No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset

by J. S. Donvan Donvan

  “We take it to the end,” James said, interpreting Harper’s regret-filled expression. “You still have the satchel?”

  Harper nodded, her eyes lingering on the combat.

  “Good,” James replied. “Brandy will join us.”

  Before they could step out, Harper found her forces treading back to her position. Sawyer and her knocked shoulders. She twisted back, seeing more of her allies falling back to the Humvee. The police officers grouped up on one side. Brandy’s men encircled them like student spectators in a schoolyard brawl. The people from Brighton outside the circle were quickly slaughtered. Harper traded looks with her friends roughly in the forty-foot diameter. Animalistic survival overtook Brandy’s people’s chaotic, carefree demeanors. They snarled and huffed at the remnant of Harper’s army. She looked up to the third-story window of the factory. Brandy and Mary’s silhouette watched.

  “Cowards,” James grumbled.

  “No. Intelligent,” Sawyer replied whilst taking a step back. “Unlike us in coming here.”

  A third silhouette appeared in the window and stopped next to Brandy. Harper held her breath. Eli. Relief and terror sparked inside of her, and the thought came that it might be the last time she would see her son. Harper let herself breathe. That isn’t going to happen. She unsheathed her machete.

  Brandy’s people stepped forward. The few savages that Cowl let walk previously maneuvered to the front of the line. One had a broken cuff dangling from his wrist. They all shared the same numb stare. Harper returned her attention from the factory upper window to the enemy flanking her. “Sawyer, James, Dustin? You have my back?”

  “Yeah,” they replied.

  “Cowl, Yoakley, Winested?”

  “Sure do.”

  Harper’s fingers tightened around her machete. “Let’s finish this.”

  As soon as the final word escaped her lips, the dozens of Brandy’s savages charged. Harper turned off her fears, her doubts, every distraction. What remained were the men in front of her. That became her focus. Her target. The victim of her machete’s bite. She hacked, slashed, parried, and ducked. Her strikes were brutal and efficient. Rain drizzled her. Sometimes it was cold, other times it was warm. She felt pain and then nothing but the swing of her arm. The ground around her became crowded and disjointed. Bodies of allies clashed against her shoulder and back. Dead or alive, she knew not. Her attention remained locked on her front. One man, two, three, five. She lost count. They kept falling and her arm turned numb. After a few seconds, she could feel her muscles strain and almost rip all the way up her arm. The world turned into a surreal nightmare. Reality felt like a distant memory. Rain kept on pouring. The next target appeared.

  Her attacks weakened. Her slippery machete got knocked from her hand, its curved point stuck in the ground. A corpse collapsed on top of it. A flat-nosed man with curly hair and blue t-shirt swung a meat cleaver at her. She caught his hand with both of hers and rammed her knee into his groin. The man staggered. Harper’s fist slammed into his throat. He stepped back, but the savage woman behind him shoved him back into the fight. Harper sent her knuckles against his jaw. He swung at her. She put her left arm up and felt a sharp stinging slice across her forearm.

  Ratta-tat-tat! Ratta-tat-tat!

  Gunfire.

  Harper imagined her old platoon and Commander McCulloch coming to rescue her. The men and women combatting her took on the appearance of insurgents. The world was simple again. Good versus evil replaced the suffocating battle of survival. She stood, back to the Humvee, with little hope of moving.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  The man with the meat cleaver’s face changed from war savagery to fear. He swiveled around and desperately ran in the opposite direction. Bullets zipped from the camp’s wall of fire and drilled into the man’s back. He shuttered and slammed into the dirt.

  Waves of water cut through the inferno, creating a gap in the bright blaze. From the other side, Nana stepped through. She tossed aside a tin water bucket and drew the holstered, sawed-off shotgun from her hip. Her dream catcher earrings and braided hair blew with the wind. One of Brandy’s savages charged her. She lifted the shotgun in one hand and blasted him. The man flew a yard back.

  Out from the wall of fire, another figure joined the fight: Leonard. He fired multiple shots with an antique Ruger into the enemy. He locked eyes with Harper. For a moment, the battle seemed to stop. The older man swung his free hand up and waved it forward with passion.

