Surviving The Collapse Super Boxset: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction

by Roger Hayden

  Nidal overheard and groaned. “Tell him to start walking. There’s no reason we should have to go so far.”

  Ghazi, who had already expected a walk from the earlier coordinates, attempted to suggest the idea. “Why don’t you meet us halfway?” He released the voice button when Nidal began whispering to him.

  “Especially,” Nidal said, “if he’s going with us anyway. Who is he to make such demands of us?”

  Craig’s voice came through, unwavering. “I’m not leaving this area until I know that my family is safe. Period. You want me? You want this laptop? Make the walk.”

  Then, more static. Ghazi tried to get him back on the line, but there was no answer.

  “Careful, Ghazi,” Nidal said. “We could be walking into a trap.”

  Ghazi looked around semi-nervously. He held his arms up and shouted out to the militants, “Spread out farther! We need to cover more ground.”

  The militants did as they were told, expanding to a length of over one hundred yards. With the growing and unmistakable tension in the air, they marched on, ready to eliminate anything and anyone in their path.

  Craig knelt behind an exceptionally wide oak tree that provided plenty of shade from the sun. He kept his eyes forward, expecting to see the advancing militants at any moment. He considered their arranged meeting to be rife with deception on both ends. For all he knew, Ghazi and his unknown number of militants were only minutes away. He felt fortunate to have put the trip wire into place—his most important element of surprise.

  Husein sat propped against another tree fifty feet behind Craig, holding the AK-47. Upon Craig’s signal, he was to take a position flat on his stomach, concealed by the tall patch of grass surrounding the tree, and be prepared to fire. Craig had briefly instructed him in breathing and aiming techniques, and had told Husein that once he received the signal, to keep firing, if only to provide a distraction.

  “Are you good over there?” Craig asked, looking over to Husein.

  Husein gave him a thumbs-up, trying to put on a good face. “I feel a little sick,” he said.

  “What?” Craig said with his hand to his ear.

  “Nothing,” Husein answered. “Just not feeling well.”

  “Everything is going to be okay,” Craig said. “Just remember what I told you.”

  Husein nodded. “These people scare me. I hate them.”

  “You’d have to be a fool not to be afraid, Husein. And I’m not too fond of them either.”

  They continued to wait, talking to each other in brief comments, and as Craig’s stomach growled, he realized that they had missed breakfast. Things had happened so quickly, they completely overlooked eating.

  A twig snapped in the distance. Craig rose to his feet and looked out. Nothing but trees and bushes as far as he could see. Craig took comfort in the fleeting moment of tranquility before the expected carnage.

  Craig looked at his watch: just after the half-hour mark. It was 11:10. Not even noon, yet he was facing terrorists bent on revenge. Nick’s laptop rested on the ground next to him. He had quickly explained to Rachael that if anything were to happen to him, she had to take the real laptop and get it to the FBI.

  She wouldn’t dignify the suggestion, insisting that anything happening to him was not under consideration. With the threat of death in the air, Craig wondered how his family could ever go back to normal. But they were all alive, and they had each other, which was more than he could ask for. With his eyes locked on the clearing ahead, Craig placed his pistol on the ground behind the tree and stood up. It was time to give them the signal.

  He picked up the laptop and walked ahead to an open spot in the forest where he had set up a pile of sticks, moss, and leaves. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it. The flames started out small but soon spread into a fire just large enough to be seen from a distance. He fanned the flames, creating smoke that drifted up, smelling of old brush. Husein watched curiously as Craig turned around to face him.

  “Be ready! They should be here any minute.”

  Husein’s face was stricken with panic. Craig could feel it within himself too: an increased heart rate, a hotness in his face, and sweat building at the back of his neck. He picked up the radio and called Ghazi.

  “Do you see the smoke yet?”

  A moment passed without response, then came Ghazi’s grainy voice over the radio.

  “We see something. Yes. Smoke ahead.”

  “Follow the trail ahead. You’ll find me standing here by a small fire, unarmed and with the laptop.”

  “Yes, we’re getting closer. I can see the flames.”

