Lights Out EMP Thriller Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  The rifle landed out of reach from both of them, and she watched Doug scoot toward the weapon. She tried reaching for the grenade, but with Edric on top of her she couldn’t squeeze her hand underneath her back to grab the explosive.

  Edric punched her cheek, the blow numbing her already swollen face, immunizing her to the next vicious hit. He grabbed her collar, lifting her up, and she saw two faces circling around in her field of vision. “You’re a dead woman.” He shoved her back down, and her head slammed against the concrete. He kicked the end of Doug’s chin and knocked him away before he could reach the rifle. Edric picked it up and tucked it under his arm. “And once I kill you and your husband, I’m going to hunt down your kids. I’m not going to rest until I’ve erased every last shred of your family from this earth.”

  Wren lifted her head, rolling to her side, and brought her hands to her back, looking as though she was cradling the pain Edric had inflicted, but her hand wrapped around the lump at her waist. She looked to Doug, whose mouth bled, and the two made eye contact.

  “And when I kill them, I’ll be sure to let them know that it was their mother that let this happen to them.” Edric aimed the rifle at Wren, his finger on the trigger. “I can’t wait to see the look on their faces.”

  “You won’t get the chance.”

  Doug lunged at Edric once more, and he spun around, shooting Doug in the head. The distraction lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to give Wren time to pull the pin on the grenade. She released the lever and tossed it toward Edric and then scrambled in the opposite direction. She heard him shout something, but in her frantic pace she couldn’t decipher it. She made it two steps when the sounds of the gunshots suddenly intermixed with a pain in her back, and she felt her body run cold as she collapsed to the ground. The adrenaline subsided, and the last thing Wren remembered hearing was the explosion that ripped Edric to pieces.

  Chapter 13 – One Month Later

  Iris paced the floor restlessly. Ben sat in the corner, frozen. Nathan drummed his fingers nervously on the table’s surface. All three of them had the same anxiety etched on their faces, though the roots of their apprehension differed.

  “I don’t like it.” Iris stopped, saying the words aloud to the room as much as herself. “I don’t like the idea at all. It’s too soon for something like this.”

  “Everybody’s for it,” Ben replied. “It’s what she would have wanted.” The mustache on his upper lip curved downward. “And if we’re going to do it, then we need to start now.”

  “Ben’s right,” Nathan replied, chiming in, ceasing the percussive drumming. “We haven’t had any contact from anyone on the outside since Edric was killed. We don’t know who’s out there, and we need to find out. We need to start establishing a connection.”

  “And what happens when people want what we have?” Iris raised her eyebrows. The grey in her hair had whitened, and the age lines across her face had grown more prominent. “We’ve just got this place back on its feet.”

  “All the more reason to start now.” Nathan stood. “We’re stronger than we were before. We can help.”

  “It’s what she would have wanted,” Ben said.

  Iris lowered her head. “I know.” She rubbed the creases on her forehead, the loose skin rolling between her fingers. “All right.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We’ll start sending scouts to look for people. But we do not make contact until we’ve observed them. I don’t want us taking any chances with anyone until they’ve been fully vetted.”

  “Agreed,” Nathan said.

  Ben nodded and softly repeated to himself that it was what she would have wanted. The three of them left their chambers and stepped back out into the town hall. Their population was less than half of what it was when they arrived, but the fence had been finished, supplies had been recalculated, and they still had more than enough to last for a few years.

  Iris smacked her gavel, calling everyone to order. “We have listened to and heard everyone’s opinion. And based off of the community’s voice, we shall start looking for others to bring to the camp. Anyone that comes to us will be given asylum, but thoroughly vetted and closely monitored.” She reached for the gavel but hesitated. She twirled it in her hands then set it down. “I know many of you were moved by what Wren Burton did for this community. By all she sacrificed. Humanity should never be something that’s lost in times of crisis. It should only be strengthened. Our actions shape us. How we conduct ourselves will shape the future. And though she is gone, we will keep her spirit within all of us.” She lowered her head, a smile gracing her lips at Wren’s memory, then smacked the gavel.

  ***

  Reuben cracked his knuckles then turned the spit outside the cabin. The four rabbits crackled, and the grease from the meat sizzled into the fire below. Chloe sat on his right, while Addison was on his left. “Should be done soon.”

  “I’m starving.” Chloe threw her head back and overexaggerated the throwing of her arms. “It smells so good.” She leaned closer, but Reuben pulled her back.

  “Easy now. We don’t want to cook you.” Reuben patted her on the back and reached for the spit, slowly, still recovering from his fight back in town. He tore into the charred flesh, and determined with a satisfied grunt that it was done. “All right. Time to eat. Zack!”

  A log split in two, the axe wedged right in the middle. Zack looked over from the logs of firewood and limped over, his leg still acclimating to the freedom from his cast, not all of his strength completely returned. “Smells good.” He took a seat next to Addison, wiping his hands on his jeans, then playfully wiped them on Addison’s hair, which triggered a squeal and a giggle.