  Funneling out from the fire, dozens of men and women from Hamsburrow holding both firearm and melee weaponry rushed around Leonard like he was Moses. They clashed into Brandy’s people with brutal jabs. More stepped from the fire, shooting hails of bullets into the enemy. Being hit from both ends, Brandy’s circle around Brighton’s forces shattered. In perfect chaos, they engaged enemies from both fronts. Some dropped their weapons and scattered into the woods. The rest would hit one man but get stabbed by another.

  Harper looked at the revived battle with confidence. She grabbed her left forearm, touching the sensitive flap of meat peeled back from her exposed muscle. Groaning from the god-awful pain, she re-closed the skin back to its intended position. A tingling feeling vibrated under her skin. Sparkling spots induced by pain flashed in her peripherals. Sickness lodged in her throat. She shook her head to keep it in the fight.

  Levi and Dustin and the police officers ran past her and pursued the fleeing enemy. Someone knocked into her back. James. His shirt was tattered and a few buttons were torn out of the casual button up, revealing the shallow slashes on his hairy chest. He looked her up and down with heaving breathing. His eyes were dark and his brutish expression proved that his mind hadn’t left the battle. When his brown eyes met hers, the expression smoothed. His arched brows evened out and his eyes watered.

  “We’ll deal with it later,” Harper said when he looked at her arm.

  Her husband nodded, planted a light kiss on her forehead, and retrieved a lead pipe from the pile of bodies. He looked at the fight continuing around them.

  “Get our son and blow this place to hell,” he said and, with a noticeable limp, plunged back into the chaos. Before he stepped into the first fight, he turned and gave her a soft smile.

  Harper turned to the factory. The glowing upper window beckoned her. No silhouettes. She quickly adjusted the satchel strap that ran from her shoulder to her opposite hip and jogged for the front doors.

  The bullet-riddled metal doors slammed behind her, projecting a metallic ring through the quiet factory. Harper stood before tables of weapons, food, and empty backpacks/suitcases with note cards reading “Brighton.” Harper’s battle fatigue lessened when she looked upon the corner of the room designated for Brighton’s stolen supplies. She withdrew the C4 from her satchel. In case we lose, Brandy, so do you.

  Keeping an eye on the catwalk up ahead, she knelt at the first four support beams on the main floor and stuck the C4 on it. She slid the non-electric blasting cap inside the explosive bar and secured it with tape. She swiftly set the next three and approached the basement door. The key ring rested on the counter nearby, probably abandoned once the fight began. She picked it up and opened the basement.

  Traveling down the cramped and dusty stairwell, she arrived in the dank, dark room. Only the faint candlelight from the factory main leaked inside the room. Something scurried in the blackness. Harper’s hand became her eyes and she walked across to a nearby side table, gripping the cold grip of a candelabra. She used the lighter in her pack to light up the three wax candles jutting from the silver handle. Rows of large dog cages ran the length of both sides of the room. Curled up and underdressed, a woman her age stared at her with sleepless, fearful eyes from inside the cage. Harper angled the candelabra so its light would carry through the room. In each cage, a woman looked back at her, starting from the oldest being around fifty to the youngest, who looked about twelve.

  Harper gawked, wanting to vomit. Wanting to cry. She fought her emotions and unl
ocked the first cage. The woman crawled out. She shivered and hesitated in taking Harper’s hand. Once Harper got her to her feet, she handed her the key. “Get the rest of them out of here. Quickly.”

  The woman looked at the stairway with longing, but compassion took her when she turned back to the other cages. She knelt before the first lock and started unlocking. Harper waited until two were open before bouncing up the stairs, her mind on Brandy. She slid the detonation trigger in her back pocket and headed for Brandy’s office.

  The wind and rain had killed the few candles in the main room, but Harper could still navigate to the metal stairs leading to the second floor. Her right palm slid up the coarse handrail. Her left arm had gone completely numb. Outside, lightning struck. The millisecond strobe cast light through the shattered windows and on Mary standing at the top of the steps. Her jet-black hair, cut into a bob, blew gently across her heart-shaped face and intensely gorgeous, deep-set eyes. She lifted the tactical shotgun up to her shoulder. Harper sucked in her breath. Blackness returned as soon as it left.

