No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset Read online

  Table of Contents

  No Power Super Boxset

  EMP No Power

  EMP No Power Book 1

  EMP No Power: Book 2

  Static: An EMP Thriller

  Static: Fade to Gray

  Static: Blackout

  Grid Down

  Grid Down Book 1

  Grid Down Book 2

  Broken Lines: EMP Survival

  Broken Roads

  Broken Ties

  Broken Lives

  No Power Super Boxset

  Copyright 2017 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.

  EMP No Power

  J.S. Donovan

  Chapter One

  Lights Out

  The deafening alarm of a reversing forklift ricocheted off the high, windowless walls. Fingers struck a distant desktop keyboard while the hasty boots of untested privates clacked against the stained concrete floor. Other soldiers grunted as they heaved crates to their designated locations, and pens slashed against filing cards. Above the chaos and clatter, Sergeant Harper Murphy owned the room. With respectable posture, she patrolled through, clipboard in hand, taking stock of MREs and water bottles. She compared numbers, jotted down a note, and called over Private Walker.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” the boy replied. Seemingly unaffected by the cool AC, sweat glued his stubby bangs to his freckled forehead.

  “You’re in charge of the rations, Private Walker. Am I correct?” Harper asked sternly.

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Harper presented the clipboard, placing her finger on the number. “Then why are we short twelve MREs?”

  The boy struggled to keep eye contact. “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  Harper glared. “Find the box, Private. Don’t make me ask again. Dismissed.”

  Walker thanked her and turned away, his strut morphing into a worried jog the farther away he went. Harper sighed, remembering the words of her commanding officer: You’re not their friend. She never liked that, especially since she worked with them day in and day out, but as she was a non-commanding officer, authority was the duty and burden she would continue to bear as she advanced through the military’s ranks.

  A buzz rattled her pocket. She slid the phone out far enough to see the number. Oh great. Tucking herself behind a caged shelf, Harper answered the call. James repeated her name twice before she replied. She couldn’t erase the image of him and that bar bimbo, drunk and stripped of their clothes.

  “You can’t keep me from seeing my son, Harper.” His voice was laced with venom.

  With a watchful eye to the bustling warehouse, Harper suppressed her voice. “Eli’s old enough to make his own decisions. If he wanted to stay with you, he would.”

  She heard the quick suck of air as James pulled his mouth from the phone, probably to stifle a curse. Muffled chatter passed by him. He returned to line, desperate. “When is this going to end?”

  More activity on his end. Muffled laughter. Indistinguishable music. A bar. Harper shut her eyes and breathed in through her nose.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Good-bye, James.”

  “Harper, come on. Can’t we be adults about this--”

  Her finger lingered on the phone’s button for moment. The perfect, stubble-enclosed smile and joyous eyes of James’s picture peered up at her. She missed the times when that brought her comfort.

  Boooosh.

  In a blink, Harper’s phone, the lights, and the AC cut off. Forklifts crashed into crates and slashed the darkness with radiant rays from their headlights. Worried dialogue filled the room. Feeling her way across the caged shelf, she placed herself to where she believed she faced the room. “Everyone, calm down!” At her command, the voices died. The forklifts hummed.

  Harper pressed her way into the middle of the room. “We’ve had a momentary power outage. Everyone is on standby until I state otherwise. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, Sergeant!” they shouted back.

  Harper ran her hand through her auburn hair as she contemplated different scenarios.

  Private Walker approached her. “Excuse me, Sergeant.”

  Harper granted him permission to speak, and quickly, for that matter.

  “My phone was at full power and now…” He hiked his thumb back. “Bennett is dealing with the same problem. What’s happening?”

  Harper turned to the computer. Off. The room started heating up. AC’s off, too. Thinking, Harper fished her key ring from her pocket and activated the pocket laser pointer. Broken.

  “Sergeant?”

  Ignoring Walker’s question, Harper beelined for the door.