  Craig lowered the radio and squinted ahead. There, coming out of the trees he saw camouflaged militants approaching, wearing flak vests. They were spread out and moving in a straight line like a search party. He stood firm and resolute, ready to do what was necessary.

  Showdown

  The row of militants advanced toward Craig as a small fire burned at his feet. They were getting close to the first trip-wire trap, carefully set up between the trees roughly ten feet in front of Craig. As they approached, Craig looked around to make sure he wasn’t being surrounded. Husein was concealed behind a tree twenty yards away in a thick patch of weeds. Each militant was armed with a semi-automatic rifle. One of them had a shotgun. He counted twelve of them in sight—their numbers lower than Craig had feared.

  So this is all you could muster, Allawi? he thought to himself.

  He saw the man in the middle of the flank clutching a radio in one hand and a pistol in the other. He assumed him to be Ghazi, the voice on the other end. And when he saw the man speak into the radio, the suspicion was confirmed.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” Ghazi said through the radio. “We’ve got you locked-on.”

  Upon seeing Craig, the militants raised and aimed their weapons and shouted to each other in Arabic, converging ranks and moving in closer.

  “That’s far enough,” Craig said into the radio. But the men kept moving in—now mere feet away from the trip-wire in their path. Ghazi didn’t seem to be relaying the message. Craig lowered the radio to his side and held out his hand. “That’s far enough!” he shouted.

  Confused, the militants stopped dead in their tracks and looked at Ghazi for guidance. Rather than yelling back, Ghazi spoke into his radio.

  “What is this all about? Where’s the laptop?”

  Craig tossed his radio to the ground and shouted out to the group as a whole. “I have the laptop right here.” He knelt down and picked it up from the grass. Nick’s blue HP laptop glistened in the sun. He hoped they wouldn’t know the difference.

  Ghazi shouted back. “Lift up your shirt and spin around. We want to make sure you are not armed.”

  Craig lifted his T-shirt halfway and turned around, exposing his bare torso and back.

  “Lift up your pant legs!” Ghazi said.

  Craig bent down and pulled his jeans halfway up at the leg.

  Ghazi appeared satisfied. “Good. We have nothing more to discuss here. You will come with us just as planned.”

  “Wait one minute!” Craig said. He knew at that point, things were going to escalate.

  The militants paused and looked at Ghazi, awaiting orders.

  Ghazi shouted back to Craig, “What are you up to? We could shoot you right here on the spot. You’re in no position to make demands of us.”

  Nidal leaned close to Ghazi to offer advice. “He has the laptop. What are we waiting for? Let’s move in and take him.”

  Ghazi raised his hand, urging restraint. His eyes darted past Craig as he looked for anything out of the ordinary. He then looked at the blue laptop suspiciously. Were they being lured into some kind trap? He didn’t underestimate what Craig was capable of.

  “We need to move.” Nidal said.

  Ghazi snapped at him. “I’m in charge here! I’ll say when we move!”

  To the left of them, Hafan rolled his eyes. “What are we waiting for?” he asked, leaning f
orward and looking down the line. Others offered murmurs of support.

  “Looks like you have some disagreement in the ranks,” Craig said into his radio.

  Ghazi scanned the area ahead, looking for anything, traps even, but didn’t see anything but patches of weeds, grass, and twigs in his path. He then signaled to Craig. The militants remained fixed in position. “Let’s go. Come. We haven’t got all day.”

  “I want some reassurances first,” Craig shouted. “That if I go with you, my family will be left unharmed.”

  Hafan, in disbelief, whipped his head around to Ghazi. “Is he serious?”

  Ghazi didn’t respond. He looked at Craig, and with his arms outstretched in an open and magnanimous way, told him, “I promise that your family will not be hurt if you come with us. Okay?”

  “Not good enough,” Craig snapped.

  Ghazi’s face flushed with anger as the other militants stared at Craig wide-eyed and astonished by his defiance. “So it is games you wish to play?” Ghazi asked.

  “Not quite,” Craig answered. “What I want is for your men to go back the way you came. The FBI are on their way right now. Tell Allawi I’m not playing his game.”

