No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset

by J. S. Donvan Donvan

  The woman with the dead husband was nowhere to be seen. Led off by Harper’s assigned escorts, presumably. Nonetheless, the wrecked car’s hood still boasted a stain of crimson on its silvery paint.

  Clenching their wounds, men and women of all ages and clothed in everything from ratty shirts and shoes to business casual--along with a few children--funneled into the two tents planted on the reserve center’s short lawn. Inside of one, a soldier stitched up a six-year-old girl’s slashed arm. She winced, exposing her pink gums where her two front teeth once resided. The soldier wiped his brow with his bushy forearm. Toward the back of the line, others paced back and forth, taking angry drags from their cigarettes. A few shadier characters lingered on the opposite side of the building. Their eyes were on Harper and her men as they trekked out of the front doors.

  The number of civilians had multiplied since the initial blast, Harper noticed. She didn’t feel guilty seeing the army’s supplies used on the less fortunate. This was their war zone now. Eyes squinted, Harper scanned the crowd. Their enemy could be anyone.

  Her eyes wandered to the parking lot. Her 2004 Toyota Tacoma remained where she had parked it a few hours before. She frowned and regretted getting a car made in this century. Memories of her son playing in the backseat repeated in her mind. Her pace quickened.

  The small platoon cut through the fresh automobile graveyard. Tall skyscrapers interrupted the burning rays of the morning sun. The square reserve building slowly shrank away in the progressively urban cityscape.

  Pedestrians watched them curiously, sharing chants and whispers with one another while the soldiers continued past the droves of vehicles violently fused bumper to bumper. The owners still tirelessly tried their phones. Others popped their hoods and scratched their heads. A few Good Samaritans assisted a family out of their crinkled car and tended to their bleeding foreheads and glass-ruptured skin. Outside the gore and destruction, it was pleasant to see selflessness. It’s only the second hour, Harper reminded herself.

  The sergeant knew more than the average citizen and her fellow soldier regarding military extraction, contingency plans, and the results of societal collapse. With her knowledge came a creeping feeling of shame, as she had learned such things from books, manuals, and secondhand accounts studied throughout her years, not by hands-on experience. Nonetheless, her paranoia-driven pastime might save her life and the lives of her family. At least that was what she hoped.

  The crowd grew dense around her and her men as they marched farther into downtown. Famous American monuments peeked out from behind a few buildings, and with them came muffled noises. Clearly outnumbered and underpaid, the police frantically patrolled, broke a large crowd, and pointed direction to a well-dressed wayward man to the nearest hospital. A woman begged them for answers, but as ordered, the officers kept their lips sealed. Puffing, the woman turned her hostile eyes to Harper, but the sergeant’s look quickly turned her away. With an attack seemingly moments away, the last thing this city needed was unnecessary panic.

  Eventually, they reached the split in the road, and Harper turned to Corporal Bennett. “You’re in charge now, Corporal. Get our men to the Georgetown center. I’ll meet you along the way.”

  Eli, here I come.

  Chapter Three

  Fire Rising

  Stress, fatigue, and sweat ruled Harper’s body. Without her cardio training, she’d probably be slouched on a curbside, gulping air. That wasn’t the case. She ran on.

  The sun climbed higher in the summer sky, and the streets grew dense with people. Giggling children played hide-and-seek in the vehicle junkyard. With their little arms and legs, they crawled onto a crashed blue pickup and raised their fists to the sky in accomplishment. Running out of the local convenience store, the grizzly owner roared. The kids laughed and screamed as the angry man chased them away.

  Not far from them a diverse mass of people circled the police station, swarming the front doors. An officer, flanked by two allies, tossed his fried megaphone aside and yelled out into the loud, apprehensive crowd.

  “Remain calm…” Waves of noise drowned out his speech. “… doing our best to keep… order… Return to… homes. No questions at… time.”

  A great big red tour bus parked at the curb. Its riders bickered with one another in a foreign tongue. Wearing matching tees and caps, they turned their eyes from Harper’s army uniform to her face. They shouted, but she kept moving.

