Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  Angela pointed at the men, unconcerned that they were still holding loaded pistols. “This is not the way things are done, and I’m not going to be a part of whatever the hell this is.”

  “What are you trying to say, Agent Gannon?” Sutherland asked.

  “I’m saying that I’m reporting every bit of this operation to my chain of command. This wasn’t a rescue mission. This was a massacre!”

  The men said nothing, and Angela lowered her finger. Their silence had her reconsidering her words. What had she gotten herself into? Before anyone could respond, Thaxton’s voice shouted from the ladder above.

  “I found Martinez! Get up here, now!”

  For a moment, nothing else mattered to Angela. She ran back down the dark tunnel without saying a word.

  “Agent Gannon, wait!” Sutherland said. “Let us cover you.”

  “Stay away from me,” Angela said, with her anger rising. She didn’t know just how far the tunnel went in the opposite direction toward the outside, and she no longer cared. All that mattered was finding her partner and leaving. “Please let him be okay,” she said under her breath, and grabbed hold of the wooden ladder, leaning against the wall.

  She climbed up in no time, ignoring the increasing weight of the medium-size vest that was gradually wearing her down. Sutherland was right behind her, and the ladder creaked with their combined weight as she reached the top.

  Thaxton was nowhere to be seen, but Angela pushed on through, familiar with the intricate fortifications of underground tunnels commonly used by the cartels. Martinez had been on to something. There was a new threat in town.

  Reunited

  Once emerging from the tunnel, Angela rushed past the lifeless, blood-soaked bodies that lay about the open hall of the compound.

  “Assistant Director Thaxton!” she shouted, looking around.

  “In here!” she called from a room to Angela’s left. The air was a noxious combination of fresh gun-powder, misty smoke, and the stench of blood and death, but she continued and went straight to a dimly lit room, hopeful that her partner was okay.

  She stormed inside, mortified by what she saw. Thaxton was standing at a table where Martinez was strapped down. He was moaning, barely conscious, with his left arm mangled and bloody.

  Thaxton turned around with a stoic, pale expression. “Help me get him loose,” she said, pulling on the leather straps that bound him to the table.

  Angela ran over, pushing out of the way a rolling cart that displayed a series of knives, drills, pliers. She noticed a chair in the middle of the room bolted to the ground with rope lying nearby, and an empty metal bucket, a backpack, and a long cane. She couldn’t imagine what Martinez had been through and at what cost.

  She started working at his ankles, unfastening both straps as Thaxton worked at his chest. Their brief time alone together gave the assistant director a moment to get a reprimand in.

  “It was unacceptable for you to run off like that. You put yourself and this entire team in danger.”

  Angela said nothing, just moved her hands up to the straps around his waist. Martinez’s eyelids flickered with another moan. He was pale and losing a lot of blood. His left arm lay in a large puddle of blood that dripped onto the floor.

  “You’re to tell no one about what happened here tonight,” Thaxton continued. She expertly unfastened the strap on his other arm and another over his chest. “You’ll be signing some documents to attest to that as well, understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Angela said, not wanting to argue. With Martinez free, she looked around the room for a cloth or rag—anything. “We need to stop the bleeding,” she said, pointing at his wounded arm. One glance at the rolling care and it was evident what had happened. A blue power drill lay among the knives, its bit stained a dark red and speckled with tiny pieces of flesh.

  The rest of the FBI team rushed into the room, guns drawn. They froze when they saw Martinez’s battered appearance and wretched condition. They swarmed the table as Sutherland turned to Lynch. “Grab a blanket or one of those cots outside. We need to get him on air transport, immediately!”

  Lynch and Hopper ran out of the room to see what they could find. Sutherland opened a pouch connected to his belt, revealing a first aid kit, much to Angela’s relief. Thaxton took a back seat and began taking pictures of the room with her cell phone.

  “Here, hold this. Put pressure on it,” Sutherland said to Angela, placing a gauze pad over one of the wounds.