  Craig set the laptop down in front of him and backed away. “Here, take it and get out of here.”

  Ghazi’s mouth dropped. Nidal clutched his shoulder. “What did he just say? The FBI?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Ghazi asked Craig.

  The militants were confused, angered—exactly what Craig wanted. In the far distance above they heard a faint booming from above as they began pointing and talking excitedly. The aerial sound grew louder and more distinctive: blades chopping through the air. A growing realization began to sweep over them. Ghazi looked up and then tilted his head toward Craig.

  “What have you done?” he asked, appalled.

  “Only what was necessary,” Craig answered.

  Ghazi’s nostrils flared as his brows knit downward. “You dare back out of our agreement?” he shouted. “My men will slaughter your family like sheep. Are you forgetting about your wife’s parents? They’re as good as dead now!”

  Nidal cocked his shotgun and looked at Ghazi. They were the only two in the group not wearing ski masks. “Enough pointless talk,” Nidal said. “We need to take him now and get out of here.”

  Ghazi looked up. The helicopters in view were marked FBI, and they were closing in, coming low to the ground.

  Frantic, Nidal grabbed Ghazi’s sleeve. “I told you not to trust him. Now we must leave!”

  Ghazi pointed to Craig and shouted, “Get the American! Now!”

  The militants charged at Craig with speed and fury. Craig dropped to the ground on one knee and yelled at Husein to fire just as the first tripwire was breached. Single blasts followed, loud and alarming, like gunshots, from the base of two separate trees as the militants pushed forward, sending them further into a state of panic and fear.

  Some ducked for cover while others ran off to the side, believing they were being shot at. They breached the next line, blasting more .22 shells upon triggering them. Their steadily advancing flank splintered off in different directions, seeking cover. Craig rolled on the ground and quickly crawled to the oak tree behind him for cover.

  Nidal ran at Craig, firing his shotgun in rapid bursts which tore a low-hanging oak branch into pieces. Just as Craig retrieved his 9mm from the base of the tree, Nidal took a shot to the head from Husein. Ghazi threw himself to the ground and crawled behind the nearest tree. “Take cover, you fools!” he shouted to his men.

  The low-hovering choppers sent waves of debris that encircled them in a whirlwind of dust, adding to the chaos. Ghazi, with his chest dug into the ground, held his pistol out and fired repeatedly at Craig. His shots embedded into the oak tree and little more.

  Taken off guard now, the other militants unloaded their rifles in a cacophony of relentless firepower, pinning Craig to the ground. Husein did his best to keep the militants at bay, but he was losing rounds quickly. They couldn’t see him, and weren’t sure where the shots were coming from. But they wouldn’t stay put for much longer, and Craig knew it.

  Having swept the area, the helicopters circled around and flew away just as quickly as they had arrived. Their sudden departure provided another perfect but momentary distraction. Once the air settled, Craig aimed his 9mm and shot at the masked heads he saw peeking out from nearby trees.

  Ghazi crawled away, just after Craig sent three militants to the ground like lead weights. With no sign of Ghazi anywhere, the militants advanced while providing suppressive fire for each other. Craig felt a bullet whiz by his head. Dirt and pebbles flew up from the ground all around him. They were getting closer, and Husein had stopped firing.

  “Keep firing!” Craig shouted.

  “It’s jammed!” Husein shouted back.

  Craig turned his head back as sweat ran down his forehead, stinging his eyes. From the ground, he could see Husein pulling at the stuck charging handle of the AK-47. One of the militants suddenly bolted to the side, firing a shot and hitting the stump of the tree just above Craig’s head. Craig fired back and struck the man in the chest, hitting his plate, and knocking the wind out of him.

  As the man fell on his back, Craig aimed and hit him dead-center in the head. Random shots rang out from Craig’s other side. He could see Nick’s laptop lying on the ground ahead, cracked opened with several holes through it.

  “Shit…” he said under his breath.

