End Days Super Boxset
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Since this collection is so large the table of contents can be difficult to navigate, so I’ve included the links to each individual series below. Just click and start reading! Enjoy!
Sleeper Cell-Click Here
When a wide network of sleeper cells are activated, America faces a new terror threat unlike anything it’s ever witnessed. At the height of the attacks, one FBI Agent finds himself in the middle of a race against time with an enemy hell-bent on his nation’s destruction
Sleeper Cell-Click Here
Grid Down-Click Here
A small, northeastern town is crippled after a mysterious electromagnetic pulse causes a massive blackout, leaving residents stunned and unprepared. But the loss of power is only the beginning.
Grid Down-Click Here
American Epidemic - Click Here
It’s been a week since deadly Ebola outbreak spread across several cities in the US. The advanced mega-strain of the disease has since infected thousands and counting, and officials are scrambling to respond an unprecedented national crisis. Federal, state, and local governments soon convene to set-up mass quarantine zones and travel bans to infected areas in a desperate attempt to keep the virus from spreading. Their efforts prove successful in containing the disease, but soon leave residents of infected areas isolated and at the mercy of famine, disease, and death.
American Epidemic - Click Here
The Decay-Click Here
A nearby nuclear attack rocks a small town in Pennsylvania, sending one man and his stepdaughter on a perilous journey of survival. It was a normal Friday afternoon shattered after an unexpected terrorist attack on the New York Stock Exchange. While the country focuses on the shocking aftermath of the Wall Street bombing, they lose communications—cell phones, Internet—and electricity, as a result of the nation’s downed power grids.
The Decay-Click Here
The Pulse-Click Here
September 21, 2020: America is worse off than it has ever been economically, but the worst is yet to come. On a seemingly normal Monday morning, a power outage occurs across the entire state of Georgia. A massive breakdown of vehicles and communications follows, sending towns and cities into chaos. The sweeping blackout is unlike anything ever seen, but that's not all. Without access to news, there is no information on the mysterious phenomenon. Rumors of a looming war spreads, creating further panic. Only one weapon could be capable of such stealth destruction: an electromagnetic pulse (EMP),and on that Monday, the nightmarish cold war scenario becomes a chilling reality
The Pulse-Click Here
Table of Contents
End Days Super Boxset
Sleeper Cell
Closing In
Homicide Bombing
Red Tape
News Cycle
Going Rogue
The Chase
Fallout
Mother Surkov
Preventative Measures
Not on Their Watch
Sleeper Cell: A New Age of Terror
A Bold Attack
Drones
Black Widow
Deceit
The Interrogation
Convoy Attack
ShootOut
Hostage
A Message to America
The Will to Survive
Sleeper Cell: An American Armageddon
ISIS on the Move
The Race to Get Home
Temporary Sanctuary
Lost and Found
Showdown
Nowhere to Run
Cracking the Code
The War Room
Enemy Mine
Fighting Back
The Assault
Blow Out
Epilogue:
One Year Later
Grid Down
Two Months After
Two Months Before
Adapt or Die
EMP on a Monday Morning
Blackout
Unstoppable
On the Road
Big Apple
Operation Urban Breach
Race to the Cabin
Refuge
Before the Attack
The Mountain People
Suburban Gulag
Community
Discipline
The Hospital
Moratorium
Supply and Demand
Confrontation
Civil War
New Arrivals
Bloody Tuesday
A Proposition
Some Kind of Hope
The Trade-off
Dark Days
The Messenger
Unknown Town
Coalition
Civil War
American Epidemic
Prologue: Quarantined
Carson City, Nevada: Before the Outbreak
Shopping List
New York City
Operation Hunker Down
CDC Headquarters
The Hospital
Guerrilla Journalism
Approaching Doomsday
Epidemic
One Week Later
Home Invasion
Prologue: An Urgent Message
Base 42
Public Trial
Outbreak: Carson City
Center for Disease Non-Control
Outbreak: Carson City
Discovered
Standoff
On The Road
The Ranch
A Stranger Among Them
Hope for a Cure
American Epidemic-The Resistance
Boiling Point
Mutiny
Resurgence
Inside Base 42
The Stakeout
Against All Odds
Intruder
Good Samaritan
Leverage
Cell Block
Revolution
The Aftermath
The Decay
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
The Decay: Episode Two
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
The Decay: Episode Three
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
New World
The Pulse: Origins
A World without Power
The Hunter
The Couple
The Family
The Prepper Pact
When the Lights Go Down
Professor Cook
Good Morning, Janice
Pandemonium in Atlanta
Prepper Headquarte
rs
Survival Camp
Prologue: State of the Union
Day of the Dead
Origin of the Pact
A Tale of Two Schools
Back Home
Domesticity
Night Flight
The Day After
The New Arrivals
Militia
One Week Later
Somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere
The Good Samaritans
Downward Spiral
Hellfire
The Pulse: Episode Two – An EMP Prepper Survival Tale
The Fractured States of America
False Alarm
Survival Camp
Aftermath
Searching for a New Home
Camp Liberty
Road Blocks
Settling In
The Hospital
Suspicions
Meatloaf
Purge or Die
Closing In
Showdown
Atlanta, GA
Return to Camp Liberty
John Doe
The Pulse: Episode Three – An EMP Prepper Survival Tale
No Hope
Ghost Town
Gas Run
The Killing
Practical Measures
Attack on Camp Liberty
John Doe
The Out-of-Towners
On Their Own
Manhunt
Intervention
Moving On
Washington D.C.