  She placed her fingers on the pad and pressed down as Sutherland wrapped the gauze strip around Martinez’s arm, covering the wound. They did the same thing to the other hole as Lynch and Hopper came into the room, Lynch holding a thick blanket.

  “Perfect,” Sutherland said. “Now let’s lift him out of here and get him on the helicopter.” He gently nudged Angela out of the way as they took positions around the table to lift Martinez.

  Hopper was at his ankles, Lynch at his shoulders. Sutherland did a countdown and the two men lifted Martinez up and carried him to the blanket on the floor, barely getting a reaction from Martinez as he faded in and out of consciousness.

  “We’ve got more medical supplies on the helicopter. Let’s move!” Sutherland said. Lynch and Hopper lifted him up and the team left the room with Sutherland covering them. Angela turned around to find Thaxton surveying the room with grave interest.

  “Your team works well together,” Angela said.

  Thaxton nodded, not making eye contact.

  Angela turned to the open door and then back to the assistant director. “Are you coming, ma’am?”

  Thaxton walked slowly toward Angela as though she were distracted or just trying to take everything in. When she spoke, her voice held an unmistakable threat. “Remember what I said, Agent Gannon. This mission is classified. I’m sure you understand.”

  Angela could hold back no longer. “I watched them shoot men as they were running away.” She paused and took another step toward the assistant director, confronting her in a way that she knew was unwise and imprudent. “They shot them in the back. Clearly, you can see it all on the video feed.”

  “No one is going to see that video feed,” Thaxton said, flippantly. She glanced at Angela’s reddened face and tried to calm her with a squeeze on the shoulder. “But you did well, Agent Gannon, despite your insolence. Your partner was found and the terrorists were killed. I’d say it’s a win-win.”

  Angela didn’t feel the least bit comforted. “We may never know who these men are. And if any of them got away, well, this could blow up right in your face.”

  Thaxton smiled, as though she were half-amused. “Judging from their attire, these men are affiliated with the Islamic State. And we hope they get the message. We want them to see that the United States isn’t messing around anymore.”

  “You can’t silence both me and Martinez,” Angela said. “Sooner or later we’re going to have to tell our superiors what happened.”

  Thaxton turned from Angela, surveying the room. “I’ll make this real easy for you, Agent Gannon. You do not want to rile things up with this administration. You have a secure job with great potential and a loving family. Same thing with Martinez. The FBI has a job to do, and you will either work with us or get out of our way.”

  Angela stared back as their ferocious eyes locked. She swallowed, trying to look brave and not the least bit intimidated, though she was.

  “Do I make myself clear?” Thaxton asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Angela said after a moment of brief hesitation.

  “Good. Now let’s get Martinez to medical.”

  Thaxton stormed out of the room, not saying another word and leaving Angela to examine the room of horrors: of the various blood-stains on the floor and wall, some fresh and others dry. She then left the room with an overwhelming weight of mixed emotions. In the end, all she wanted to do was to go home.

  Angela climbed into the helicopter to find Martinez—his arm wrapped in bandages, on the fi
rst bench seat, and starting to come to. Thaxton climbed in after her, followed by Sutherland. He closed the door. Angela turned around, looking for the others.

  “Where’s Agent Lynch and Special Agent Hopper?” she said.

  “They’re staying behind,” Sutherland said, placing his helmet back on his sweaty head. “Another team has been dispatched to clean up while we MEDEVAC Captain Martinez.”

  Something about the phrase “clean up” didn’t settle right with Angela, but she took her seat nonetheless at the end of the bench seat across from Martinez. Thaxton sat next to her. Sutherland leaned near the pilot, giving him a thumbs up.

  The pilot nodded and took the helicopter up. Angela adjusted her helmet and strapped in as the cabin shook and rattled with their quick ascent. Martinez snapped awake and began looking around in a panic.