  “All right. That’s enough, you two,” Reuben said. “Chloe, why don’t you run inside and get the rest of the party, huh?”

  “Okay.” Chloe jumped to her feet and sprinted as fast as her tiny legs allowed. Before she went inside, she ran her fingers over the old bullet holes in the cabin walls and then pushed the door open. The cabin had grown even smaller from the sudden increase in occupants, but never had it felt more like a home. “Mom, food’s ready.”

  Wren looked up from the pistol on the table and smiled. “I’ll be out in a minute.” Chloe disappeared back outside, and Wren tucked the pistol in her holster and pushed up from the chair gingerly. Bandages protruded from the collar of her shirt and she walked slowly, the effort of breathing still difficult from the gunshot wounds.

  Outside, Wren found a seat next to Zack. The girls split one of the rabbits, while Reuben, Zack, and she had their own. She closed her eyes as she bit into the meat and cleaned every last morsel off the bones. Once they were done, the kids played, and Zack returned to the firewood. “If you get tired, sit down. Don’t push it too hard.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  “He’ll be okay,” Reuben said, tossing the bones into a pile. “You’re sure you still want to go tomorrow?” He raised his eyebrows. The wounds on his face had mostly healed, and the beard helped cover up what hadn’t.

  “Yeah. It’s time.” After the attack on the camp and Edric’s death, she awoke in the infirmary with her kids surrounding her and Reuben sitting in the corner. It was nearly an hour before all the tears had dried. Once Doug was buried, they left the community and returned to Reuben’s cabin. Though Iris and the others were more than supportive of having them stay, she couldn’t. It was a part of her life she needed closed. And with Reuben’s help and a large supply crate from the community, they had everything they needed. And even if they didn’t, the community was only a day’s journey. “We’ll start with some of the smaller towns. See what we find there.”

  “It’s risky. We don’t know what it’s like out there anymore.”

  Wren watched the girls play, chasing after one another with sticks, then looked to Zack splitting wood. Everything had changed. But they needed to move forward. “It doesn’t matter what we’ll find. Whatever it is, we’ll be okay. If it’s broken, we’ll rebu
ild it.” She turned to Reuben and smiled. “It’s time to start putting the pieces back together.”

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story! Enjoy the rest of the boxset!

  Writing has always been a passion of mine and it’s incredibly gratifying and rewarding whenever you give me an opportunity to let you escape from your everyday surroundings and entertain the world that is your imagination.

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  Again, thank you so much for letting me into your world. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it!

  Take care,

  James Hunt

  Grid Down

  Two Months After

  West of the Hudson River, the village of Nyack, New York, had changed drastically in the two months since losing electrical power. The once-busy downtown Main Street of local shops, coffee houses, and diners had become virtually deserted. Cars lined the streets, long abandoned—some with their doors hanging open. The normally idyllic town was absent its residents, who had simply fled in droves.

  The streets were deserted, and the sounds of vehicles, leaf blowers, and lawn mowers had been replaced with silence. Stray dogs roamed in packs. Shops along Main Street stood vandalized with their windows smashed in and shelves pillaged and emptied.

  Shattered glass was strewn across the sidewalks in a layer of tiny broken pieces. The sky was a desolate gray, much like the town itself. But only a few of months ago, the streets were bustling in this modest cornerstone of Rockland County, and in one brief second, everything had changed.

  That morning, a small group of outsiders passing through were on a desperate search for supplies. The four men, two women, and two children were far from home and hoping to reach their destination before nightfall. They heard that help awaited them there. Their leader, a Baptist minister, named the Reverend Allen Phelps, had remained loyal to a dwindling parish, promising to get them somewhere safe. With the guidance of God, he believed anything was possible.

  They had received a broadcast through an old emergency radio with directions to a disaster relief center, twenty-five miles from Clarkstown, their hometown. They had been on the road for one day, in search of assistance, tired, hungry, and nearing the end of the water supply in their canteens.

  “We’ll find help soon enough,” Phelps said, leading the group into downtown Nyack. His boonie cap shaded his bearded face. He carried a walking stick as his parishioners followed closely behind. Their shoes crunched against the broken bits of glass covering the ground.

  Harvey and Beatrice Wilson were a couple in their fifties. Behind them was Dale Ripken, a landscaper from Westchester County. And at the end Zach and Erin Brantley walked with their two children, Tyler and Sloane. They moved quickly down the street past the trash and vandalism saying very little. There were dangerous people out there. That much they knew.

  Reverend Phelps believed that they could very well be facing the Apocalypse. On September 16, 2016—the day of the blast that destroyed the power grid—many people had simply vanished. Phelps’s group had no idea what had happened to their friends and loved ones. They had no clue how far things had spread. And they had no idea what was out there. They were a vulnerable group, and Phelps knew what people were capable of, especially during times of crisis. Dale carried a .40 caliber Glock 22 pistol for protection, but violence was the last thing anyone wanted.

