Surviving the Collapse: A Tale Of Survival In A Powerless World- Book 1 Read online

  Even in the dark, the bright orange of the federal jumpsuits glowed, a stampede of inmates bolting toward the exit doors and out of the prison halls.

  Another gunshot fired, and the stampede froze from the flash of a gun’s muzzle, but after a quick scream and three more bullets, the shooter was suddenly silenced, swarmed by a mountain of shadows in the dark.

  Dennis’s legs unconsciously thrust him into the rat race. He sprinted through the darkness, the men in front of him guiding the way.

  Shoulders and arms smacked into one another, and Dennis burst through the first set of double doors that led into the mess hall. The rush of men descended the staircase like water cascading down a mountain, and Dennis let himself be caught in the river’s flow.

  From the mess hall, they burst into the visitors’ center, where the stream crashed into the dam of correctional officers that had barricaded the exit doors.

  Daylight shone through the windows, and the officers had flipped the tables in the visiting room to be used as shields. They fired at random, shooting anyone that attempted the sprint from the mess hall toward the exit.

  Dennis sidled up next to a group near the door. The herd of inmates behind was growing, along with the eagerness to escape.

  An inmate broke from the pack, darting through the middle of the room, screaming. The officers opened fire, dropping him onto the growing pile of bodies.

  “Fucking pricks!” an inmate close to Dennis screamed but then tucked himself back behind the safety of the walls. “Goddamn motherfuckers!”

  Another lone wolf broke from the pack. Three gunshots, and he hit the floor.

  Dennis elbowed the men around him, pulling their attention away from the guards. Faces turned in the darkness, some of them viewable, most of them not. “You shit stains wanna get out of this place?”

  “And miss mystery-meat Tuesday next week? You’re out of your mind.”

  The words eased the tension, and a few chuckles escaped tight lips, Dennis’s among them. “If we all rush the doors, we can overwhelm them.”

  “And who do you expect to go first?” a voice asked. “A dead man isn’t a free man.”

  Dennis looked toward the pile of corpses. “We use the bodies as shields. Let the dead guys take the bullets.”

  A few heads nodded, and Dennis echoed his orders up to the front. Inmates reached for the closest legs and feet and pulled them back behind the walls, blood smearing the floor.

  Dennis worked his way up to the front, a few of the guys in the back following him. He grabbed hold of one of the bodies with another inmate and looked to the eager faces around him. “On three!”

  The group tensed, everyone inching forward, the bodies in the back acting like a pressure cooker ready to blow. “One!”

  The officers on the other side braced for the rush. “Get ready to fire!”

  “Two!” A pulse of energy jolted everyone forward a step, the number of inmates joining the rush growing with every breath.

  “Three!”

  The momentum from behind thrust Dennis forward, forcing his legs into a sprint, and he made good use of the dead man that he and another inmate carried.

  “Open fire!”

  Bullets vibrated against the body in Dennis’s hands, and he peeked over the corpse’s arm just in time to see the table come into view. A crash of orange jumpsuits broke the line of tables, and bodies rocketed forward like human missiles.

  The collision caused a crescendo of screams and gunshots, and when Dennis dropped the corpse, he found himself staring down the barrel of a nine-millimeter. He smacked at the hand just before the officer pulled the trigger then tackled the guard to the floor, deafened by a high-pitched ringing.

  The pair grappled, Dennis immediately reaching for the pistol. Two quick jabs to the officer’s ribs loosened his grip, and Dennis yanked the gun free. He fired once, striking the officer’s chest, but Kevlar kept the bullet from its lethal purpose. The air was knocked from the officer’s lungs, and he lay stunned on the floor.

  Dennis aimed for the head then fired again, sending the officer’s brains out the back of his head and across the white tiled floor. He stood, pistol still gripped in his hand, and shouldered his way through the mass exodus of flailing arms and elbows.

  The exertion and adrenaline had turned his legs to jelly, and each step over the bodies being trampled on the floor nearly sent him down to join the dead. But when Dennis crossed the threshold of the exit doors, the warmth of the sunlight was immediately knocked away by winter’s icy grip.