  Her shoulders lurched back with a thud. A boy, no older than her son, reared his head back after knocking into her and continued his desperate sprint. Greasy bangs fell before his tired eyes as the sun glinted from cuffs that bound his wrists. Three police officers pursued him on foot, shoving against Harper and the haughty tourist.

  Harper turned a corner. More hot bodies crowded the pavement. This time they were corpses being yanked from obliterated cars. Clenching limp wrists, shirtless men lifted a woman’s body from the sunroof. Smoke and gasoline fumes soured the air around Harper as she dodged the line of cadavers meticulously placed on the searing sidewalk.

  More noise. More confusion. More fearful people. Washington, DC, was a fluid city hours ago, but now it was clogged, smashed, and filled with frustration. The tall skyscrapers and imposing office buildings bowed in around Harper, constricting her. She wanted out of the concrete cage but pressed in further, down the arid streets and toward the city’s heart. The White House, the Pentagon, or wherever else the attack may be, Harper headed that way. Her son’s school wasn’t far now.

  Harper cut down Fifteenth Street to Vermont Avenue, passed St. John’s Episcopal Church, and crossed H Street. In a long barricade, the police fortified themselves outside the White House, which probably still ran on reserve power. They darted between units, performing commands and shouting some of their own. We’re back in the dark ages. On top of the majestic white building, the American flag twisted and tossed in the fall wind, trying to break free from its pole.

  The high school entered her view. Along the streets, perplexed businessmen and women with loosened ties pouted outside their powered-down offices. Their complaints regarding Wi-Fi and lost work were drowned in the wind.

  Harper finally arrived.

  She slowed in front of the redbrick building. Its architecture leapt onto the streets from a bygone era. Three stories tall and expertly well kept, The School Without Walls, or “Walls High School,” as her son called it, had a boxlike appearance and a bell tower with wooden window blinds. A building extension with a modern vibe jutted from its side, boasting tall windowpanes and a slick design. At the “older” building, a set of stairs ascended to two front doors that were red and windowed. The doors to the “modern” entrance were black and glass.

  An angry, potbellied man wearing slacks and a Hawaiian shirt slammed his fist against the door. “Excuse me!” His roar sent a vibration down his second chin. “Hello!”

  Not far from him and tucked in the awning’s shade, a posh woman with voluminous hair filed her nails with quick, angry strokes.

  “I’m hungry,” the button-nosed six-year-old boy next to her complained. Hands lost in his pockets, he kicked a rock down the stairs.

  “They have to let us in, right?” A twenty-something-year-old asked. His natty dreadlocks were banded together in a bustle of chestnut ribbons that flowed down the back of his loose Pink Floyd shirt. Locked at the stoner’s elbow was a free-spirited woman wearing a low-cut top and nodding in agreement. “They can’t keep my brother locked away like this. It isn’t Alcatraz.”

  Potbelly continued slamming the door. “Hello!”

  “Hey, pal,” a roguish man in a pinstriped business suit yelled back at the large man. “Whatever you’re doing isn’t working.”

  Looking at her perfect nails, the posh woman spoke. “Thank God I’m not the only one.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Fuming, the large man shoved his finger against the businessman’s chest. “Shut your trap.”

  Harper let her jog
fall into a power walk as she neared the front door. The six strangers quieted, watching her bump up the two concrete steps. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Whole school is in lockdown,” the businessman said, hiking his thumb back to the door. “Say, you’re with the military, right?”

  “Army, yes,” Harper replied.

  The posh woman turned her sly gaze to Harper. “What’s going on?”

  “Yeah, why’s everything, I don’t know… not working?” Dreadlocks asked.

  “Are we under attack?” his girlfriend shrieked. “Oh my God, we’re under attack!”

  The others went white.

  “Can we go now, Mommy?” The boy tugged at his mother’s soft shirt.

  “It’s finally happening.” The potbellied man mumbled. “The invasion’s begun…”

  Harper intervened. “Everyone--”

  “Open the door!” The fat man smashed his hand against the door. “Open the door!”

