Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) (8 page)

“What’s
up?” asked Erik, innocently enough.

“That was
the shift chief at the station.  He says they got reports from the State
Troopers that the riot in Jacksonville is getting out of hand.”

“Didn’t
know there
was
a riot in Jacksonville,” said Alfonse quietly. 

“They just
called in the National Guard, man,” added Ted, face taut with stress.

“That
didn’t take long…” said Stan darkly.

“Well…news
came out that some damn terrorist group called the Jihad Fist or something like
that has claimed responsibility for the power grid attacks.  Said something
about a Holy Firestorm…” continued Ted.

“What the
hell is that supposed to mean?” asked Erik.  Realization broke across his face
like the rising sun at dawn.  “Wait—the fires out west.  I bet you anything
those assholes started all the wildfires.”

“I don’t
know—I wouldn’t put it past them.  But that’s for the western states to worry
about right now.  Sonsabitches hit us again.”  Ted put the cell phone back on
his belt and crossed his well muscled arms.  He kept a wary eye on his wife and
children by the pool.  An anchor-and-globe tattoo adorned his left forearm.  He
was a head shorter than Erik, but thicker—more like a fireplug than a tree. 
“My buddy said something about Black Panthers starting the riot in
Jacksonville.”

Alfonse
laughed nervously.  “Black Panthers?  Gimme a
break
…” 

Ted
shrugged.  “That’s what
I
said—I thought those guys were only around in
the ‘60s…”

“Ted,”
Alfonse said, “Any Black Panthers around today must be in their seventies or
wheelchairs or…Wait, I can see it now: some old black-ass comes up to a shop in
his motorized wheel chair and has his grandkid throw a brick through the window
to get back at ‘Whitey’…” the others shared a laugh.

“Well,
regardless, that’s what the man said.  Although I don’t think we have to worry
about that around
here
…” Ted said as he looked around.  The apartment
complex was just on the southwest outskirts of Sarasota.  The apartment complex
sat less than a mile from I-75, the main artery along the west coast of
Florida.

“What,
rioting started by blacks or old farts?” asked Henry with a smirk.   He didn’t
see the dangerous look from Alfonse.  “Nothing ever happens around here—we’re a
vacation spot…boaters come here…they’re not that wild.”

“Well, I
sure as hell wouldn’t want to be part of the Jihad Fist, or whatever the hell
they call themselves, tonight…” said Stan.

“Damn
straight.  Now that the government has announced terrorists took out the power
grid and the terrorists claimed responsibility, every redneck with a huntin’
rifle and a six-pack of beer’ll be lookin’ for something to shoot,” agreed Ted.

When the
murmurs and chuckles of agreement died down, Erik asked, “So, who thinks this
is the big one?”

“Big one,
what?” asked Stan.

“You know,
the big hit that the terrorists have been promising for so many years.  The
Great Satan gonna get his ass kicked, all that jazz.”

“I don’t
know…I mean it seems pretty serious to me, but hell, so far they’ve just
knocked the power out.  Few riots in some cities.  Not so much of a big deal if
you ask me.  The riots’ll burn out in a day or so…they always do.  The power’ll
be back sooner or later,” said Stan optimistically.  “It always is.”

“Yeah, but
what about those planes that were shot down—“

“That’s
unconfirmed, man.  Could be anything,” said Ted.

“Well, I’ll
damn sure confirm the one that went down outside Tampa.  I saw the smoke, man. 
Nasty,” spat Alfonse.

“Right. 
Just happened to be a few missiles shot off at the same time power went out. 
Right,” muttered Erik.

“Those
missiles are unconfirmed too,” pointed out Ted.

“And the
wildfires?” asked Stan.  “I think Erik’s on to something.  This is like some
big orchestrated…war or something!”

“Now come
on,” countered Ted.  “Look, right now the only thing we know for sure—the only
thing that affects
us
is a plane crashed in Tampa and the power is out.”

“Leaving
the plane aside, look at how much we depend on power!” cried Alfonse.  “Without
power, you can’t pump water at the water plant…you can’t pump gas at gas
stations,” he nodded towards Henry who just folded his arms again.  “That means
no drinking water, no toilets, no showers, no cooking…”

“No
restaurants after whatever food they have on hand is out,” muttered Stan.

