Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by J. S. Donovan

  Not a single strand of hair moved as Beth’s trademark blond bun slightly bounced to the rhythmic click of her high heels against the Capitol steps. The way she pulled her hair back tight displayed the sharpness of her cheekbones and chin more prominently. She had served with the congressman since his first election. She was the only other person in the world Smith trusted as much as his wife.

  “You think he'll try and swing the sympathy vote for this?” Beth asked.

  “People are scared, Beth. He'll use that fear to his advantage.”

  “Ballsy,” Beth answered.

  Jake opened the congressman's car door, and Smith stepped inside. The leather seats squeaked as he sat down.

  “I have the meeting set up for two o’clock this afternoon,” Jake said.

  “That doesn't give us a lot of time before the vote,” Smith replied.

  “I know, but you'll be the last voice they hear right before, so make it resonate.”

  Jake shut the door, and the driver pulled away. Smith looked over to see Beth smiling as she worked the screen of her tablet.

  “Is it just me, or is he turning into you more every day?” Smith asked.

  “Somebody has to take care of you when I'm not around,” Beth said.

  “You're not going to divorce me, are you?”

  “Only on the day you don't get reelected.”

  Smith knew it wasn't a joke. Beth didn't have a reputation for staying with anyone who wasn't worth a damn. The fact that Beth recognized he was still useful made him appreciate her more.

  “This is a dangerous move, David,” Beth said.

  “It's a necessary move.”

  “As your chief of staff, it's my job to inform you when your mouth is writing checks your ass can't cash, and this is one of them. You won't be able to get the votes you need to overturn this thing, and by resisting it, you're going to put a target on your back the size of Texas.”

  Buildings, people, and cars all passed by them as their driver maneuvered the streets of DC. They drove past one of the trees allowed in the city by the water restrictions. The trees were few and far between, and the ones that remained barely carried any vegetation.

  Trees weren't the only sparse commodity in the city. The grass of the National Mall was gone. It had been paved over with concrete four years ago, another sign of changing times and dwindling natural resources.

  He'd been fighting for better water rights for years. There were methods by which the nation could have all the fresh water it needed, but they were blocked by certain individuals afraid to lose what money and power they held.

  “I remember the first term I was elected. Remember that? When we arrived here, everything seemed so pristine, so grandiose. I thought DC was the most beautiful city I'd ever seen,” Smith said.

  “That was over twenty years ago.”

  “We can bring it back, Beth. I know we can.”

  Smith felt Beth's hand grab his, and she squeezed. He turned from the window to look at her. She was shaking her head. A shadow of a smile was trying to break through.

  “Well, it can't be harder than '03,” Beth said.

  The driver rolled down the partition.

  “We're here, Congressman,” he said.

  Smith reciprocated Beth's squeeze.

  “Let's get ready,” Smith said.

  Congressman Daniel Hunter stood behind his desk, bent over, examining the proposal for Jones's bill. He had to read it a few times just to numb the shock of what Jones was proposing.

  It wasn't just bold. It was psychotic. But he knew Jones had enough sway to pull it off. Daniel's stomach went sour. His state would be a player in the decision on the bill. If he opposed it, then it could affect his state's water distribution rights. If he voted for it, then he would be condemning everything he stood for and the entire legislative process he valued.

  Meghan poked her head into his office. The quiet of his room was broken by the clatter and bustling of his staff in the anteroom.

  “You received an invite for a two o’clock meeting,” Meghan said.

  “With whom?” he asked.

  “Congressman Smith.”

  Daniel nodded, and Meghan closed the door, leaving him alone. He sank low into his seat and loosened his tie. He knew what Smith wanted.

  He twirled his wedding ring around his finger, glancing at the picture of his family on his desk. It had been taken during their vacation last year in Florida. Most families couldn't take trips like that anymore. It was too expensive. However, his position in Congress allowed him special favors—favors that were largely granted by Congressman Jones. If he stood against him now, it wouldn't be just his career that suffered but his family's future.

  But could Daniel forsake forty million people to do it? Could he betray his oath, his values, and his fellow citizens for the sake of his career?

  Daniel's arms jolted when his chest started to buzz, breaking his chain of worry. He reached inside his jacket to grab his phone. The screen read “Amy.”

  “Hey, honey,” Daniel said.

  “Hey, how is everything going?”

  “Fine. Have you spoken to your sister?”

  “I just got off the phone with her. Did you hear about the flights getting grounded?”

  Daniel rubbed his forehead. He felt himself retreating inward. His voice was muffled when he spoke next.

  “I did,” he said.

  He hoped she didn't ask him any more. He hated lying to his wife. There was a pause on the other end of the line. He waited, afraid of the question to come.

  “Daniel, what's going on?”

  The sour pit in his stomach returned. His face flushed red, and he broke out in a cold sweat.

  “I have to get ready for a meeting,” Daniel said.

  “Honey, talk to me,” Amy said.

  Daniel let out a sigh. He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.

