Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  “Good,” Angela said with a kiss to Chassity’s forehead.

  “I had a dream about dad,” Chassity said.

  Angela stood up, purse around her shoulder, ready to go. Her face dropped, and she tried to hold back her tears.

  “He’s here, Mom,” Chassity continued. “He’s all around us. Watching us. Trying to keep us safe.”

  Angela smiled as a tear streamed down her cheek. “I don’t doubt it, sweetheart. I don’t doubt it at all.”

  She said her goodbyes and turned to the door, reminding Chassity not to answer it for anyone. She didn’t know what was going on with her emotions. As she closed the door and stepped out into the night breeze of the balcony, she felt like a nervous wreck. The crushing lows came at the most unexpected moments. She trudged on to the staircase, trying to put on a good face. She wanted to feel hopeful about the future, but it was getting harder with each new obstacle blocking her way.

  Following the carnage at his former hideout, Salah Asgar had indeed escaped. Many of his men were dead, and he wasn’t sure exactly what happened. He had heard gunshots, and Bosra, his loyal guard, had stormed into his room, telling him that they needed to leave. They fled through an escape tunnel leading to a car port concealed by camouflage netting.

  An older-model Jeep Cherokee awaited them—the perfect getaway vehicle. It was light, good for the terrain, and didn’t bring much attention to itself. They promptly left the hideout and the other men to their fate. From what Bosra told Salah, it had been a bloodbath. Their British operative had betrayed them, he explained, and joined forces with the Americans, the woman whose husband’s beheading had been recorded. She was among them.

  “And the children?” Asgar asked.

  “I am not sure,” Bosra answered, pushing the Cherokee at top speed over the bumpy dirt road and toward the interstate. Where they were going hadn’t been discussed.

  Asgar waved him off and then glanced out the window at the gray desert sky. Morning would be upon them soon. “It matters not,” said Asgar. They have simply escalated the attacks. They’ve prevented nothing.”

  Bosra grunted in response—his manner of approval—as he continued on into the unknown.

  Asgar then provided the necessary instructions. “El Paso. There’s a place downtown. Somewhere we can regroup and contact the others. He glanced into the side-view mirror, taking his last look at the distant hideout, unseen by the naked eye. It wasn’t a crucial loss. Asgar’s network had safe houses and hideouts throughout the state of Texas. They had staked their flag and weren’t going anywhere, and very soon, the real war would begin.

  From a high-rise apartment in downtown El Paso, Asgar watched the latest news reports detailing the mosque shooting from earlier that morning. The entire operation was a masterful stroke in his larger plan of civil unrest, fear, and disorder. Once his ISIS cells struck again, the message would be clear: the attacks against innocent Muslims in Garland were to blame. The news media were already playing along perfectly. Images of the shooter taken from various social media sites filled the screen.

  Travis Durant was a loner. A ticking time bomb whose young mind had been radicalized by the dark recesses of the Internet. They were half-correct in their reporting. But what they didn’t know was that Travis had been recruited by ISIS to carry out the mission. Asgar had been quite impressed with the progress ISIS had made on the young American in such a relatively short period, and there were many more, just like Travis, ready to strike when the time was right, and that time was rapidly approaching.

  He sat in the bedroom of one of his technical operatives, a young man named Dari Tarik. Dari had immigrated to America from Pakistan when he was four years old. And in that time, he had become more westernized than Asgar was comfortable with, but he had proved to be an asset to the cause. His computer skills and understanding of cyber warfare had helped him rise through the ranks of the sleeper cells. He would be rewarded for his service soon enough, Asgar had promised.

  Asgar had changed from his robed attire into a conventional collared T-shirt and jeans. He had even removed his taqiyah as he felt it necessary to blend in, especially if the Americans were hunting him. He ran a hand down the thin gray beard, which reached his chest, and took a sip of hot tea from a mug offered to him by Dari.