“Yeah, and
no gas when you run out.  Now, when
that
gets out, and people figure out
that the cops will run out of gas at some point…all it takes is one rock
through a window, man.  If someone starts a fire, if there’s no power to pump
the water, the fireme can’t do squat.”

Ted
frowned, considering Alfonse’s statement.  “I hate to say it, but you’re
right.  I mean, the Department only has about ten deputies.  The city cops got
around thirty or forty, more squad cars and a chopper.  But between here and
Bradenton, there’s 50,000 people.”

“Most of
them over 50,” retorted Henry caustically.  “Not so much of a threat there.” 
Erik looked at Henry and came to the conclusion that if it turned into every
man for himself, he figured Henry would be one of the first ones to throw the
brick. 

“Yeah, but
I can easily see Alfonse’s point,” continued Erik.

The tall
black man smiled.  His teeth stood out against his poorly lit face. “Erik, call
me A.J.  I always hated that name, Alfonse.”

“Okay, A.J.
it is.” Erik grinned.  “He’s right, though.  It took the power companies almost
a week to get everyone back on line last summer.  And that was only because
they could draw on resources and power from outside the affected area.  Now,
it’s starting to look like the whole
country
is down.”

“Yeah, but
not everyone is without power.  I bet there’s pockets out there that still have
juice,” said Stan, scratching his head under his baseball cap.  He checked his
watch.

“Well,
whatever.  What we gonna do about food when the power stays off for a week or
two?  If it’s off everywhere, how will the food get delivered to the grocery
stores?  Remember Katrina hitting ‘Nawlins?  It only took a few days for that
city to have a complete melt-down.  Eventually people will run out of cash…the
banks are closed, so how do we get money to pay for food that isn’t there?”
asked Erik.

“This is
gonna get hairy pretty quick,” mused Ted.  He instinctively looked towards his
wife and family.  “Wish I had a house, plot of land and a garden.”

“What about
our families?” asked Stan, looking over to the pool where his wife was
splashing with some kids. 

Alfonse
looked with a worried face towards his wife.  She was bulging under her
maternity swimsuit.  Just enough to let everyone know she was pregnant, but
still a woman.  Not yet to the point where she just wanted to give birth and
get back her body.  “I can’t think about what will happen in a month or two if
the power isn’t on and Charone goes into labor.   God, what if she goes early?”

“Tonight,
how ‘bout we just let the kids have fun.  We can worry about the rest of the
world and the future, tomorrow,” said Ted.

With the
mood among the men growing more somber, they said goodbyes and started to break
up.  Henry informed his daughter he was going home and told her to come back
when she was ready.

Alfonse got
into the pool and he and Charone stayed in the deep end.  They wrapped arms
around each other and were lost to the world, whispering and nuzzling.

Stan
gathered up his wife and daughter and headed home to put the little one to bed,
claiming to have endured enough excitement for one day.

Erik and
Ted joined Brin and Susan in the hot tub, connected but elevated above the pool
by a few feet, for a quick dip to cool off.  The hot tub, just recently
finished and actually ready to use only that week, was now just as lukewarm as
the unheated pool.  Without power to heat the hot tub or run the water jets, it
was nothing but a wading pool for the adults.  Still, it was water, it was
cool, refreshing, and it had seats.

The
foursome watched Ted and Susan’s brood play Marco-Polo in the shallow end of
the pool for a while before anyone spoke.  Susan and Brin and the other ladies
had gotten acquainted while the men talked.

“So, looks
like we’re the only ones from our building that stayed behind, huh?” asked Ted.

“I was
telling Brin that I saw the folks next to us—“ began Susan.

“You
know…the people opposite the hall from us and next door to Ted and Susan…” said
Brin, for Erik’s sake.

“Right…the
Wrents, I think…I just met them a few times.  They seemed nice…but kind of
trashy, you know?” said Susan with a ‘but-you-didn’t-hear-that from-me’ look. 

“Anyway, I
saw them head out in two different cars.  Said they were going to dinner.” 
Susan shrugged.

Erik spoke
up,  “So, how are you all set for food?”

“We got
about a week or so worth of the normal stuff,” said Susan, watching her
children.

“I got
about a month’s worth of old MRE’s left over from when I was in the Corps,”
added Ted quietly with a smile.  “Course, it’ll be cut down pretty quick with
all those mouths to feed.  What about you two?”