  The sky thundered. The clouds above had darkened. As they passed another shop in ruin, Phelps stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead sat a man in a lawn chair with his head tilted up and a black fedora covering his eyes.

  They weren’t sure what to think of the gray-haired, leather-jacket-clad mystery man before them as he made no notice of their presence. Phelps turned to Dale. “Let’s check it out.” He turned to the others. “Stay here. We’ll be back.”

  Glass crunched under their shoes with each step. The man in the chair made no movement. He was a tall man with long legs, wearing boots and jeans. He had some light stubble on his face and gray hair tucked into his hat. As they neared, the man moved his head, looked at them, and spoke.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Welcome.”

  Startled, they both froze in place.

  “My apologies. We just wanted to make sure that you were OK,” Phelps said.

  The man tipped his hat at them with a smile. “I was just taking a little rest.” He then stood up from his chair and stretched. “But seeing how I’ve got visitors now, let me introduce myself. My name is Arthur Jenkins, mayor of Tartarus.”

  Phelps and Dale looked around, confused.

  “I’m sorry, where?” Phelps said.

  Dale pulled out his map. “I thought we were in Nyack.”

  “Oh,” Jenkins said. “We changed the name not too long ago.”

  Phelps went on and introduced himself.

  Behind his glasses, Jenkins eyes widened. “A pastor, aye? Welcome to my town, Reverend.”

  “And I’m Dale Ripken.”

  They shook hands as Jenkins looked behind him to their group waiting at the end of the sidewalk.

  “Who are your friends?” he asked and adjusted his glasses.

  Phelps turned around and held his hand out in their direction. “That’s my parish. We’re just passing through and looking for a relief center.”

  “Yeah, we’re from Clarkstown,” Dale added.

  Jenkins put his hands on his hips and looked upward, nodding. “Well, I don’t know anything about some relief center, but you’re welcome to stay in town. That is, if you have something to trade.

  Phelps and Dale looked at each other with uncertainty.

  “We don’t really know,” Phelps said. “Running a little low on supplies ourselves.”

  Jenkins seemed undeterred. “You know it’s a barterer’s world out there now.”

  Phelps scanned the area for others. “Indeed it is.”

  Jenkins stood at over six feet. They were skeptical of him and wondered where all the townspeople had gone. He then pointed to the road ahead, which forked in two directions.

  “The quickest way out is right down that road there and take a right at the fork. You’ll even find a park with a pavilion and everything. Some nice shelter from the coming rain.” Jenkins paused. “Where is this relief center located, anyway?”

  Phelps thought to himself. He was hesitant about revealing too much of their plans. “Somewhere close to the city, I imagine.”

  “New York City?” Jenkins said, astonished. “Heck, you couldn’t pay me to go near that place right now.” He examined the men and then smiled. “But don’t let me hold you up.”

  “Thanks,” Phelps said. He turned around and signaled to the group with his walking stick. They came forward and met up as Phelps turned to Jenkins. “You have a nice day.”

  “You too. Be safe out there,” Jenkins said.

  The group nodded and waved, passing him by. As they continued on Jenkins called out to Phelps.

  “Hey, Reverend!”

  Phelps stopped and turned. “Yes?”

  “You never asked me where everyone is. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  Phelps look beyond the street corner where Jenkins stood among the ruins of Main Street.

  “I guess we’re just used to it by now,” Phelps said. “Good day.” He waved with his stick and marched on. Jenkins watched the group as they continued up the road. He didn’t take his eyes off them.

  Phelps moved quickly without looking back. A noticeable gap formed. Dale jogged forward to catch up. “I think maybe you should
slow it down some,” he said.

  Phelps continued as his walking stick clinked against the pavement.

  “Reverend, please.” Dale moved in front of him, blocking him. Phelps stopped.

  Harvey and Beatrice caught up, out of breath. “Why are we moving so fast?” she asked.

  The rest of the group were just as curious.

  “Who was that man back there?” Zach asked, walking up. “What did he want?”

  The group slowly looked back to see if the man was still on the street corner watching them. He wasn’t.

  “We need to keep moving,” Phelps said.

  Thunder echoed through the sky louder than before.

  Harvey chimed in. “I say we go back and try to round up some food.”

  “Not with that man around,” Beatrice replied.

  Harvey waved her off. “Ah, he’s just a harmless weirdo.”

  Dale opened his map again. “Interstate’s the other way,” he said, pointing ahead to the fork in the road.

  “That man, Jenkins, said to take a right,” Phelps said, pointing with his walking stick.

  “Screw him,” Dale said. “That’s not what this map says.”

  He went left at the fork as the group followed. They passed empty vehicles and stopped at a nearby guidepost. Dale stopped and looked at the map, then back to the guidepost.

  The sign had an arrow for the interstate pointed in the opposite direction they were heading. “Something’s not right here,” Dale said.

  Zach pulled a compass from his pocket. “We’re headed west, right? Well, we’re going the right way then.”

  “Maybe the other way’s a shortcut,” Harvey said.

  “Or a trap,” Dale said.

  “Oh please,” Harvey quipped.