Sleeper Cell
Closing In
I'm only here to make sure we get these bastards. And to make sure it's done right. Too much time and too many resources have gone into this case to screw it up now. Patterson is driving like a maniac. He's nervous, I can tell. He's got that look. Silent and focused. I have to admit, I'm a little nervous, too. We’ve got our SWAT team following us and after them, about a dozen unmarked cars trailing behind. With any luck, no one has tipped them off already. With any luck, we take 'em without a fight and find out who's funding them. With any luck, the money leads us to the big fish. Easy as that.
But it's never that easy. With all the data mining and agencies and bureaucracies and politics and money, these terror cells still grow and thrive. You take one group out, another moves right in and takes its place. I want to think I'm making a difference—that when it's all said and done, the terrorists will lose and we will win. At least I want to believe that.
Special Agent Craig Davis sat in the passenger seat of an unmarked Dodge Charger, barreling down the road at least twenty mph over the posted speed limit. He ran his hand across his short, brown hair then reached for his handheld radio. Instructions to the FBI agents and SWAT team members trailing behind had to be kept short, but even so, his mind raced with thoughts about the approaching raid. There was little room for error. Then again, that was always the case with anything in his job.
For six months, the FBI—in conjunction with Homeland Security—had been building a case against a suspected terror cell of Syrian refugees in a Minneapolis safe house on the outskirts of the city. Both departments had a vested interest in the outcome, but the case belonged to Agent Davis. He had fought to investigate and he had fought to keep it.
He didn't fully trust Homeland Security either. They were, after all, the agency currently allowing Syrian and Libyan refugees temporary asylum with the press of a stamp. They were the agency aware of American citizens traveling abroad to the Middle East and returning back home. And they were the agency that seemed least concerned about it. But at the moment, the FBI and Homeland shared a common goal: taking down a Syrian sleeper cell with links to ISIS.
“We move on my command,” Craig said into his radio. “No one goes in until I say the word.”
He held up a map of the neighborhood and focused on the area in question. A city block was circled on the map in magic marker, pinpointing the house where the suspected sleeper cell operated: 1513 Sandhill Drive. The owner of the house, an elderly man who lived out of state, had gone through many tenants over the years, but the current occupants were a mystery, even to him. There was only one name on the rental application: Saaheb Najmul.
Craig had his doubts that the man even existed. There was nothing on Saaheb in their database. No record whatsoever. Through surveillance, they had discovered that at least ten men were living in the house. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Intel, however, suggested an imminent attack in the works.
“Remember your points of entry,” Craig continued. “Stay alert to movements from nearby residents. We want to bring as little attention to ourselves as possible.”
Agent Patterson shook his head in disagreement with his eyes concealed behind black aviator lenses. His mop top of gray hair down to his ears and thick mustache made him look like a relic from the 1970s, but he, like Craig, was only in his thirties.
Craig looked at his partner, taking notice of his disapproving head shake. “What?”
“We're gonna bring attention to ourselves no matter what we do,” Patterson said.
Craig glanced out the window as they passed cars parked along the sidewalk. Rundown houses passed by, packed too closely together, with small yards surrounded by chain-link fence. Drugs and crime were evident in the area. It was early morning, but the neighborhood operated on its own terms. The residents knew when the police were coming, and they knew when to flash signals, run, or hide.