  “Where the hell am I?” he said hoarsely, wide-eyed.

  Angela leaned close and ran her hand across his head. “It’s okay, sir. We’re getting you out of here.” She had a million questions but didn’t want to overwhelm him. It was good enough that he was finally conscious. Both Thaxton and Sutherland were eyeing him intently.

  “He’s awake!” Angela said, turning to them with relief.

  “That’s good,” Thaxton said. “We’ll get him taken care of.”

  A brief glance out the window, and Angela could see the desert getting larger and more spacious as they reached higher altitude, trailing off and leaving the mysterious and isolated terror compound behind. A place, according to the assistant Director, where they had never been.

  It was early morning by the time Angela returned to the Del Rio Border Patrol station, where she was bombarded with questions from other agents about the mission. The most she would confirm was that they had found Captain Martinez. That morning, she was immediately summoned to Chief Drake’s office. The sun streamed in through his blinds as she sat across from his desk, exhausted and feeling a pounding headache, despite having just taken two aspirins.

  Her green uniform was dust covered and dirty, with spots of dried blood. She assumed it had come from Martinez’s wounds. Loose strands from her ponytail covered the sides of her smudged and tired face.

  Angela couldn’t recall if she’d been up for two or three days. It seemed like forever since she last saw Doug and the kids. Eager to let her get home, Drake had sat her down in his office to get a recap of events.

  Gone were the FBI assistant director and the other agents. They had vanished from the station like ghosts. Martinez had been taken to the Del Rio Regional Medical Center, where he was rushed to intensive care, just to make sure, and listed in stable condition. Angela was immensely relieved. She could breathe again.

  However, she had been whisked away from the hospital and flown to the Border Patrol station before she could speak with her partner. She’d have to give it time. The next day perhaps. She knew where he was, and she planned to get their stories right as soon as he was better.

  With Martinez safely in the hospital, Angela found herself alone with Chief Drake, the morning news played on his office television with the sound muted. They were talking about a local home invasion that had occurred earlier but nothing too out of the ordinary. As he sat across from her, pen in hand, Drake seemed a little more at ease too.

  “The assistant director gave me a brief rundown of what happened. She said that you had acted heroically in assisting in Captain Martinez’s rescue.”

  Angela nodded, unsure of what to say. Before Thaxton had left the station, all she told Angela was to “remember what she said.” Telling the truth was always the most obvious choice for Angela, but without Martinez to advise her, it wasn’t clear what to do.

  Drake scribbled on his pad and then looked up. His stubble had grown in the past day or two, and the bags under his eyes were second only to hers. A steaming mug of coffee rested right next to him and Angela wondered if he had rested in the past couple of days.

  “For your efforts, Agent Gannon, I’m going to recommend you for a Meritorious Service Award.”

  It was the last thing she needed or wanted, but for the time being, she played along. “Thank you, sir.”

  He rubbed his eyes and groaned. “Of course, we still have to get things in order for Agent Dawson’s memorial service.”

  “Yes, of course,” Angela said. “Any new developments with that investigation?”

  Drake set his glasses on the desk and shrugged. “I was hoping that you could tell me. I mean, I thought we’d find some kind of link between all of this: the chemical agents, the explosion, Martinez’s disappearance. But right now, it’s just business as usual until the FBI puts it together.”

  “I understand,” she said as her eyelids grew heavier under the cool air blowing from the vent above her.

  Drake looked past her, peering through his blinds and all the activity going on outside his office. He took a sip from his coffee mug and then zeroed-in on her. “Listen carefully. A lot of people are going to be asking you what happened. You’re suddenly very popular around here, and that’s not always a good thing. Mum’s the word, you got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But as far as this sector is concerned, I want a full report of the when, what, how, and why. I’ll expect the same from Martinez when he’s ready. I’m happy that you’re both back, but I’m very concerned about the entire shit-show.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Drake leaned in closer and spoke low and softly as though the FBI were listening at the door. “The assistant director told me that Martinez was found in an abandoned outpost in El Paso. What was he doing out there?”