“Well, Erik
is sort of one of those survivalists…” said Brin off hand.  “But I’m more
thankful by the minute that he is.” 

Erik
winced.  That term was synonymous with trouble-maker any more, thanks to the
liberal media.  He also didn’t want that knowledge getting out, for security
reasons.  If people were hungry and knew he and Brin had food…

“Survivalist,
eh?” said Ted, a grin forming on his face.  “I have a feeling that won’t be
such a bad thing to be anymore…”

“I like to
think of myself as being prepared.  At any rate, we got enough food for a few
weeks or so I guess,” admitted Erik.  “Beyond that…” he shrugged.  He didn’t
want to tell everything all at once.  He and Brin were closer to being set for
well over a month or more by now.  Even Brin didn’t know how much
non-perishable food he had squirreled away in every nook and cranny in their
apartment.

Susan
caught one of the kids yawning.  “Uh oh…that’s it.  Looks like the troopers are
getting tired.”  She flashed a warm smile to Brin and Erik.  “It was nice
chatting with you two.  I think we’re gonna get going and put the little ones
to bed.”

The four
adults said goodnight and as Ted and Susan rounded up their herd, Erik and Brin
slipped away to their apartment.  After shutting and locking the door, Erik
turned and tried to find his wife in the stifling darkness.  After a long kiss,
Brin giggled, “It’s only 11 o’clock…no work tomorrow…no nothing tomorrow.  No
TV tonight…what are we gonna do?”

Erik
grinned lewdly in the dark.  “Oh, I think we can come up with
something
…” 

The rest of
the world can go to hell tonight
…he thought. 
I’ve got
other
things to do.

ARE YOU SURE?  I mean,
really
sure?  This is life or death we’re talking about, Neil…” Hank Suthby, the
Secretary of Homeland Security, growled into the phone.  “I know you’re
serious, but you have to realize how serious this is to
me
.  He’s going
to have kittens!  Alright—keep me informed.  I owe you.  Yeah, I know.”  The
middle aged man hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair with a tired
sigh.

“My back is
killing me,” he grunted to the desk.  Looking up at his right hand man, he
asked, “That coffee fresh?”

Daniel
Jones, DHS Deputy Undersecretary, tried to focus on the maps spread out on the
table in front of him.  He had only gotten a few hours fitful, nightmare filled
sleep after the confusing events of the day before. 

“I think…”
he muttered and took a tentative sip.  “Ugh.  Maybe not.”  He rubbed the sleep
from his tired eyes and put down his third cup of stale coffee.  "Who was
that?"

“Governor
of Georgia."  The SecDHS picked up the pot and sniffed.  "Never
mind.  I’ll have water,” he said.  Suthby got out of his thick executive chair
and bustled behind Daniel at the cabinet.

“You seem
full of piss and vinegar this morning, Hank,” commented Daniel over his
shoulder. 

The
Secretary winced at the familiarity shown by subordinate.  That was a
consequence of lack of sleep he supposed. 
Have to get that taken care of
before it goes too far,
he thought.  Satisfied with his glass of water,
Hank turned around and watched his lieutenant over the rim of the tumbler. 
Daniel shrugged and took a swig from his coffee before turning back to the
maps. 

Someone
opened the office door to deposit another report on the Secretary’s desk, then
stepped out.  The noise from the outer office poured in like a rogue wave. 
Hank could see staffers running all over the outer office, carrying papers or
coffee, talking with each other and shouting incident reports from the field.

“—going to
lose Atlanta!”

“That’s
what I said.”

“That’s
imposs—“

The office
door clicked shut and the sounds vanished.  Suthby moved back to his desk and
marveled at the soundproofing the previous Secretary had installed. 
Bet the
carbon footprint is a doozy, though,
he thought with a grin.

One of the
maps in front of him on the big oak desk displayed the estimated power outages,
each represented by a  large X drawn at the location of the terrorist attacks. 
“Damn…” he muttered to himself.  “It only took a handful of attacks to shut
down the entire grid.” 

“Those
bastards are quick learners, I'll give 'em that,” conceded Daniel absently as
he flipped a map and read some details on the back.   They had been through all
this three times this morning, but Hank wanted to do it again in case they
missed something.  A pattern, a clue.  Something.

“Yeah, and
we’re
not
, Godammit,” Suthby said irritably. 

