Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  He took a step back and rubbed his head. The first shooter’s body lay only a few feet away from them with a hole in the side of his big forehead. Blood spatter had hit the side of the truck next to the indentation made by one of Martinez’s first shots.

  As he walked away from the truck, in deep thought, Angela wanted to pull him aside and ask what the plan was. She wanted to ask why he had been so determined to approach the men without backup. Now was not the time for him to grow aloof. They needed each other more than ever.

  “Should we work on our story?” she asked, walking toward him.

  “We tell them the truth,” he said, turning away from her.

  “The truth?” Angela said, confused. “The truth is that we left our post and pursued this truck without backup. You have years under your belt, sir. What’s going to happen to me, a rookie?”

  Martinez pivoted around, extending an arm toward her. His pistol was finally holstered. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Agent Gannon. This was my call, and I’ll take responsibility.”

  His words were comforting, but it didn’t make her feel better about the situation. In clear view now, she could see a line of Border Patrol vehicles speeding down the dirt road beyond the valley, approaching them with their lights rapidly flashing. The cavalry had indeed arrived.

  Taking a closer look at the first shooter’s body, Angela could see that he was distinctively Middle Eastern. His clothes were plain and baggy, and he was wearing sandals.

  Martinez walked away from the truck and toward the line of patrol vehicles tearing off the road and traveling toward them—five in all. Before anyone arrived, Angela crouched beside the man and felt his pants pocket for a wallet or ID. There was nothing.

  His still hand clutched a 9mm Glock pistol. Clues were bound to be found somewhere. As Angela stood up and surveyed the empty truck, she was almost certain that the station wagon was the real vehicle they wanted. Only it was the one vehicle that had wisely gotten away.

  Dawson’s white Ford Crown Victoria led the pack as he slowed to a halt with top sirens flashing wildly but silent. A large cloud of dust covered the area like a blanket, causing Angela to cough. So little was known of why she and Martinez were there and what happened. She hoped that he’d do most of the talking. Doug would be upset with her, and she pondered how much to tell him about the incident at the end of the day.

  Chief Drake exited the second vehicle, another white Tahoe, slamming the door. Other agents soon followed. He went immediately to Martinez, who was already busy explaining himself. Drake’s slightly wrinkled face was red with anger. His thinning and short gray hair blew to one side in a gust of wind from the approaching storm.

  Dawson walked toward the truck where Angela stood with Captain Reynolds, a female agent from the K-9 unit. Rex, her K-9, hurriedly moved along as she held his leash. Angela approached them, hoping to bypass their questions and just link up with Martinez instead. Dawson, it seemed, wouldn’t have any of it.

  “Are you okay?” he asked first, observing the body on the ground behind her with widened eyes.

  “I’m fine,” Angela responded while wiping dirt from her face.

  “I hope sure so. What have you guys gotten yourselves into?”

  Dawson was nearly Angela’s age, and had a goofy overbite and short hair parted in the middle. Everyone at the station called him “kid,” a term he resented at times. Captain Reynolds was a slightly older redhead with freckles, blue eyes, and a mouth that seemed set in a perpetual straight line.

  “Looks like a real mess,” she said to Angela, surveying the scene. Her K-9 darted toward the man’s body only to be jerked back.

  Angela nodded at their comments and then pointed to the road. “Their friends got away in a station wagon. Something was about to go down, I’m certain of it.”

  Dawson nodded. “I don’t doubt it. Who shot first?”

  Angela tilted her head, finding offense in the question. “They did, of course.”

  “Agent Gannon,” Chief Drake’s booming voice called out as he approached with Martinez at his side. She turned and struggled to make eye contact with her clearly perturbed supervisor.

  “Yes sir,” she replied.

  “Captain Martinez said the men spoke in Arabic. Were there any other things you picked up about them before… well, before the two of you decided to play Dirty Harry?”