  Angela gripped the armrests of her chair.

  “Don’t worry,” he continued. “I’m sure we’re found out from the horse’s mouth once Martinez comes to.”

  Angela sighed. “As far as I know, sir, the FBI thinks he was being held there by an ISIS sleeper cell.”

  Drake rubbed his temples with both hands. “Okay, got it.” He reached for his mug and took another sip, pointing at Angela. “I want you to go home and get some rest. Need you to fill out a statement before you leave, but you can work on the report in the next day or two.” He paused for a moment and scanned his scribbled notes. His head jerked up as though something had just come to him. “Did you call your family yet and let them know that you’re okay?”

  She was surprised at his question and all the more surprised that she hadn’t. Her phone, however, had died hours ago.

  “No, sir. But they’re just getting up, so I’ll see them when I get home.”

  “Okay then. You’ve got your marching orders. I want a full report after you get some rest. We’ll get to the bottom of this, Agent Gannon, if it’s the last thing this department does. Dismissed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She slowly rose from her chair, her body sore and aching. On her feet, she stopped and glanced at the disheveled gray hairs and the wrinkles that creased his face.

  “What about you. Are you planning on getting any rest?”

  He paused, looked up at her, and smiled faintly. “One day, when you’re in my position, you’ll understand.”

  Angela smiled and went to the door, opening it and pausing. Other agents walked by and glanced at her as she hesitated to leave.

  “Chief Drake,” she said, turning back to him.

  He looked up with a curious expression. “Yes?”

  “About the recovery. Well, the raid didn’t go exactly like they said it did…” She couldn’t believe her words as they came out. But a battle with the FBI was inevitable, she believed, no matter what she did.

  “What are you talking about?” Drake asked.

  “The terror cell. We…”

  Suddenly Drake’s office phone rang. He held a finger up, asking her to wait, and then picked up the receiver.

  “This is Chief Drake, how can I help you?” He stared ahead, listening, while Angela waited with her hand holding the doorknob. She looked down the hall, thinking that it was her mom
ent to leave without facing any questions and forget that she had brought anything up. The longer she waited, the less chance she had to reconsider exposing the truth behind the FBI raid.

  “What?” Drake said, suddenly rattled, his mouth wide open.

  Angela grew nervous. Perhaps he was learning the truth already. What would she say then?

  “What do you mean live web stream?” He grabbed his MacBook and flipped it open, typing wildly, with the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. He looked up in a panic at Angela and waved at her to come inside and shut the office door.

  Confused and worried, she walked in and gently closed it.

  “Yeah, send me the link, okay?” he said with urgency.

  Angela pulled her chair closer to his desk and sat. Whatever the conversation was about, it didn’t sound good.

  “Okay, I’m on,” Drake said. “Yeah. Some kind of live leak site. It’s loading…” He froze as his eyes locked on the screen. “Oh my God…”

  Angela couldn’t take the suspense. She stood up and walked around the desk to see what all the commotion was about. The phone fell from Drake’s shoulder as he stared at the screen, petrified.

  “Chief? What is it?” Angela asked.

  He tried to answer her, but seemed to be in a state of shock. “Terror cell. ISIS video. It’s real-time shit here.”

  Angela walked behind his chair and squinted her to see the screen as her heart seized with fear. There was streaming video of a person on their knees in an orange jump suit with a burlap sack over their head. Standing behind them was a man with a tan face mask, eye slits, and an ammo vest over his camouflaged clothing. Behind him hung the black flag of ISIS mounted on the wall.

  The masked man then spoke with a muffled British accent.

  “Americans… today is the day of your reckoning. We are on you streets. We are in your neighborhoods, and we will only attack if provoked. Today, you provoked us. You killed our brothers. Attacked our home. Slaughtered us like animals. And now we must strike back.”