  Dennis froze, the cold overwhelming and shocking as he surveyed the snow-covered trees beyond the prison’s fences. It wasn’t until an inmate rammed into his back that Dennis trudged forward, his movements stiff and slow.

  A few dozen men ran along the narrow corridor of chain-link fences, everyone less than fifty yards from freedom. The last barrier was the chained gate. The inmate next to Dennis turned and smiled at him, puffing wheezing breaths of icy air.

  “You see that? We’re gonna make it! We’re gonna—”

  A gunshot rang out, the man collapsed, and blood splattered against Dennis’s cheek. He looked up and to the right, seeing two guards in the tower with sniper rifles. Men screamed as more gunshots thundered, producing the deadly hail of bullets. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

  Bodies in orange jumpsuits buckled against the chain mesh of the fence, and the first few inmates against the locked gate were shot in the back or the head.

  More and more men tugged at the gate, flinging their bodies against it, as the guards picked them off one by one. When Dennis reached the back of the pack, he forced his way through the huddled masses, waving his pistol above his head. “Let me through! Let me through!” Bodies gave way, and once he was at the front, he aimed for the lock.

  It took three bullets to shoot it off, and after that, the gates burst open, and a sea of orange flooded the snow-covered trees. Gunshots echoed through the forest, cracking the icy air. But after a few minutes of running, and as the sound of gunfire faded, Dennis glanced back at the prison.

  There were still no sirens. No deployment of vehicles. And from what he could tell, they still hadn’t plugged the dam as more and more orange flooded the forest.

  Dennis didn’t know why it happened or how it happened, but the deeper he cast himself into the forest, the more he didn’t care. His mind was already circling the name he scribed on the walls of his prison cell.

  2

  Present Day

  The highway had become a graveyard of abandoned vehicles. The snow that had fallen since the EMP detonated yesterday covered the hoods and roofs, creating tiny mounds of white for as far as the eye could see. And it wasn’t just cars that stopped working.

  Grey skies spit snow onto a world that had ceased to function. No power. No communication. No modern conveniences that so many relied on for food and water and shelter. The world had changed in the blink of an eye, and as it came to a standstill, the masses had worked themselves into panicked frenzies.

  Cities were tearing themselves apart, either from the people fighting amongst themselves or from the terrorist group responsible for the EMP’s detonation. The world had regressed to that primal function of survival; it had also become more dangerous.

  Kate Hillman pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and face and flipped her jacket’s collar up to help shield herself from the cold. She was covered from head to toe, only her eyes visible from beneath her winter clothes. But despite the layers she wore, the cold still seeped into her bones. It was unavoidable, and it was only going to get worse.

  Snot crusted Kate’s upper lip, frozen stiff, and her nose and cheeks were a bright cherry red beneath the cloth. She glanced behind her to the trail of footprints that stretched to the horizon. Somewhere to the north of Kate, her husband and daughter were traveling to the wilderness of upstate New York. She had fought so hard to find them in New York, but their reunion was cut short by her decision to head south.
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  Kate needed to get to Fairfax, Virginia. Her son, Luke, attended George Mason University, which sat on the outskirts of Washington, DC. And if the nation’s capital was anything like New York City, then she needed to get him as far away from that place as she could.

  Both her husband and Rodney had advised her against leaving, but she wouldn’t abandon her son to a terrible fate. And she didn’t plan on walking the whole way, either. She had a plan. It was a long shot, but it was still a plan. But first she had to get to the airfield.

  The wind howled and kicked up snow that blasted Kate’s face, stinging her eyes. Shivers rippled through her body as the cold continued to gnaw at her resolve. But the clock was running, and she didn’t know how much time remained.

  A trip that would have taken less than an hour had transformed into six, which was generous considering her slow pace. And right now, time wasn’t something she could afford to lose. The only positive that she had been able to find in the situation was that the cold and movement had numbed the pain in her hip and ankle.