  Without another moment of hesitation, Harper vaulted over the handrail. Her injured arm almost failed her and made her go dizzy. A shotgun blast tore right by her and blew a hole in the floor.

  Harper smacked the cold floor, bruising her breasts and chin. She forced herself up with both hands, unable to stifle a cry of pain.

  The shotgun blasted a foot behind her. The gun cocked. A shell casing bounced down the stairs, followed by the sound of Mary’s shoes.

  Clenching her wounded arm, Harper dashed behind the nearest support beam. Chunks of concrete exploded off its side as the scattershot punched it.

  Harper grimaced and mouthed a scream. She let go of her arm and pulled her pistol from the belt holster. Breathing through the nose, she listened for Mary. Footsteps. Left side. She leaned out of cover and fired two shots into the dark. They pelted the back wall. Another shotgun blast sounded, blowing off another chunk of Harper’s cover. She dashed for the next support beam. Another shotgun blast. Harper’s ears rang. She counted to herself. Four. She ran to the next support beam. Two blasts from the dark. Six.

  Mary moved swiftly. Her footsteps zigzagged. Harper listened. She twisted, spotting the pregnant woman at her flank.

  Boom!

  Harper’s back hit the floor harder than she had intended. Mary walked over to her and let the shotgun hang on at her waist. The eye of its barrel hung a yard and a half away from Harper. A small wisp of smoke snaked out of the opening. Harper slid her pistol just out of reach and showed open palms.

  “Sorry,” Mary said with unapologetic smile. “There can only be one queen B.” She pumped the shotgun. A shell casing ejected from the side. “I’ll comfort your boy tonight. Losing a mother can be a terrible thing.”

  The pregnant women pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Mary reached into her pocket and grabbed a shell. Harper had already aimed her pistol. The shotgun clacked on the ground.

  Harper forced herself to her feet, keeping the gun trained on the woman. Her finger slid over the trigger. “Where is Eli?”

  Mary gulped. “Upstairs with Brandy. He’s waiting for you, but I can talk to him. He does whatever I say.”

  Harper glared at the terrified woman. “Run until you can’t even see the state of Virginia, and keep running. If I even hear about someone matching your description, I will find and kill you. Understand?”

  Mary frowned and nodded.

  Harper looked at her for a moment. “What are you waiting for?”

  Mary nodded and darted to the factory’s back door. Harper trained the gun on her until the pregnant woman had vanished into the storm.

  Harper lowered her pistol and gripped her bleeding arm. She lurched over, ready to vomit. She spit and rubbed the remaining saliva from her lip before turning her attention to the second floor platform. Forcing herself to move, Harper marched up the stairs. Every step closer to Brandy’s office was another step to saving Eli and ending this war. She could almost feel of the warmth of the fireplace in the cabin James had promised. The false heat turned quickly cold as she neared Brandy’s office on the other side of the metal walkway. The metal creaked beneath her army boots.

  “You have a good heart.” Brandy’s voice sounded from the opposite end of the walkway.

  In an instant, Harper fired a shot down the dark walkway. It pinged on the unseen metal wall on the opposite end.

  Brandy chuckled. His laughter bounced off the walls. “That’s a little unfair. Spare the women and kill the men. You have a double standard, Harper.”

  Harper tried to track his voice, but the factory’s acoustics distorted Brandy’s location. Harper took a small step forward, aiming her gun in the darkness, flinching at the slightest sound.

  “I would’ve killed Mary if I were you. That woman’s dangerous. A femme fatale, some might say. But she has a life inside her, therefore all is forgiven.”

  Harper fired another round into the dark.

  “How do you know she doesn’t just have a potbelly? Some guys are into that, just saying.” Brandy chuckled.

  Movement.

  Harper shot.

  Silence.

  “Helluva shot!” Brandy exclaimed with boyish excitement. “You almost blew your boy’s shaggy head into smithereens.”