  Even with the multiple arrangements and calls that had to be made, his attention was held by the TV news reports. The mosque shooting dominated the news. It was inescapable. Asgar drew great satisfaction from this, and as he sat in Dari’s room, strewn with computer wiring, monitors, and other electronics, he took a brief moment to savor the chaos he’d had a hand in so carefully creating. The reporter continued the rundown of the timeline.

  “At approximately 11:45 a.m., police pursued a black Honda Accord matching the description of the shooter’s car after he fled the Garland mosque.”

  Aerial footage of the chase appeared. Travis’s tiny black car raced down the interstate, with a line of police cars following it, their lights flashing wildly. Asgar couldn’t help but admire the boy. Of their many recruits, he had seen few so dedicated to the cause. He watched the scene unfold with excitement. Bosra stood near the door, pistol at his side and watching over Asgar as always.

  “This is wonderful,” Asgar announced, both to himself and Bosra. “The media will be picking this apart for a while, buying us even more time.”

  Bosra nodded in response as the reporter continued with footage from the parking lot shoot-out. “It was here in this vacant Mattress Factory parking lot where police surrounded Durant and approached his car to arrest him. Durant, however, had no intention of going quietly. He fired at police officers after telling a 9-1-1 operator that his vehicle was rigged to explode—a measure experts believe was meant to keep law enforcement at bay.

  “Officers bravely moved in anyway as Durant, as seen on this footage from the scene, made two different calls on his cell phone. One to his mother and another to an unknown number authorities have not been able to trace.”

  To this, Asgar smiled to himself. He then turned to Bosra with a chuckle. “They call us savages, and yet we’re able to beat them at their own technology.” Heartily amused, he turned back to the TV.

  “Durant fired six shots at officers and was shot himself as a result. Early reports indicated he was shot upwards of twenty-six times. Sheriff Ben Johnson, Garland Police Department, stands by his officers’ use of force in what he called a ‘kill or be killed scenario.’”

  The scene cut to Sheriff Johnson, on the scene and wearing a sheriff’s hat and glasses, a dozen news microphones in his face. “I think it’s safe to say that after what this young man did, we weren’t going to take any chances. And it soon became clear to us that he was not going to allow himself to be apprehended. We believe this was a suicide mission.”

  Asgar took another sip of tea and then muted the television with the remote. “Right you are, Sheriff. Right you are…”

  A light knock suddenly was heard at the door. Asgar turned and signaled to Bosra to answer it. Bosra opened the door a crack to reveal their host standing sheepishly outside holding a plate of bread.

  “I just baked some bread. Would Brother Asgar like some?” Dari, pudgy, in his early twenties, with shaggy black bangs and glasses, paused for a moment, meeting Bosra’s glare.

  “And-And you, yourself, of course. Would you like some too?”

  Asgar set his tea on Dari’s cluttered desk and waved the man inside. “Let him inside, Bosra. We need to talk, anyway.”

  Bosra opened the door and stepped aside, not taking his eyes off their host. Asgar crossed his legs as his attention went back to the TV sitting on Dari’s dresser. He felt a sense of pride just thinking about what he had contrived.

  “Have a seat,” he said to Dari, signaling a chair next to him.

  Dari set the bread down on his desk and sat. He appeared nervous and distracted. Normally, such body language would make Asgar suspicious. He had a knack for weeding out spies and seeing t
o their swift execution. But Dari had not been expecting him. And to have a leader of Asgar’s stature in the apartment with little to no notice would make anyone nervous. Dari was accommodating enough despite his awkwardness.

  Asgar, however, hadn’t arrived at his one-bedroom apartment just because it was the closest place to hide. He needed a particular service from Dari. Something that would escalate the attacks and hit the Americans hard. And Asgar was ready to explain it all.