  After everything that happened, she knew there had to be millions, maybe even hundreds of millions, of people just like her, trying to reunite with their loved ones. The internet and cell phones had made it so easy to connect to anyone, anywhere in the world. But the EMP stole that privilege in less than a second.

  Kate squeezed her hands, pumping blood into them to keep them from getting stiff, but it did little help. She adjusted the pack on her shoulders, which grew heavier with every step. She had loaded herself down with as much gear as she could find at the camping store a mile back, and while Rodney had given her a list of supplies, she wasn’t able to check off everything on the list. Not that she was complaining—the pack on her back already weighed close to sixty pounds.

  After a few more miles were chewed up beneath her boots, the weather cleared up a bit. She looked up to find the sun trying to break through. She lowered the scarf, closing her eyes as she basked in the sun’s warmth.

  But more than the warmth, she was thankful for the light. It made the trip feel less dreary and lonesome. Since her departure from the little makeshift camp on the New Jersey side of the Hudson, she hadn’t seen a single soul.

  Another mile passed, Kate keeping track by the markers on the side of the highway, and shortly after, she spotted the exit for the airfield and smiled in relief. Excited, she reached for the map to check the remaining distance and then paused to drink some water. Despite the cold, the exertion of the walk had caused her to soak her undershirt with sweat.

  The snow crunched beneath her feet, and her steps were slow and close together coming down the icy turnoff. Twice, she skidded half a foot before catching her balance, her muscles burning and her pulse racing. Any injury now could turn deadly. There was no 911 to call, no rescue team that could be summoned to find her frozen and broken body. She was on her own.

  The curve of the off-ramp ended, and Kate veered along the shoulder of the road that would lead her through a small town and then to the New Jersey Scarborough Airfield, home of the annual Scarborough Air Stunt Spectacular.

  Kate had gone to it once a few years back. She’d had a layover in New Jersey and a day to kill before her flight home. And despite the campy fare and homemade signs that acted as the event’s advertisement, she had been glad she did.

  They’d had planes of every size and shape from every era she could remember. She had walked through the airfield like a kid in a candy store, her jaw slack as she’d ran her fingertips down the welded metal of the fuselages of the planes that had flown for decades—DH-4 Biplanes, A-20 bombers, P-38’s, and a slew of commercial planes.

  The fact that people had done so much with instruments so basic in the early years of aviation was always an inspiration for her. History was riddled with talented pilots, some of whom had reached the status of legend, such as the likes of Earhart, Doolittle, and Wien. When she had been at the airfield and saw those planes that they’d piloted, it had been as if she was walking in those legends’ footsteps. And now, like the greats that had come before her, Kate would need to rely on those early tried-and-true methods of aviation.

  All of the electronics that she had grown accustomed to in her big 727s were gone. Along with the control towers, and runway crews, and mechanics to ensure that everything was running properly. It would be the plane, a compass, and a map. But that was really all a good pilot needed.

  Still, she had never flown anything older than a nineties Gulf Stream. And the relics she would have to find without any onboard computers to run them were much older than that. But she’d have to figure it out. There wasn’t any other option. Her son was two hundred miles south, and the time it would take to get to him on foot wasn’t a luxury that she was afforded.

  Kate carefully stepped through an icy patch, her arms thrust out as she kept her balance. She glanced up at the sky, hoping to still find the sliver of sun, but it had once again been swallowed up by the grey clouds that spit a light snowfall.

  The road off the highway offered more of the same view. Broken down cars with their fenders and bumpers smashed into each other. It was hard to imagine so many graveyards like this across the country. Millions of vehicles left impotent from the EMP blast, and Kate wasn’t sure if they were ever going to drive again.

  “Hey!”

  Kate skidded a few inches due to her abrupt stop. She turned, finding an outline of a man through the haze of snowfall. He had his hands in his pockets, a big black jacket zipped all the way to his chin, with a matching beanie covering the top of his head and ears.

  As he grew closer, Kate stepped back. He removed his hands from his pockets and held them up passively.