  Harper’s stomach dropped. “Eli!”

  “Yes, ma?” Brandy mocked Eli’s voice. “Can you stopped shooting uncle Brandy?”

  Rage boiled in Harper. She moved forward, firing into the dark. Bullets pinged on metal. Harper moved past the middle of the walkway and jogged to the other end and turned the bend, ready to shoot. Lightening flashed. The office door slammed shut. Harper paused near the few steps leading to the door. She waited for a moment, hearing the sound of her own breathing and the echoes of battle outside.

  Teeth chattering, Harper hiked up the first step. Creeeeeak!

  She closed her eyes, sucked in air to steady herself, and claimed the second step. She heard shuffling on the other side of the door. She kept her gun trained. The weight made her arm tired. She reached the final step and reached for the handle.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Three bullets blew through the wood, splitting splitters and dust at Harper. She coughed and checked herself for any new wounds.

  In a quick sprint, she dashed forward and smashed her shoulder into the door. The old door burst open far easier than she had anticipated, causing her ram to end in a stumble. She ran for a cluster of antique lamps and an uneven stack of chairs. Brandy’s gun fired off, sending a large flame from the barrel. The bullet blew off the leg of a chair, causing the stack to crumple in half. Harper ran to an old cupboard. She peered into the cramped room straight out of hoarder heaven.

  “Like the place?” Brandy asked from out of sight. “Every piece has a history of a forgotten settlement.”

  Harper crawled to a pool table.

  “I’m thinking of moving Brighton’s chapel cross somewhere in the back. I haven’t decided yet.”

  Hand-cranked lanterns lit up the front of the room near the window. The rest was pitch dark. Trophies masked the area where Eli had been during Harper’s last visit. From her current position, it was impossible to know if he was there.

  Harper crept under the pool table and foosball table and into the maze of buck trophies that lay on the ground, faces looking at the ceiling. Their black beady eyes followed her.

  Boom!

  One of their heads burst into a puff of cotton. Akin to running through a field of tires, Harper bounced from foot to foot to get past the trophies. Bullets blew by, blowing apart furniture, museum paintings, and more. She cowered behind the couch roughly two thirds through the long, rectangular room. Getting a clearer view of Brandy’s blackjack table and battle map on top, Harper took aim with her right arm. Her left arm felt like it was being torn from her body.

  Brandy dashed by the casino table. Harper took the shot. It breezed past him, almost hitting the
large window. Harper ducked back down. “Come on. Come on.”

  She ejected the magazine. Empty. Her machete had vanished in the field minutes ago. She quickly scanned her surroundings and grabbed ahold of a rusty pipe running up the wall. Pulling with all her might, she yanked it until the rusted metal bowed outward and snapped. The texture didn’t meld well with her palm, but it was all she had left. That and the detonation trigger.

  Harper stooped low and moved closer to the upper end of the room. A dirty foot stepped into view. Eli hobbled forward. Dozens of puncture wounds dotted his bare, bony chest. Rope rubbed his wrists raw and red. Greasy hair covered his eyes. A cheap eye patch concealed the other. Brandy had wrapped his arm around the teenager to straighten his slouched posture. The ebony revolver was pointed at an angle to Eli’s jaw. The bowie knife dangled from his belt. He grinned. The corpses on the hill where Harper had come from could be seen through the large window behind him. “Don’t keep her in suspense. Say something, dog.”

  “Mother…” the teenager mumbled.

  Harper felt the world spin.

  Brandy’s blue eyes locked onto Harper. “Do you know how hard it is to find a pirate patch when it’s not Halloween? I sent out a few scout parties to retrieve one, but your posse took them out. I had to settle for the el cheapo brand.”

  Harper ignored him and spoke directly to her son. “I’m going to get you home.”

  “Mary wanted to protect his features, but I warned the dog. I always give one warning and whatever happens next, happens.”

  “Brandy, let him go. He has nothing to do with this.”

  The blond chuckled. “Really? Was it not your parental instinct that drove you to attack me?” Brandy paused. “You don’t have a gun, do you?”