  “Time is critical, young Dari. The Americans hit one of our most embedded locations, just thirty miles outside the city. With Bosra’s help, I barely managed to escape. In our haste, some important documents were left behind. They could know far more about our plans than we wish.” Asgar clenched his fist as his dark, fiery stare cut through Dari. “That is why we strike now!” He leaned in closer to Dari, inches from his face. “And I need your help to get our operatives up to speed. I want a video chat set up immediately, so we can disseminate orders. We need to discuss times, locations, and targets.”

  Appearing overwhelmed, Dari leaned back and nodded, his mouth open, but he was unable to speak.

  “You can do this, Dari,” Asgar insisted. “I know you can.”

  “But the hack. It isn’t ready,” Dari said.

  Asgar placed a hand on his shoulder but failed to comfort his nervous computer expert.

  “The hack can wait. What I want is our men in position and ready. Can you get them on the line for me?”

  Dari looked around. The television seemed to play the same scenes of the mosque reports in a loop. He pointed to the screen, expressing concern. “What about this? What are we going to do about this? They’re coming after us now. Killing us in our own mosques!”

  Asgar resisted the urge to smile. He didn’t want to go into too much conspiratorial detail. It was best to keep Dari focused on the mission at hand. “I wouldn’t worry about those Muslims. They were not like us, Dari. They follow the Shia teachings of Islam. Which is precisely why so many of our Sunni brothers in Iraq are weeding them out.”

  “But the man who killed those Muslims… he wasn’t one of us! It isn’t right.”

  Growing impatient, Asgar narrowed his eyes. “I told you not to worry about that. Now I want our operatives online. Can you do that?”

  Dari looked down, composing himself. “Yes… I apologize, my leader. I will do my best.”

  “Good,” Asgar said, rising. “I need to use your restroom. Have them ready to attack when I come back.”

  By the time Asgar returned, Dari had done well. Three inter-connected monitors on his desk were up and running with a live video chat. Four separate chat screens were open on each monitor, displaying twelve operatives in all. Young men, clean shaven and eager for news. Dari stood to the side and extended an arm for Asgar to sit.

  “I contacted them all, my leader,” he said.

  “All of them?” Asgar asked.

  Dari looked down, somewhat ashamed. “All but one. He did not answer his text and can’t be found.”

  Asgar disregarded the absent member, as time was of the essence. As he sat, Bosra immediately opened the bedroom door, a hint for Dari to leave. Dari glanced at the door and Bosra’s steely eyes, making the connection. He promptly left the room without saying a word. Bosra closed the door, and Asgar sat in front of the camera, ready to begin.

  The men on the screen, sitting at desks in their small rooms, appeared surprised to see him. Their normally unseen leader wasn’t known to take part in video chats, but the stakes had changed. The luxury of anonymity had longed passed. Too many of his men had been killed and too many of their plans diverted. It was time to strike at the beast before the Americans made more gains.

  “Brothers, I’ve called you all with an urgent directive.” He paused and took a deep breath, rubbing the temples of his forehead with both hands. His operatives waited patiently, no one saying a word. “You must remember your training. And I trust that you will continue to practice the utmost care when performing your duties. I’m sure many of you saw the attacks against innocent Muslims earlier this morning. This is just a beginning of things to come. We shall retaliate and shall do it quickly. Tomorrow, I want you in your positions. And you must be ready. Once you receive the word, you shall strike accordingly. Understood?”

  “Yes, my leader.” The men said in unison

  “The time is upon us now. And I would expect nothing less than fulfillment of your duties to Allah.”

  5

  Conviction

  Angela found Burke right where he said she would: at a dusty rest stop a few miles past the New Mexico state line. It was the middle of the night, and she was eager to get back to her daughters when she pulled into the parking lot and stopped near the restrooms.

  Semi-trucks lined the lot behind her. A group of huddled drivers stood near a vending machine, smoking. She reached for her phone to call Burke, just as he suddenly appeared at the passenger door and tapped on the window. He didn’t have any weapons on him, and his tactical vest had been removed. She could only imagine where he had stowed it all.