  On the sidewalk, a crowd of people of people swarmed around them. “What’s going on?” one asked.

  “There’s been an attack,” the posh woman said, her voice trailing, and she wobbled in place, on the verge of fainting.

  “Listen--”

  “Solar flares!”

  “No, no! EMP, think about it!”

  “We’re being hacked! That’s why everything’s failing.”

  “It’s the Chinese.”

  “Russians, you idiot.”

  “Why isn’t the army doing anything?”

  “Can’t you see? It is the army.”

  “Are they targeting the schools? Oh my God, they’re targeting the children!”

  And on and on and on until the endless questions, statements, and accusations became a blur of voices trapping Harper in a vortex of verbal chaos. She was the enemy, some said. She was the ally, fought others. Harper clenched her fist. Sweat heated her body. She drew in air. It felt toxic.

  “Everybody! Quiet, please!”

  Her voice sliced through the streets and noise. The shouts died down, murmurs soon after. All fearful, bloodshot, desperate eyes were on her. The street went quiet. Harper calmed her breath.

  “You’re scared. I get it. For yourself, your children, your jobs. One moment, everything’s fine. The next, cars are crashing, your stock reports are down, no power, no communication, no lights. Complete silence. I would be lying if I told you that I wasn’t terrified, too. I have a son of my own. A career I care about. A country I’d die for. But as a sergeant in the United States Army, I can tell you that we have this under control. Yes, I believe we were attacked--”

  A breath-sucking gasp rippled through the crowd.

  “But we are still standing. I promise this electronic failure is only temporary. The army, the president, and National Guard have America’s finest fixing this as we speak. What I ask of you--no, what your country asks of you, is to return to your homes, look after your loved ones, and remain calm. We are a strong nation, we are a strong people, and we will overcome this.”

  Agreeing nods and exasperated sighs blew throughout the crowd. Formulating small conversations, the strangers not waiting for their children vanished down the street.

  “Not bad,” the businessman said, a smile curling up his lips.

  “I haven’t felt that nervous since my high-school graduation speech,” Harper replied honestly. “Let’s see about getting our kids.”

  Patting down his cherry face with a handkerchief, the larger man stepped aside. “Good luck.”

  Harper reached the door and pulled. Locked. Figured as much. She pressed her face and hands against the glass, cupping them to see into the dark room. Her spent breath misted the glass. She bounced from foot to foot in hopes of minimizing the pain of her throbbing calves.

  “I’m thinking about leaving,” the businessman said to no one in particular.

  “She says it’s going to blow over, man,” Dreads replied.

  The businessman spoke lowly. “Let’s be real here. This is the government we’re talking about.”

  Movement in the darkness. Harper knocked against the pane. A woman--plump, colorful, with a graying bun of hair and studious glasses--sheepishly approached the door. She tried communicating with Harper, but the words were muted by glass.

  “Open. The. Door,” Harper mouthed to the brunette.

  Everyone hushed.

  With a sharp squeal, the door cracked. The woman scanned the outdoors nervously. “I can’t let you in,” she said in a low whisper. Her nose crinkled when she noticed the others. “We’re in lockdown until further notice.”

  “My son, Eli Murphy, sophomore,” Harper replied. “I’m getting him out of class.”

  The bookish woman twiddled her thumbs and averted her eyes. “I-I can’t do that. Apologies.” In a flash, the woman yanked at the door handle. Harper caught the rim. Her fingers separated metal and metal. “Believe me, I understand the students’ safety is paramount, but I need to see my son.”

  “Ma’am, release the door.”

  Harper thought of Bennett, of her responsibility to her subordinates. The time she’d already spent. Harper inched the door open. The other woman’s strength paled to her own. “I have the right to see my son.” She reminded herself of James. Their phone call. Their fractured relationship.

  The little woman’s lip quivered. Beneath her glasses, frustrated tears nestled in her big eyes. “I’ll get the principal.”

  Harper released her grasp and thanked her. The door shut. The woman hurried into the darkness.

