Murphys walk down the center of the barricade-obscured street of Brighton. A few paces apart, the men and women of Brighton lined the perimeter of the Fence. The largest cluster was at the gate front and two deep. That was where Church stood.

  Harper felt the world twist around her as she neared the wooden steps. She gulped down a mouthful of scalding coffee, wincing at the burning sensation and bitter taste. The stairs creaked beneath her boots. Her dream replayed over and over. She glanced at Eli to make sure he was still there. He was just as nervous as she was.

  The mayor rested his rifle on the wooden battlement, scanning the farm fields, rolling hills, and woods through his scope. Beyond, the Smokies jutted from the Earth’s surface. Church’s gravelly voice leaked from his bearded lips. “Only take shots you can make. Once we run out of ammo, this fight will take a sharp turn.”

  Dustin readjusted his rifle sight. “Maybe we’ll scare them off. You know, after the first few shots.”

  “Wishful thinking,” Church replied.

  Eli moved down the wall, and James continued farther on. Around the bend of the Fence, Sawyer hunched behind a knife-spear. All across the wall-walk were people that Harper had spent the last month with, but she felt that she had known them for a lifetime. She cocked her rifle and knelt next to Church.

  “Nervous, Murphy?” Church asked.

  Harper supported her rifle on the wooden frame and looked down the long road. “Yeah. You?”

  Church didn’t speak for a moment. “Always.”

  With weapons pointed to the outer world, Brighton stood vigil in the windy morning. The sun drew across the sky. The distant farmhouses were picturesque against the green rural-Virginia landscape. Clouds sailed across the heavens, and the morning chill turned to afternoon heat. Birds landed on power lines and chirped. Yellow-vested bees buzzed over wildflowers.

  Harper readjusted the rifle on her shoulder. Her knees cramped from kneeling. Church remained vigilant, lifting his weapon at the slightest hint of movement. A cough sounded at the western watchtower. Harper’s stomach grumbled.

  “I don’t think our guests are coming!” Sawyer yelled from the eastern tower.

  “Positions!” Church shouted back. “They are waiting for a break in our defense!”

  Sawyer stood. “Really? Have you spotted scouts? Has anyone spotted scouts?”

  No one replied.

  Church turned to Harper. “Inviting this man in was a mistake.”

  “How about we grab some lunch?” suggested Sawyer. “Ten minutes isn’t going to make a difference at this point.”

  Church boiled. “He’s asking to get shot.”

  “Sawyer has a point,” James said. “No use starving ourselves.”

  Harper nodded. “We can have the kids cook something up and head out in groups of three to five. The rest can hold down the defensive line.”

  Church set his jaw and aimed his riflescope. After a moment of no outside movement, he pulled his head and groaned. “Go in pairs. Stay armed. Ten minutes tops.”

  Harper and Church waited until last. They split a can of baked beans and returned to the Fence to eat them. The mayor finished his within two minutes and went back to scouting. Harper spent a moment double-checking her Molotov stash. After, she returned to her watch point and let the day bleed into night. Church set up three-hour sleep shifts, plucking a third of Brighton’s forces at a time. Every third person was chosen to ensure the wall’s defense. Church took over for Harper during mid-shift, and she repaid him by commanding final watch. The night was calm and serene, making the atmosphere thicker with fear.

  The next day felt much longer than the first. The one meal plan tripled to three a day, and one of the watchmen was called out for sleeping on shift. Church made him walk fifteen laps around the wall. When another man laughed, Church had the giggler do twenty. Looking out at the wilderness, Harper spent a lot of time in her thoughts. She thought about Eli mostly. If he’d finish high school, what sort of job he’d have after electricity returned to the world, and if he’d get married. She reminded herself that he was only sixteen but let her imagination run freely. Eli’s college graduation, a family Christmas, grandkids. She wondered if those were still viable possibilities.