  She burst into the hall, letting her memory be her guide. Her heart violently smacked against her ribs. She passed by a few COs and bolted out the front door.

  Under the blazing morning sun and thick, drifting clouds, twisted metal and crunched cars vandalized the streets. A woman screamed and pulled at her husband’s sleeve. His limp body was cast across the hood, and the windshield was broken. Other people cursed, trying their phones and getting no response. More shouted at each other, passing blame like the bubonic plague. The windows of glistening skyscrapers were blacked out.

  “Sergeant Murphy.” A familiar deep voice filled Harper’s ears. She turned to Commander McCulloch. Sunlight bounced off his medalled chest and bald head. He frowned heavily, and although he’d mastered the art of emotional concealment, there was worry in his eyes. “You were not given orders to leave post.”

  Harper couldn’t look away from the wailing woman and her bloodcurdling cries. “Sorry, sir.”

  “Return to your post. Keep your men calm.”

  “Yes, sir.” A shiver ran down her spine, and an uneasy feeling conquered her gut. As she passed the blacked-out buildings, her eye caught the solitary spire that was Washington’s historical monument.

  DC was silent. Harper knew the signs.

  EMP.

  Chapter Two

  The Second Hour

  Disbelief would have been the word to describe Harper’s state of mind. That was, if she could bring herself to speak. She always believed in the possibility of an EMP, but to see it, to soak it in…

  The powered-down city of Washington, DC, bombarded her with torrents of regret. Distant cries and wispy fingers of smoke filled the sky. I should’ve prepared more. She trembled. I should’ve talked to Eli. Mapped out a contingency. Militaristic knowledge of lockdowns and martial law tore through her mind. She knew she needed to get her son out of dodge. And fast.

  “Sergeant Murphy,” Commander McCulloch said, his tone lighter but still grasping Harper’s attention. “Law enforcement will handle it.”

  The wailing woman sunk down next to her unresponsive husband. Her cries turned to whimpers, and a stranger shrouded her with a blanket. There would be no ambulance, no EMTs, no organized help. They glared at Harper and McCulloch, waiting.

  “They need help, sir.” Harper’s heart labored as she watched them, and imagining the death toll from the last moment caused corroded breakfast to claw up her throat.

  “And they will get it. But not from you.”

  “Sir, we’re all they’ve got.”

  Cracks formed in McCulloch’s stony gaze as he brought his silver eyes to the fresh widow, a little boy with a busted forehead, and a dozen other wounded stranded in the street only yards from them. His steel resolve broke. “Screw it. Ra
lly your finest. Have them gather first aid, tents, whatever can be used as a gurney from the supply cache. We’ll set up temporary emergency medical tents here and here.”

  Harper’s legs moved with purpose as the bulky man spoke. Wind gusted through her short auburn hair as she bumped up a step.

  “Get a squad prepped for civilian escort,” McCulloch’s voice boomed. “These people need immediate medical assistance.”

  “You can count on me.” Determination born of fear and loyalty ignited in her being.

  “I know,” McCulloch said as Harper vanished inside.

  Doors slammed shut, blocking out the light. The darkness of the hall enveloped her. Her boney knuckles went white the harder Harper clenched her fist. Fire burned in her core. One that she only ever felt when the crashing weight of responsibility splashed upon her. A silent pact to her country--to her subordinates--signed itself in the confines of mind.

  As she felt her way a corner, faint whispers of doubt caressed her ear. But what about your son? Are loyal to him? A heavy pit formed in her stomach. An image of her son crushed and broken between two twisted, cadaverous cars filled her mind. A mother’s nightmare, nothing more. Still, ever-pressing gloom weighed heavily upon her, sucking her breath away.

  Harper’s men were where she had left them, waiting anxiously in the light of the forklift. She took a deep breath, contemplating whether or not to reveal the truth. A troublesome quandary, as both would result in panic. She let focus ready her.