  “I can't tell you exactly what's happening, but it's really bad. You need to tell your sister to get out of the Southwest as fast as possible,” Daniel said.

  “Daniel, what are they going to do?”

  “Just tell her to get out.”

  “Can you stop it?”

  Jones's bill sat on top of his desk. The twenty pages in front of him were some of the most vile legislation he'd ever read. It would put a scar on the face of the country that would rival the Civil War.

  The meeting with Smith was in an hour. Daniel knew Smith fairly well. The two of them had served on the military appropriations committee during his first term. Smith was a good man, and smart. He might have something for them to use, something that the rest of them hadn't thought of yet. Maybe there was a chance.

  “I'll try,” Daniel said.

  4

  Brooke paced the kitchen floor. Her hair was matted to her forehead. The phone felt like it was melting to her ear.

  Emily was slouched in one of the kitchen chairs, her head resting on her arm, still clutching the suitcase on the floor next to her with one hand.

  “There has to be something, anything that's available,” Brooke said.

  “No, ma'am, I'm sorry. The FAA has grounded all commercial and private planes. No one is allowed to take off until the ban is lifted,” the operator said.

  “Where are you located?” Brooke asked.

  “My office is located in Oregon, ma'am.”

  “Well, transfer me to someone in the San Diego area. I need to speak with someone that's actually here and has a brain in their head!”

  After a few moments of silence, the operator spoke very calmly.

  “Ma'am, I understand your frustration. If you'd like, I can transfer you to my supervisor to help you with your concerns, but I must reiterate that no one can book you a flight right now.”

  Brooke hung up the phone and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. It skidded to the sink, where it teetered on the edge. She pressed her palms hard into the counter's edge.

  “Mommy, I'm thirsty,” Emily said.
<
br />   “I know, baby. You can have some water in a little bit, I promise.”

  If she didn't do something soon, she wouldn't be able to make good on that promise. Brooke had mentally planned out the water rations from what she had in storage the moment she heard about the river.

  All three of them needed at least a gallon of water a day in normal conditions. With the heat they lived in, it would be more.

  Brooke had the twenty gallons in the shed. When she made it home she tried filling up the tubs, but the government had beaten her to the punch, cutting off the water flow to the house. She managed to squeeze a few extra gallons of what remained in the pipes, but as far as she was concerned there wouldn’t be any more water coming through the faucets in the house again.

  She wanted them to drink a glass every three hours. There was still another hour until the next round.

  John came out of his room and went to the fridge. He stood there sifting through what was inside, then shut the door.

  “Where's the water?” he asked.

  “I stored everything we had in our spare portable tanks,” Brooke answered.

  The glasses on top of the fridge rattled when John shut the door.

  “Mom, you're freaking out over nothing. The president just told us help is on the way. You need to relax.”

  “Go to your room.”

  “But I didn't do anything.”

  “Now, Jonathan!”

  “You're crazy.”

  Brooke joined Emily at the table.

  “I don't think you're crazy, Mom,” Emily said.

  Brooke ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. She gathered it together and tied it in a ponytail.

  “There, now your neck won't be as hot,” Brooke said.

  Emily let out a relieved sigh and giggled. She pulled her father's dog tags off and handed them to her mother.

  “Here, you need them more than I do right now,” Emily said.

  “Thanks, baby.”

  Emily scooted off her chair and walked to her room. Brooke could hear her daughter pull out some of her toys from the closet and start talking aloud, coming up with adventures for her dolls to go on.

  Brooke rolled Jason's dog tags between her fingers. She listened to the rhythmic sound of the two pieces of metal rubbing against each other. They were hot, just like everything else in the house.

  If her husband were still alive, there would be no doubt the marines would find a way to fly him wherever he needed to go for a mission. The military was never grounded during an emergency. They were the only ones still flying.

  That's it.

  Brooke remembered hearing a while back that one of Jason's old team members was stationed at the naval base in San Diego.

  Brooke leaped the stairs two at a time, sprinting for her room. She tore open a box from the closet that stored some of Jason's personal items. She found his old phone and plugged it in.

  The screen was cracked, but she prayed it still worked. When the home screen finally came up, she hit contacts. She scrolled through the numbers until she came across the name that said “Scratch.”

  She hit “call,” praying he still had the same number.

  Waves lapped against the sides of the ships in San Diego Bay. The sun beat down on the hard metal deck of the USS Ronald Reagan.

  First Lieutenant Eric Stephenson was propped under what little shade an F-15 wing offered. His hat was tilted down, and his aviators shielded his eyes from the sun's glare.

  He felt someone kick his shoe, but he didn't move. When the kick happened again, he remained motionless except for his lips.

  “You kick me one more time, and I swear I will launch every missile from this jet straight up your ass,” Eric said.

  “I don't think you'd want to fill out the paperwork, son.”

  Eric tilted his cap up and saw Captain Howard with his hands on his hips, jaw jutting forward, and a scowl that would cause an Eagle Scout to crap his pants.