He imagined
what it must have looked like to see the terrorists drive up in cars and trucks
and SUVs fully loaded with homemade explosives.  There had been wave after wave
of them, blowing themselves up in explosions of hate.  They had sacrificed
themselves in order to leave a bigger hole for the next car to burst through
deeper into the power plants. 

He knew the
first responders had reported that it looked like something out of Hollywood. 
Burned cars, wreckage, bodies everywhere, smoke and fire; Hell on earth.  And
it happened at more than a dozen different locations across the country, all
within thirty minutes of each other.  It took dozens of the terrorists to
breach each facility, but they had done it.  Hundreds of men and a handful of
women.  He shook his head at the very idea.  Throwing an entire life away to
make a hole.  It was madness.

“Okay, one
more time,” Suthby ordered. 

Daniel
sighed and traced the events with his finger on the map.  “When the power
stations were attacked, the damage sent out chain reactions that crippled power
stations further down the line, until the tidal wave of backed up energy grew
to the point that even the nuclear power plants had to shut down.”

“But,
they’re mostly undamaged.  Just off-line.”

“Right,”
said Daniel.  “But…with all the transformers blown across most of the country,
the transmission lines for the nuke plants are shot.  They may work, but
they’re worthless to anyone until we get the transformers and relay stations
back up and running.”

“And we
don’t have a stockpile of transformers laying around,” muttered Suthby at the
stupidity of the situation.

“Right. 
We’ve got a few hundred,
maybe
a thousand.  But we’re talking…at a few
thousand just in D.C. alone.  Across the country?"  He leaned over the map
and sighed again.  "The manufacturing capacity is just not there.  Not
here, not
anywhere
.  It’s going to take years of round the clock work to
get us back to where we were yesterday morning,” Daniel said, a defeated look
on his face.

“They knew
exactly what they were doing.  This is like a surgical strike.”  Suthby
examined the map again, lost in thought.  The results were evident to anyone
who looked out a window just about anywhere in the nation last night.  No
lights, except by fire or battery or emergency generator.  The nation was
largely in the dark and might well be for years.

“It’s 1850
again,” muttered Daniel as he read a report.  He rubbed his eyes again and
sighed.

“And we’re
100% on this?” asked Suthby.  Everything depended on what his lieutenant was
about to say. 
Everything
.

“Yeah,”
replied Daniel for the fourth time.  “These numbers, the transformer stats, the
relay stations, all of it,” he said and tossed the report on the pile.  He
waved a hand to encompass the untidy pile they had been reviewing all morning
since dawn.  “It’s all confirmed.  We’re
fucked
.  Maybe for a
generation.”

Suthby
could feel his heart begin to race.  It was all falling in to place.  Maybe a
little faster than he wanted…”And who knows about this?”

“Well,”
said Daniel with a shrug.  “Far as I know, no one else has bothered to look at
this.  Everyone is worried about the borders and the race riots.”  He sighed, a
deep, shuddering sound.  “If you can believe
that
.”  He motioned towards
the large window behind his boss.

Suthby spun
in his chair to hide a smile.  His gaze rested on the large panel window that
showed a view over downtown Washington, D.C.  In the distance over the darkened
buildings, the sky glowed with an angry orange light.  The District was
engulfed in flames. 

“I believe
it,” he said quietly.  He wasn’t sure how the terrorists had done it,
coordinating everything.  However they did it, it was a masterful stroke. 
Knock out the power, engulf the largest cities in violence and flames, and
watch it all come tumbling down. 
Best case scenario, America gets back on
her feet in 30 years.  Worst case scenario, we're down for the count and we
never threaten anyone again.  The Balkanization of America.

The red
phone on the desk buzzed with an unusual noise.  It sounded as if the phone
were struggling to announce a call.  The Secretary swiveled back around again
with a soft squeak of his chair and picked up the receiver.

“Suthby...Yes,
hello, Sheriqua,” he said when the operator came on the line.  With the power
out, the normal communication systems were down.  An emergency network was in
place to keep the various agencies operating through the crisis.  In reality,
using their backup generators, the government agencies could still function.  
To completely stop the critical components of a bureaucracy as large and
multi-layered as the Federal Government, nothing short of a nuclear attack
would work. 

“Yeah, I
need to speak with him—this is perfect timing…Yes, I have some information that
he…Okay.”  He glanced at his expensive watch.  "That's cutting it close,
but I'll be there.  Fine."  He hung up the receiver and stared at the
phone for a moment. 