  “Whoa, hey, take it easy.” Icy clouds puffed from his lips with each syllable. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was under the overpass, and I saw you walk by. Haven’t seen anyone around in a while.” He glanced to his left and to his right quickly.

  Kate’s thoughts went to the gun tucked in her waistband at her back, and she suddenly felt foolish for not keeping it in a more convenient spot to reach. “I’m meeting up with a group.” She blurted out the words, the cold and adrenaline forcing her voice to quiver.

  The man smiled, taking quick steps closer to her. “Mind if I join you?”

  As he neared, his features clarified. A short, unkempt beard was covered in snow, and his exposed hands were weathered and rough. The smile revealed yellow and crooked teeth.

  “What do you say?” the man asked.

  “No, I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

  The man’s eyes betrayed the forced smile as they darted quickly to Kate’s left and then to her right. Before she had a chance to move, two pairs of hands grabbed her by the arms and threw her against the side of a car.

  The force of the impact triggered a snowfall from the roof, and Kate hit the ground on her hip. She tried to stand, but before she could catch her breath, more hands lifted her off the pavement, pinning her against the car.

  Kate shook and thrashed her body as hard as she could, but she couldn’t overpower the two men. A cold sharpness pressed against her throat, and Kate stopped. She saw the handle of the blade in her peripheral vision, held by the man with yellow, crooked teeth.

  “Out here all by yourself,” he said, his breath as rotten as the rest of him. He smiled, looking her up and down as he pressed his body into her. “Such a pretty thing.”

  Kate thrust her knee up quickly and connected with his groin. The knife fell from his hand as he hobbled backward, cupping his balls.

  “Goddamn! Fucking bitch!” A strand of spit dangled from his lips, and he smeared it across the sleeve of his jacket. His friends snickered as he leaned against another car, groaning.

  “Don’t have your cup?” the man on Kate’s left asked.

  “Fuck you, Mitch.”

  Kate focused her strength and gave another burst of thrashing.

  “Hey, now, whoa, let’s calm down, little lady.” Both men moved cl
oser, pinning her arms at her sides and pressing their bodies against her until she couldn’t move. “All that aggression is only going to make it harder.”

  “And make us harder,” the man on her right said, spurts of squealing laughter blasting into her ear.

  “Yeah,” Mitch replied, straightening himself out, a smile returning to his face. “Real hard.”

  The pressure from the car made the gun in Kate’s waistband dig into her back. All she needed to do was get one hand free.

  Mitch wrapped his hand around her throat and thrust her head back harshly, barking to the two guys on either side of her. “Find a car with a big backseat. I don’t want to fuck her in the snow.”

  “Afraid it might get even smaller?” Kate asked, grunting through her teeth.

  The two men snickered, but Mitch brought the tip of his blade to Kate’s jugular. “Find one, now!” They disappeared, tugging at door handles that were locked.

  Mitch applied pressure to the blade, Kate’s skin so cold it was numb to the metal’s touch, but she felt the warm trickle of blood roll down her throat.

  “You know, you’re the second woman we ran into today,” Mitch said, smiling. “The first one wasn’t as pretty as you.” He leaned close to her ear, whispering like an angry lover. “I’m glad I get to go first.”

  Kate flinched from the tickle of his hot breath. All her thoughts ran to the pistol. A car door opened.

  “Hey, Mitch! I think I’ve got one!”

  Mitch laughed, turning his focus to the other rapists, which removed the edge of the blade from her neck, and Kate quickly jerked left, her back scraping against the car she was pinned against, her right hand reaching for the pistol behind her back.

  Mitch’s meaty hands grabbed her left arm, tugging hard at the sleeve. But she had the pistol in her hand now, and she aimed, her finger inching over the trigger. Mitch’s eyes widened at the sight of the gun, and he immediately let her go, but it was too late.

  Kate fired. The pistol jerked wildly in her hand, and the bullet missed, skimming to the left. Mitch ran, but Kate used her left hand to help steady the weapon. She lined up her second shot and fired again.