  She looked at Martinez for guidance. He nodded at her to answer. “It’s like I told Captain Martinez: The unlicensed truck was the giveaway.” She then turned and glanced at the body behind them. “As far as the men go, they look like lower-level help. They came here to pick something up.”

  “Or drop something off,” Dawson added as Rex busily sniffed around the truck with Reynolds holding the leash.

  “Truck’s empty,” Martinez said with an air of disappointment.

  Other Border Patrol agents approached the scene, looking around with intense curiosity. With all eyes on the truck and bodies lying next to it, Drake stepped between Martinez and Angela, his voice low but tinged with sternness. “I want to have a word with both of you at the station when we get back. This entire incident is going to have to go beyond our department. If these men are foreigners, we’ll have to bring in the FBI. But I don’t want either of you saying a word of this to anyone. Not until we get the facts out.”

  Martinez cut in. “Sir, these individuals were operating right within our line watch. We were only responding to the high alert that was issued by the department.”

  Drake whipped his head to the side, further angered. “You can save it for the investigation, Martinez. And yes, there will be an internal investigation into this matter and we will get to the truth. All of it!”

  Rex hopped into the back of the truck, going wild. Captain Reynolds climbed up in with him, and Dawson followed.

  “Sir,” Angela said to Chief Drake, who turned to her with an icy glare. “I have a good description of the station wagon that fled the scene. I’d suggest we get an APB on it as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Martinez told me all about it. The APB has been issued, and if that wagon gets away, I’m holding the two of you personally responsible.” With that he walked away and joined the others at the truck, leaving Angela and Martinez to ponder their fate. She had never seen him so angry, and didn’t feel the least bit optimistic about it.

  Seeing the color leaving her face, Martinez placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Agent Gannon. It’s like I said. I’ll take the hit on this one.”

  “I don’t think we did anything wrong,” Angela said. Whether she was trying to convince him or herself of that she wasn’t sure.

  “The truck is empty. That’s what’s wrong,” Martinez said. “Had there been at least a brick of heroin or even marijuana, we’d probably be in the clear.”

  But perhaps Martinez had spoken too soon. From the inside of the truck, Rex clawed and whimpered at the floor. Curious, the other agents gathered around, sticking their heads inside.

  “I need a flashlight and a crowbar,” Captain Reynolds called out.

  Angela felt her heart beating faster. Anticipation was in the air. Dawson hopped out of the truck, ran past Angela and Martinez, and grabbed both a crowbar and a flashlight from his trunk.

  “This could get interesting,” Martinez said, beckoning Angela to follow him to the truck, where everyone crowded at the back. More thunder rumbled in the sky within a rolling gray cloud, blanketing the sky, but there wasn’t a drop of rain. Dawson ran back with a long crowbar in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He squeezed past two other agents and hopped inside the vehicle.

  “I need room here,” he said to Captain Reynolds. “Get Rex back.”

  She took the flashlight from him, shining it at the metal floor while tugging on the leash to pull Rex back.

  “What do you see?” Chief Drake asked, leaning in.

  Martinez pushed his way through and hopped up, leaving Angela behind to watch with the others. He went to h
is knees and immediately began feeling around. “Dawson’s right. There’s something here.” He paused and felt around some more. “The surface… it’s hollow underneath.”

  “Stand back,” Dawson said.

  Martinez moved out of the way as Dawson drove the crowbar into one of the joints in the floor and pushed up with all his might, breathing hard. At first, nothing budged. He pulled the crowbar out and jammed it in again, pushing up and leaning on the end for leverage. A pop sounded, and the metal panel on the floor split open.

  Captain Reynolds held the flashlight above them, shining it into the hole.

  “What is it?” the chief said, squinting behind his glasses.

  Angela looked over the shoulders of her fellow agents, staring down into the hidden compartment. She could see it as well as everyone else: multiple canisters aligned in rows.

  “Canisters,” Martinez replied. “At least a dozen of them.” More eager than ever, he stood up and grabbed the flashlight from Captain Reynolds.