  Eric shot up from the ground. He smacked his head against the belly of the plane, and his hat fell. He moved his hand hastily to salute, which knocked his sunglasses crooked.

  “Captain, my apologies, sir. I meant the firing of my missiles in your ass with the utmost respect. Sir.”

  “At ease, Lieutenant. Walk with me.”

  The two walked along the deck of the ship. Their boots stepped in unison, a habit from military marches that neither man had outgrown.

  “Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink,” Howard said.

  “Yeah, it's hot,” Eric replied.

  “I heard you had a reputation of being a smart-ass.”

  “It's one I'm proud to live up to, sir.”

  “You're about to be pulled into a briefing for a mission in regard to the president's statement to the American people earlier today. It's not a meeting I will be a part of, as I was relieved of my command twenty minutes ago.”

  “Sir, I'm sorry to hear that.”

  “I know you don't give a shit about what happens to me, Lieutenant, but I do know that you give a shit about your country. Remember that.”

  “I will, sir,” Eric said.

  Howard looked out into the massive blue ocean rolling and tossing waves against the iron ship that kept them afloat.

  “It's going to be a dog fight until the end,” Howard said.

  Eric hadn't interacted with the captain much, but heard he had a reputation for being a hard-ass, and when those words left the captain's mouth, it sent chills up the back of his spine.

  Eric's pocket buzzed.

  “Excuse me, Captain,” Eric said.

  The number popping up on his phone wasn't one he recognized.

  “Hello?” Eric said.

  “Scratch? I mean, Eric?”

  “I haven't been called that in a long time.”

  “This is Brooke Fontanne. You were stationed with my husband in Iraq back in '04.”

  “Fontanne... Fontanne. Wait, Jason Fontanne?”

  “Yes! That's him.”

  “I haven't heard from him in a long time. What's that bastard been up to?”

  When Eric heard the pause after his comment, he realized that whatever answer came next was about to make him feel like a huge asshole.

  “He was killed in action last year,” Brooke said.

  “Brooke, I'm... I'm sorry to hear that.”

  It was all he could come up with—a heartfelt “sorry” that she was no doubt tired of hearing. That was one thing the military was really good at: beating a dead horse.

  “Thank you,” Brooke said.

  “What can I help you with?”

  “The last time Jason spoke about you, he said you were training to become a Navy pilot.”

  “That's right.”

  “Did you make it?”

  Eric looked to his left at the massive F-15 jet and adjusted his flight pin.

  “You could say that,” Eric answered.

  “I was hoping for a favor.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “I'm trying to get myself and two children out of San Diego and over to North Carolina to stay with my sister.”

  “I'm not really that kind of pilot, Brooke.”

  “It's getting bad here, Eric. I'll take anything.”

  “Look, I have a briefing I need to run to, but once I'm done, I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises, okay?”

  “Thank you, Eric.”

  “You're welcome.”

  He stuffed the phone in his pocket and headed inside the ship. So far it'd made for an interesting day. Whatever this debriefing was about that had the captain forced out was sure to add to the excitement.

  For a moment, Brooke let herself believe that things were going to be all right. She didn't like having her future in the hands of someone else, let alone someone she barely knew, but if it got her family out of here, then so be it.

  Shouts and screams from downstairs caused Brooke to shift gears. Her feet thudded against the wooden steps as sh
e hurried down.

  “Hey, knock it off, you two,” Brooke said.

  The yelling didn't stop. Brooke let out an exasperated breath and trudged back down the steps.

  “Take it back!” Emily said.

  “You shouldn't have taken them!” John said.

  “It's not true!”

  “You know it's true! Don't pretend like it isn't!”

  “What is going on, you two?” Brooke asked.

  “John said that I never cared about Dad,” Emily said.

  Emily’s eyes started tearing up, and the hardened resolve she had showed just moments earlier started to wash away.

  “John, why would you say something like that?” Brooke asked.

  “Because it's true! She said that she took Dad's dog tags to school today. She doesn't deserve to have them. She never cared when he was gone. She never worried what could happen to him. The only time she ever did anything was when he came home,” John said.

  He was pointing at his sister, his own eyes becoming red. His voice cracked, and his lip quivered.

  “I missed him every day! I still miss him!” John said.

  Brooke pulled her son close, and John's shoulders shook as sobs left his body. She held him tight and rocked him back and forth.

  “I know you miss him, honey. We all do,” Brooke said.

  Emily wedged herself between the two of them and buried her face in Brooke's hip.

  “We're okay. We're going to be okay,” Brooke said.

  5

  Brooke kept Jason’s phone close. She paced the kitchen tile, staring at its home screen, waiting and hoping that Eric would call. The kids were in the living room watching television after making amends with each other.

  She had forgotten how hard Jason's passing was on John. He’d never really gone through the grieving process to handle what had happened. He just closed himself off. She knew part of it was hormones, but regardless, it was a lot to handle for a fourteen-year-old.

  The phone buzzed in her hand. “Scratch” appeared on the screen, and Brooke brought it to her ear hastily.