Craig spoke into the radio. “This is going to be a quick, clean bust. I don’t want any casualties. Not from us or them.”
“Count me out, then,” Patterson said. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Craig lowered his radio. “That’s very funny.”
“Not as funny as traveling all the way from D.C. to Minneapolis to find a sleeper cell.”
Craig gave him a puzzled look while loading the magazine of his 9mm Beretta. “I thought you’d be glad to get away from D.C. for a little while.”
“I am. But Minneapolis? Come on.”
Craig slapped the magazine into the 9mm and pulled back the slide. “Tell you what, if I hear of any in Costa Rica, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Fair enough,” Patterson said.
The Dodge roared down the street as a convoy of unmarked vehicles followed. Patterson swerved the Charger to the left through an intersection just as Craig turned on the switch for the siren lights atop the rearview mirror. The car jerked to the side. Craig gripped his armrest. Tires squealed against the pavement. He looked to the GPS on the center console. They were three and a half miles from the house with the convoy remaining steadily behind. Craig slouched over and picked up a blue bulletproof vest from the floor. He raised his arms and put the vest on, pressing the Velcro into place. He was ready.
On the corner, less than a block away, they came upon a small one-story, faded-yellow house surrounded by a banged-up fence bent in on all sides. The lawn on both sides of the cracked cement walkway leading to the front door was filled with weeds and sporadic patches of dirt.
The gray sky above showed signs of an approaching storm as they continued to close in on the desolate house. The only two windows in the front were covered by thick curtains. There was no garage, no driveway, and no definitive way of telling which cars on the street belonged to which house.
“All right, slow down,” Craig said, signaling toward the corner. “Pull up right along here.”
Patterson, already wearing his vest, coasted the car to a halt and jammed it into park. A SWAT team van pulled to the side of the house in front of them. A line of three unmarked black SUVs systematically followed, covering the rear of the house on the other side.
Craig gripped his radio tightly in one hand and his pistol in the other. Patterson scanned the house from the driver's seat. There was no one outside and no signs of life from inside either. The neighborhood was fairly quiet as well, though it was still early morning, and they hoped to catch the men off guard.
“All teams go,” Cr
aig said. The back doors of a police van swung open and several SWAT team members jumped out, rifles in hand, in uniform: ammo vests, gloves, helmets, goggles, kneepads, elbow pads, and boots. “SWAT” was affixed across the back of their vests in large white lettering.
Two team members held a battering ram. They advanced to the house in careful tactical movements, past the front gate and onto the lawn, as the other half of the team split up and went to the back. They knew their points: the front and back doors. Several plainclothes FBI counter terrorism agents surrounded the house.
Patterson looked at Craig in anticipation. “You ready?”
Craig looked around. For a moment he thought about his wife Rachael and their son Nick. They were always on his mind right before a bust; a reminder to not get shot.
“Let's move,” he said.
They stepped out of the Dodge simultaneously as a gust of wind blew through their hair. A rumbling in the sky followed. Dark clouds coasted above like floating blankets concealing the sun. The storm was close. Craig spoke into his microphone. “Hold your positions.”
The first SWAT team advanced to the front door while the second team held tight in the back. They briefly listened for the sound of movement inside and then searched the doors for wires and explosives. Craig drew his gun and moved along the sidewalk with Patterson following. A woman in a bathrobe walked by with two young children, observing the scene with curiosity. Craig waved her past and told her to keep moving. Once she passed, Craig and his partner moved in lockstep through the gate with their pistols aimed forward.
The dilapidated house was just ten steps away. It looked vacant. Once both teams confirmed that the doors were free of wires, Craig spoke into the small mic attached to his headset. “All teams move.”
The first team knocked the front door open with one thrust of the battering ram, splitting it from its frame like a matchstick. Following the crash, the team rushed in with the beams of their rifle lights moving wildly around the room. They were quick to notice a man lying on one of two couches in the dark and stuffy living room.
“Down on the ground. Now!” the lead SWAT member shouted.
“Get down!” another officer commanded, with his rifle poised, ready to fire.
The bearded man jumped up with eyes wide and his face stricken with panic.
Suddenly, the back door to the kitchen busted open. More SWAT members rushed in. The lights on their barrels moved across the room systematically. Shouts came from every direction.