  Rex pulled toward the hidden compartment, whimpering with intensity. Martinez then leaned down and flashed the light into the hole to reveal dozens of plastic bottles lined up in rows like a shelf at the grocery store.

  “Hydrogen peroxide,” Martinez continued. “A shitload of it.”

  Dawson pointed to a sealed metal case among the bottles. “What’s that say?”

  Martinez shined the flashlight across the letters, which read, “acetone.”

  “Holy shit…” Dawson muttered.

  “Chemicals,” Martinez said as he turned to the group. He stood up and handed the flashlight to Captain Reynolds and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “No narcotics?” Chief Drake asked. “What are we dealing with here?”

  “Looks like a dirty bomb, Chief,” Martinez replied with his hands on his hips. “Or at least the right ingredients.”

  A hushed silence came over the agents, soon followed by a commotion of side conversations. Angela could barely believe it herself. Had the men they shot been terrorists? The notion seemed more likely as she stared into the hidden compartment. Martinez quickly hopped out of the truck with a sense of urgency.

  “Everyone needs to keep their distance,” he said, waving at Dawson and Reynolds to follow him outside. “I mean it. Stay the hell away from this truck. We don’t know what else is in it.”

  “Captain Martinez is right,” Chief Drake added. “We need to get back and get a HAZMAT team in here pronto.”

  The team seemed to agree, and everyone began backing away, keeping a careful distance between themselves and the truck.

  “Where’s Dawson?” Chief Drake asked, looking around.

  Angela was curious herself. She’d thought he was right behind her. It got quiet, and they could hear movement coming from the shadows in the truck.

  “Dawson, what the hell are you doing?” Drake shouted. “Get out of there!”

  “Hold on, sir,” Dawson called out. “There’s another panel here. Another compartment. I can almost lift it.”

  Martinez stepped forward, angered. “Did you hear the chief? Get out of there before you—”

  The explosion was surreal, silencing everything in a violent eruption that shook the ground. Angela couldn’t hear. One deafening blast and everyone hit the ground. The force threw her down onto the dirt. She could feel searing heat traveling within inches of her face. She closed her eyes and saw nothing but dim shades of orange. When she opened them, she could see an immense fireball launching into the sky, with the echo of the blast traveling farther and farther and fading into the desert.

  Smoke and fire enveloped the site, and it was at that moment when she finally comprehended that something terribly wrong had just happened.

  4

  Fallout

  The box truck burnt away, engulfed in flames, with little remaining but its frame. Angela rose to her feet on wobbly legs. She could still feel the heat of the blast, warm and vivid.

  Other agents, Chief Drake and Captain Martinez among them, stood up in a daze, feeling their heads and turning to the hypnotic dancing flames in the distance. Thick black smoke flowed upward as ashes rained down all around them. Pieces of metal, plastic, wire, and glass lay scattered on the ground. The truck’s charred frame continued to burn with the shooters’ bodies no longer around.

  “We need to get out of here,” Chief Drake said, rubbing his face.

  “Sir?” Martinez replied.

  “Clear the area,” Chief Drake told him in a short tone. “We don’t know what kind of chemicals are being released into the air right now.”

  Captain Reynolds stood up, her red hair unpinned and hanging in her face. “Rex…” she said. “Where’s Rex?”

  Angela looked around and could see no sign of the K-9.

  “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere,” Martinez said. “He’s a smart dog.”

  “Certainly smarter than us if we hang around here one minute longer,” Chief Drake added.

  Angela could see that all their faces were smudged with greasy black soot, and she doubted that her own appearance was any different. Her stomach was sick with grief. And as a parade of sirens wailed in the distance, the loss of one of their own had yet to sink in among the stunned group.

  Chief Drake clapped his hands together as ash continued to fall from the sky. “That’s it, people. Time to move out. We need to tell the emergency responders to keep their distance until someone can measure the level of chemical agents in the air.”