“I’m the
Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, not some damned
clerk
at the DMV!” he roared at the phone.  He didn't see the shocked look on his
lieutenant's face.  Suthby stood up, suddenly collected again and grabbed his
suit jacket before he beckoned to his deputy.  “Let’s go.” 

Daniel
blinked.  “Who was that?  Where we going?”  He staggered to his feet.

“It was the
President’s scheduling secretary.  And we’re going to the White House.  Grab my
case, will you?”  Suthby strolled over to the window and paused a moment to
stare into the growing light of morning over the darkened city of Washington,
D.C. 

The sky was
lit by the orange glow of the fires, but in the east, the faint pink tinge to
the smoke suggested dawn was trying to make an appearance.  They were in one of
the newer Department of Homeland Security offices, just down the street from
the White House.  In the distance, beyond the horizon, thick black smoke
smeared the landscape to the north, the west and the south. 

“Dammit,
there’s not enough
time
,” he growled.  Suthby spun away from the window
in disgust and marched towards the door.  He paused in the bustling outer
office to look at the massive three foot by five foot framed photograph from
New Orleans during the aftermath of Katrina. 

A line of
National Guardsmen with automatic rifles stood holding back the tide of
thousands of refugees as a few other soldiers tried to unload a Blackhawk
helicopter carrying food and water.  In the background, the wounded Superdome
rose up out of the filth and flooding of the Big Easy.  A banner under the
picture proclaimed a motto the agency had taken to heart ever since:

FAILURE IS
NOT AN OPTION

What a
fiasco for the Federal Emergency Management Agency
that
had been.  Heads
had rolled, Suthby recalled.  His head was on the chopping block this time.  He
wondered how much time he had to get his plan in motion.  Resolved, he stormed
from the office, Daniel in tow.

 “Hank,
we’ll get it under control.  So far the riots—”

The
Secretary shook his head in disbelief as they passed through the outer doors of
their building and past the first barricade.  Foot traffic in the street was
non-existent.  Most folks were cowering at home, praying for the power to come
back.  A National Guard Humvee roared by, soldiers peering out the windows. 
The radio on a nearby soldier broke squelch and reported that there was trouble
just north of the White House.  Multiple units were asked to respond.

Secretary
Suthby was silent as they walked.  He kept a wary eye on the smoke drifting in
the distance.  “Do you believe this?  Riots.”

“Freakin’
creepy out here…there’s not even any cars --“

"Yeah,
the National Guard got in here pretty quick to quarantine the White House and
surrounding blocks.  We're pretty safe..."

"For
now," mumbled Daniel.

After a
moment, Suthby began talking again.  In the distance they saw the White House
appear out of the smoke like a ship in the fog.  “Somehow the terrorists have
gotten inside information—deep inside.  They knew how to bring down our power
grid on a national level.  Besides the fact that this is a crisis the likes of
which we’ve never encountered before,
how the hell did they know?
”

“Shit
that's hot!” gasped Daniel, almost dropping his coffee cup.  He licked his
scalded lips and winced.  “It’s too early in the morning for this, Hank.  Leave
that to CIA or the Bureau.” 

They
rounded a building and were in sight of the first security checkpoint at a
barricade far in front of the White House.  Fully armed Secret Service Agents
stood there in what looked like battle gear watching them approach. 

“Men and
women have obviously been set in place all around the country.  Sleeper cells. 
For who knows how long?  They might have a lot more…just waiting to be contacted
and activated for a coordinated strike against what’s left.  They might know
about Congressional leaders, like where their home offices are…they seem to be
very
well informed."

A dull roar
permeated the air around them.  "What's that noise?  I didn't hear it a
second ago."

"It's
the mob," said Daniel in a hushed voice.  "My God, listen to
it...it's like, millions of voices, screaming at the time."

"The
noise is unreal.  It fills the air.  Jesus, it's hard to hear yourself
think..."

"Hank,
your theory sounds plausible.  But—"

"The
info leak has to be all the way at the top," concluded Suthby with a nod.

“So you
think someone important is on their side,” Daniel said.  “But, how the Hell do
you
prove
this?  Really, Hank, this isn't our problem.  Shouldn’t NSA or
CIA be handling this?  Or even the Bureau?  What’s this got to do with DHS?”