  He got in the car quickly after she unlocked the door. Heads were already turning their way for whatever reason. She backed out and drove off, taking in his musky scent, like that of someone who had just run a block or two. Burke had definitely been busy. And there was still much to discuss. He seemed fidgety and distracted. As she pulled out onto the interstate, he kept looking behind them as though they were being followed.

  “How are you holding up?” she asked, wondering how exactly he had traveled so far. Perhaps he would tell her.

  He responded with a shrug. “Okay, I guess. How’re your daughters doing?”

  Angela sighed. “They’re resting, which is good.” She paused and glanced at him with sincere gratitude. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for rescuing them. You really came through on your word.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Burke said, staring ahead. He then pointed ahead to the next exit. “Get off at 44 here. That’ll take us back into El Paso, where I have everything hidden.”

  She really didn’t like backtracking, but it was Burke’s car and his rules. Her car was still parked at the Border Patrol station in Del Rio, hundreds of miles away. It was hard to believe, but in a way, she had already abandoned her previous life.

  She thought of her house. She and Doug were still making payments on it. Now their life together was no more. The weight of the realization and the endless changes ahead hadn’t fully settled in. He would never see Chassity and Lisa grow up—their children robbed of a father. Angela robbed of a husband. Where would they possibly go from here? But she had to focus on the present. If they failed to prevent the terror attacks, there would be many more people without loved ones.

  “I think you need to reconsider your priorities,” Burke said, as if reading her mind.

  “Pardon?” she said, veering off the exit.

  Burke cleared his throat and continued. “It’s time you made a decision in the interest of your daughters. Get them to safety. Get out of the country if necessary. Leave the terrorists to me.”

  “You can’t do this on your own,” she said, fiercely objecting.

  “I’m going to find Asgar, and I’m going to kill him and anyone else who stands in my way.”

  “That’s not what this is about.”

  Burke’s voice rose. “He got away from me once. It’s not happening again!”

  “There are millions of people’s lives at stake here. This is about more than vendettas.”

  Burke turned away from her, looking out the window. She didn’t know if she had gotten through to him or not. He was a hard man to read. They continued down the four-lane road past gas stations and twenty-four-hour fast-food joints. A shadowed mountain ridge was far in the horizon.

  “You have your way of looking at it, I have mine,” he said finally.

  “There was a mosque shooting yesterday.”

  “What?” Burke said, surprised.

&
nbsp; “A man walked into a mosque in Garland and killed fourteen people. Shot them in cold blood. Do you see where this is going? Do you realize how dire things will become?”

  “Do you?” Burke said back.

  He took a breath and told her to take a right at the next intersection. He then pulled his cell phone out and set it on the dashboard. The power was off. She could see gauze and taped bandages covering parts of both his arms. He had gotten pretty banged up during the shootout, but like Angela, he had miraculously avoided being shot.

  They had been fortunate, and it would seem that Burke wasn’t too keen about pushing their luck any further. Angela was ready to go it alone, but part of her knew that she needed him.

  “I have a plan,” she said. “I know someone who can help us. He was investigating these sleeper cells far longer than we were.”

  Burke held both hands out. “You want to bring someone in on this, by all means, best of luck. But I already told you my plan, and it’s non-negotiable.”

  She had seen the extent of his stubbornness. He was a loner, quick to judge and unpredictably violent with whomever he considered a threat. She had learned that much in the past few days, but she believed she could win him over with the right persistence.

  “There’s no sense in us splitting up now,” she said. “Why show me those documents? You know I can’t just walk away at this point. I could never live with myself.”

  Burke scratched the side of his face and then took off his black skullcap. His wavy matted hair began to rise. “I’m looking out for your safety. We’ve been lucky, Agent Gannon, but that’s not always going to be the case. Your children need a mother.”

  “My children need a country,” Angela said forcefully. “And if those attacks happen, we’re going to lose it.”

  Burke shook his head, with a slight smile. “You really don’t like taking no for an answer, do you?”