  “Listen up!” Harper asserted her authority. “From what I know, Washington, DC, has just been impacted by an electromagnetic pulse.” The men exchanged worried looks. “Before you ask, no, there has been no word as to what or who could have caused this attack.”

  The privates murmured with one another. Harper crossed her arms and tapped her foot. They took the hint and returned their attention.

  “Outside, there are men, women, and children in need of serious medical attention. Believe me, I’m no open-heart surgeon, and unless someone’s got some hidden secret”--she noticeably glanced at Private Walker, sending a light chuckle bouncing around the circle of frightened men--“I don’t expect any of you to be either. So this is what’s going to happen: everyone with first-aid training or who wants to take a break from sorting MREs in the dark, raise your hand.”

  Meaty hands sprouted up from the crowd. Harper quickly called out a handful, sending half outside and the others off to gather supplies.

  “Green, Duncan, Stone.” She designated three men from the mass. “You’re dependable. I’m relying on you to get the severely injured civvies to the nearest hospital. Draft help from the peds if needed.”

  They bobbed their heads agreeably, processing the information. Within moments, they bolted out the door. Harper fixed her uniform’s sleeve rolls and wiped sweat from her palms on her camo pants.

  Beneath a squiggly wrinkle and woolly brows, Lieutenant Hanks peered in the room and, with a hurried wave, gestured Harper to follow. “I want this place lit and working when I get back.”

  “Yes, sir!” A collective reply.

  Hand-cranked lanterns cast blooming circles of light across the oval table. Shadows danced across the decorated walls. The conference room seemed a lot larger and more ominous in the odd lighting conditions, and worry and heat lingered potently in the air.

  Harper sat across from the ever-brooding Lieutenant Hanks, who locked his fingers together on the cool tabletop. Commander McCulloch stood at the head of the table with his knuckles planted on the curving rim. As an NCO, Harper never really had an opportunity to get to know her commander personally. Nonetheless, they shared a bond of friendship and respect based on shared ideals and competence. Most of their previous interactions had started and ended with McCulloch’s infamous down-to-earth morale speeches, usually centered around supply and its importance. Though many mocked his urgency, Harper pursed her lips and took his words to heart. “A day will come we will fight. Until then, we will support our fellow warriors.” She believed it. She believed in him.

  “We don’t know who caused the attack,” McCulloch started. “But it’s big. Maybe World War Three big.”

  Hanks grunted in annoyance. “Do we know anything?”

  “We know our communications are down. We know the Guard is probably soiling themselves, and we know there’s been no other attack.”

  “Yet,” Harper spoke up. “Permission to speak?”

  Harper Murphy bounced her eyes from man to man in the airless room. “I believe the EMP was activated on the ground. Otherwise we would’ve seen it coming. So whoever did it… they’re still in the city.”

  Eyes locked on the table, McCulloch nodded. Faint light reflected on his sweaty bald head. “You might be right, Murphy. They wanted our grid down for a reason. Now that they’ve succeeded, we can expect an attack.”

  “So what do we do?” Lieutenant Hanks grumbled. His nose twitched to catch a tumbling bead of perspiration.

  The commander tapped his fingers on the table, the cogs in his mind practically visible. “We load up and ship out,” he finally said. “Our company is small enough that relocating to Riverdale shouldn’t pose many problems. US-1 is going to be a mess, so we’ll have to stay on foot and work our way around.”

  “Are you sure? What if the National Guard needs help and we’re eight miles away?” Hanks complained. “Or the people outside we’re giving government-issued supplies to--a stupid idea, if you ask me--when we hightail it out of here?”

  The commander glared at him for a moment. “You’ll keep the peace, Lieutenant. I’ll leave you with a small a platoon, while the rest of us will merge in with the larger reserve center. If the Guard needs our help, we’ll have access to assault weapons and functional vehicles. Let’s pray to God we won’t need them.” He turned his silver eyes to Harper. “As for you, Sergeant Murphy, I’m going to have your unit head to Georgetown. There, you will meet up with the recruiting office and order them to transfer here. After which, you will rendezvous with me at Riverdale. That should keep this place functional.”