  On the third day, it rained. In their ponchos, the residents of Brighton looked like a bunch of plastic bananas perched on the wall. It was wet, sloppy, and absolutely miserable. The storm went on and off all the way through day four. The sinister clouds and cold showers left behind a hacking cough. Dustin got the shivers so badly that Dr. Hanson took him into the Laundromat clinic, where he rested up near Levi. Lack of sleep hastened the sickness, and each day, more watchers stepped down. Karla got hit with it pretty badly. It tore through her frail body and weak immune system. Sawyer fell deathly ill hours later but suspiciously recovered the same day as his daughter.

  By day seven, Harper had to pinch herself to stay alert. Her daydreams threatened to mold into real dreams. During that evening, Harper saw Brandy watching her from the road. When Church said her name, the intruder vanished into nothing.

  Day eight arrived, and everyone had reached wit’s end. Intense rationing, overall low morale, and the lack of rest led to multiple disputes. One woman threatened another with a knife-spear. The other one swiped back. Trudy, with sunken eyes, separated the two with threats of exile. That ended the argument.

  That night, Harper suggested to Church that they cut the number of watchmen in half to attend to other duties in town. Reluctantly, he agreed. James and Eli were sent away but not Harper. Around noon on the ninth day, the watchmen had been diminished to a fourth of their original size. Farmers attended crops, Trudy returned to Supply, Kimmy offered everyone haircuts in the diner, Sawyer and his daughter helped James work on the wall, and Eli and Dustin took care of general maintenance. Harper stayed on the Fence with Church. The beautiful view had turned dreadfully boring, and Brandy slowly exited out of Harper’s dreams. The mayor had lost weight and boasted a bundle of new gray hairs on his head and grizzly face. Skin drooped under his beady eyes like sagging pockets. Harper could taste his pungent body odor ten yards away.

  The two of them didn’t talk much. Every hour, Harper wanted to walk away, but duty kept her bound. The tough old man reminded her of a stern version of Commander McCulloch or an identical match to her father. Harper wondered what her father would think of her now. Would he be proud that she was protecting her son or see her as a complete fool for wasting her life away on a waterlogged wall?

  Day twelve. Church lowered his rifle and sat with his back to the battlement. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Harper kept watch.

 
“Thank you,” the man said, rolling his neck. “I should be… overjoyed that he didn’t return. Instead--”

  “You feel disappointed,” Harper finished.

  Church rested his rifle across his lap. “Go see your family, Murphy. That new house isn’t going to clean itself.”

  Harper did a scan over the farmhouses and field, expecting Brandy and his host to appear. “What are you going to do?”

  Church propped his head against the battlement. “Sleep.”

  Harper plopped down next to him and stretched out her fatigued legs. She looked at inner Brighton. Her son and husband moved table barricades off the road. Trudy read a story to children. A gaggle of women giggled as they dug up potatoes. The scene faded, and Harper let sleep steal her from the village wall.

  Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!

  The tolling punched Harper from her slumber. The world in front of her came alive. Through the wooden blinds of the chapel's tower, the bronze bell sang its savage song. The sun fell in the west as dark clouds inched across the sky. People ran to the Fence’s stairs. Dustin shouted orders. Trudy shooed the children into the town hall. Harper’s body moved faster than her mind. She fumbled with her heavy rifle, twisted herself around, and peeked over the battlement.

  Without hesitation, her finger tugged the trigger.

  9

  Battle of Brighton

  The shot rang out. It zipped over the outer street and punched the hairy, drab-dressed man in the chest, sending him flying backwards. The three dozen men and women on both sides of him shot pitiful glances at the corpse but continued their barbaric charge. They raised their hatchets, rusty knives, and clubs up high and bellowed a ferocious war cry, sprinting over asphalt, knee-high fields, and mud. Some toted ladders over their heads. Others clenched unlit Molotovs. A few drew Glocks, Berettas, and other handguns from the waistband of their pants and opened fire. The bullets cracked the battlement, spitting shards of wood and sawdust over Harper. She ducked, cocked the rifle, and readied another shot.