  “Ugh.” Voluminous Hair giggled as the posh woman threw her head back. “It’s never ending.”

  The businessman cocked a grin. “Hey, at least she made more progress than fatso.”

  “Screw you.” Rage turned the rotund man’s face red.

  The suited man chuckled, drew an e-cigarette from his shirt pocket, and tucked it in his slender lips. His brow crinkled when it didn’t work.

  “Mrs. Murphy?” A tall, gaunt woman opened the door and slipped outside. Her frizzy brown hair grayed at the ends, and she wore a blue shirt under a black blazer. In the daylight, her jade brooch was as sharp and green as Harper’s eyes. “I’m Principal--”

  “Andrews. We met at orientation.” Harper sounded much more crass than she would’ve liked.

  The principal sent a cold gaze across the others parked at her school’s front door. “I understand that all of you would like to see your children. However, with the current outage, we’ve been advised by the local PD to initiate a school-wide lockdown. No one comes in or out.”

  “Never would’ve guessed.” The posh woman shook her head.

  “All students will remain in the building until we are instructed otherwise.”

  Harper massaged her temples. Just what I needed. “I’ll be frank with you. The National Guard is probably going to have the whole city in quarantine before nightfall.”

  The civilians’ eyes went wide.

  Harper planted her feet. “I want my son out. Please.”

  After a long moment, Andrews knocked her knuckles on the glass. The bookish woman cracked it open.

  “Find Eli Murphy. Be quick about it.”

  The plump woman nodded in affirmation and returned to the void.

  Andrews turned her gaunt gaze to the others. “One by one, what are your children’s names?”

  Only the dude with dreadlocks and his girlfriend thanked Harper. The rest continued complaining after Principle Andrews returned inside. It didn’t take long before the plump woman was waddling hastily out the front door.

  Alone.

  Her big eyes looked at her toes as she spoke. “Eli hasn’t been seen since homeroom. He’s prone to… excusing himself before the final bell.”

  Harper’s stomach dropped. “Where did he go?”

  The woman shuffled her feet. “I-I’m not sure. A few students claim that he went to some summer music festival… Others shrugged.”

  Harper’s forehead wrinkled. Skip
ping school, a concert probably brimming with drugs--Harper would have words with her son. “Do you know where this festival might be?”

  “The National Mall, I think. Yes.” She remembered. “Closer to the Washington Monument. That’s what I read in The Loafer a few days ago.”

  It was a mile-and-a-half run from the high school, if Harper estimated correctly. From her location, she couldn’t make out the historic buildings. She thought of her unit and clenched her jaw. Damn it, Eli. She turned back to the woman. “Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

  A distant bang. A rumble.

  The woman looked behind her, slack jawed and pale. Harper twisted back.

  Like a cobra rising for a strike, a thick column of black-and-silver smoke billowed into the indigo sky. It cast up from behind the building before them. A sharp pain stabbed Harper’s chest. She could guess its origin.

  Chapter Four

  Tears of Our Forefathers

  Terror gripped Harper when she heard the noise. Hundreds of cries melted together in a horrid wave of bloody terror and agony. It bounced from the buildings’ walls, over the stopped vehicles, and into any open ear. She found similarities to the unified cry of cicadas, but even that paled in comparison to the wails of the dying that currently blasted from the National Mall. She forced herself to listen, hoping and not hoping to hear her son’s cry for help. A pipe dream amidst the chaos.

  Down Virginia Avenue, fear froze the faces and beings of men, women, and children ogling the gray mass wafting up into the late-morning sky. For the first time since the initial EMP blast, the people were still. But not Harper.

  She darted down the sidewalk, twisting her torso sideways in order to squeeze between stricken spectators. She passed through the crosswalk, pressing between a disastrously crashed dump truck and Prius. Skipping over broken car plastic and bent metal, Harper tried keeping her mind on running, the simple idea of movement. The smoke expanded in the distance, overtaking grass and a screaming bystander sprinting with a body stained in blood and soot.