  “Yes, sir,” Harper replied. Though it was her home city, she couldn’t escape this unusual feeling of panic and dismay. The conflicting swirl of confidence, immediacy, and accountability didn’t help.

  They spent the better half of the hour discussing various ways to keep the center and makeshift medical facility running in their absence. Lanterns every so many feet, no heavy machinery, retake inventory of every crate in case of emergency extraction, proper documentation regarding used medical supplies, et cetera. Though it was the first time Harper had been able to give direct input to the other COs, her son kept robbing her of her thoughts. Eli was sixteen now. He fed himself, did the dishes unprovoked, and made his own decisions without going through his mother. But fear put her heart in a vise grip whenever she imagined him alone in the blacked-out city soon to be bombarded by an unknown enemy. Her leg bounced under the table. The longer she sat in the conference room, the more utterly useless she felt as a mother. Her only hope was that his high school would be on her way.

  After the meeting, she waited until it was just McCulloch and her. “Sir, may I make a request?”

  He sat hunched over a yellow legal pad, the tops of his fingers drumming softly on his lips as he reviewed the notes in the dim lantern light. “You may.”

  “My son, he’s… his high school isn’t far off from where I’ll be heading.”

  With indecipherable eyes, McCulloch looked up at her. “You want to pick him up?”

  “With your permission, yes, sir. If this city gets quarantined, I’d feel better with him by my side.”

  “We all have loved ones we want to look after, Sergeant. I got three little ones of my own.” A smile of sweet reminiscence bloomed on his round face. “Do you think it’s fair that your boy should take priority over everyone else’s?”

  His words felt like a jab to the gut. “I’m not asking to leave. I’m asking to take him to Riverdale with us.
He’s a bright kid, and if there’s an attack, we’re going to need all the help--”

  “Murphy,” he interrupted. “Riverdale’s going to be chaotic with people coming and going. If your son happens to find the back door unattended, I guess I’ll have no choice but to enlist his help. Neither will the other COs.”

  She could’ve given him a hug. Hell, even gone as far as planting a kiss on his sweaty cheek. Instead, she smiled, said, “Thank you, Commander,” and headed out the door.

  Soldiers moved to and fro, setting up lights and shouting commands. Harper headed back into the supply room. Following orders, she had her men park the forklifts, take up hand-cranked lanterns, and start testing electronic equipment. Ninety-five percent was being tossed into the “junk” pile. Private Walker and a few others double-checked the supplies in every crate and confirmed the contents on the notecard that slid into the clear side pocket. After a good fifteen minutes, everyone knew their place and worked fluidly. Hands on her hips, Harper looked over her well-oiled machine.

  Within the controlled chaos, she pulled aside Corporal Bennett, a tall man of twenty-four with broad shoulders and a defined angular face. He’d been under her supervision since she could remember and constantly showed great promise.

  “We’ll be heading off to Georgetown soon,” she told him. “On the way there I’ll be making a quick detour. During that time you’ll be taking charge.”

  He acknowledged her command but was startled by the unexpected responsibility.

  “Keep your head on straight, and there won’t be any complications,” she told him.

  Within the hour, McCulloch was ready to march. He would take forty-eight of the men directly to Riverdale. Harper would take her sixteen to Georgetown while Hanks remained in this center with the remaining eight men.

  After a brief speech and briefer good-bye, Commander McCulloch ordered Harper to leave first while they stuffed their backpacks full of supplies.

  Stepping lightly and holding a lantern in hand, Harper headed for the far door at the end of the black hall. The artificial light bouncing across the walls made her shadow dance. With the patter of her men’s footsteps near behind her, she reached the door and pushed it open. Sunlight blasted her.