  Martinez began coughing, heightening the level of fear among them. “It’s just the smoke,” he said, waving the concerned faces off. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Angela walked over to him and patted him on the back as the flames continued to flicker in the distance. Chief Drake was already off and headed toward the narrow dirt road where two fire engines, an ambulance, and several police cars were racing toward them. He held his radio up and called into it.

  “All emergency responders are advised to stay back. Possible chemical agents in the air. I repeat, possible chemical agents in the air.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Angela said. She placed her arm around Martinez, who was hunched down and coughing. He cleared his throat and rose just as Captain Reynolds approached them with a ghostlike shock in her eyes. “Agent Dawson…” she said, vacantly. “You don’t think…”

  “I’m sorry,” Martinez said, placing both hands on her shoulder. “It doesn’t look good.”

  Reynolds began to tear up. Martinez pulled her closer with a hug as she cried into his shoulder. Angela scanned the area for Rex. It was the least she felt she could do.

  Two other agents, Bernasconi and Tyson, were in a dazed state as well but dutifully followed their chief to the road where the emergency vehicles slowed to a halt.

  “This is too much,” Captain Reynolds said, backing away from Martinez and wiping her eyes. She then walked off with a slight limp, calling for Rex and scanning the area. Only Martinez and Angela remained, staring from afar at the fire still burning wildly.

  “Truck was rigged with explosives,” Martinez said vacantly. “We stumbled on some real shit out here, Agent Gannon.”

  Angela nodded as the glow of the fire flickered in her eyes. “That station wagon. It’s all we have now.”

  He turned to her, agreeing. He hung his head down, cursing under his breath while balling his fist.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she said, trying to say whatever she could to help.

  Martinez no doubt blamed himself. His head slowly rose, revealing tears in his eyes. “We owe it to Dawson now to find out who’s responsible for this.”

  After a moment of staring at the fire, they walked off together in sober silence toward the flashing lights on the side of a dusty road.

  They arrived back at the Del Rio Border Patrol station shortly before eight in the evening. A HAZMAT team had been deployed to the area along Graffiti Junction to test the air for chemical agents. All roads and underpasses within
five miles of the area had been shut down and cordoned off. Businesses and homes within the area had been evacuated, leaving a sense of dread in the neighboring community.

  The local media were on the scene but were not permitted to enter the hastily constructed blockades. The authorities were also hesitant in disseminating information for fear of creating a panic. Word from the feds was to keep a lid on it, and Chief Drake’s department was advised to recuse themselves from the investigation until Homeland Security and the FBI could determine exactly what had happened.

  For Martinez, there was no second guessing that the men they had engaged were terrorists. He believed that the chemical agents discovered before the truck explosion were materials likely meant for a dirty bomb of some sort. Angela agreed, but was curious on what they were going to do about it. They had no knowledge of the men’s terrorist affiliations or how far their network spread. Assuming there was a network.

  She and Martinez watched the coverage of the scene in Chief Drake’s office while they sat across from his desk waiting. Drake was in another room discussing the incident with other superiors. Word around the office was that the FBI was there.

  The investigation was already in the works, and all Martinez and Angela could do was wait. They weren’t being told anything, and what had started as a shootout with two suspected smugglers had now spiraled into something much larger involving terrorism. But the death of one of their Border Patrol agents was the single hardest thing to stomach about it all.

  The television displayed an aerial image from a news helicopter of the smoldering ground where the truck had exploded. Firefighters had extinguished the fire and HAZMAT teams in full chemical gear were on the scene, monitoring the air with their electronic gadgets.

  The news banner on the bottom of the screen indicated a truck explosion without going into details. Martinez’s eyes were transfixed on the TV screen, while Angela read messages on the screen of her cell phone, and replied to a text from Doug. She hadn’t gone into any details and only told him that she wouldn’t be home any time soon.