  One man brazenly ran out from cover and tried to get the laptop. Craig fired shots into both kneecaps, sending the wailing masked militant down, and his rifle tumbling into the dirt. Five militant bodies lay about, and five remained alive. Ghazi was nowhere to be seen.

  Craig took notice of Husein’s weapon malfunction.

  “Slap the side of it,” Craig shouted to Husein as he struggled with the rifle.

  Without Husein’s suppressive fire, the remaining militants were becoming more daring and quickly advancing from their concealed position.

  “I’m trying!” Husein shouted.

  Suddenly a shot rang out and hit the ground next to Husein’s arm. Then another. He rolled to the back of the tree and hid, shaking in panic.

  “Don’t give up, Husein!” Craig shouted.

  He looked into the forest, past the clearing where the militants had taken cover, and he fired at anything that moved. His pistol clicked, and he ejected his empty magazine and loaded the next. The choppers flew a quarter mile away, nearer to his cabin. Craig was temporarily relieved, but the fight wasn’t over. It was up to him and Husein to take them out.

  Husein ejected his magazine, slapped the side of the rifle and pulled back the charging handle. The ejecting port opened, and the jammed round flew clean out. He put the magazine in, pulled the handle back, and fired straight ahead just as four men, sensing a chance, dove from their concealment in pairs and charged at Craig from both sides.

  Husein’s rounds tore through the legs of the two men running to Craig’s right. He rose up and fired at the two militants running at him from the left. The men rolled onto the ground, kicking up dirt and rocks. If Craig had counted right, there was one left, but he still hadn’t seen Ghazi.

  “Hold your fire!” he yelled to Husein.

  “I’m out of ammo anyway,” Husein answered back.

  “All of it?” Craig asked.

  “It was only one magazine.”

  Suddenly, a shot rang out and flew through the tip of Craig’s shoulder, causing him to drop his pistol.

  Craig pushed his back against the tree to avoid the spray of bullets, as blood oozed from the wound on his shoulder.

  A single brass round lay in the grass near Husein, glaring under the sun. Shaking, Husein grabbed the round, jammed it in the empty mag, slapped the mag into the rifle, and fired—scoring a direct neck shot. The shocked militant dropped his rifle and flew back, clutching his throat. His back slammed against the ground as he choked on the warm blood r
ushing out of his neck and mouth.

  The echo of gunshots faded into oblivion. Craig aimed forward, scanning the area for Ghazi. Had he fled to save himself? Bits of Nick’s laptop lay about on the ground and Craig knew that his son would be angry. But if the laptop was their only casualty, Craig could live with it. He kept a careful eye out, his pistol extended and his breathing slow and steady.

  “Ghazi! It’s over now. You might as well come out.”

  There was no response.

  “You coward. Come out and face me!” After a moment’s silence, Craig ran in the direction from which the militants had come, hoping to catch Ghazi before he made it back to his vehicle. He stopped, hearing a faint pop in the distance back toward cabin. The helicopters were still winding down, and he was certain that only one person could have set off that tripwire. He turned around and ran back, storming past Husein.

  “To the cabin. Move!” he shouted.

  Husein rose from the ground, covered in leaves, and grabbed the rifle. He tried to catch up, but Craig was already well ahead and sprinting back to the cabin where he was sure they were in danger. Despite his exhaustion, Husein ran on, hoping that everything was over.

  Rachael was at the kitchen window with her .38 in hand. Her knees were shaking—her throat as dry as sandpaper. The faint shots in the distance sounded terrifying. Fear gripped her heart and she felt sick. Not knowing what was happening was even worse.

  The front door was barricaded with a dresser from the bedroom and the living room couch. Mattresses had been placed in the bedroom windows. Nick watched from the other side of the living room, peeking from behind the curtains. The front deck was empty and a glimmer of blue from the lake could be seen past the rows of thin elm trees.

  “We need to go out there and help him!” Nick said as he turned from the window. “He needs us!” Despite his calmness only minutes before, Nick now was growing frantic, as he realized what they were facing.

  “I promised your father we would stay here.”

  “I’m going out there. Give me your gun.” Nick walked toward the kitchen with his hand out.