End of the World

by D Thomas Jewett

  After they left, Mikaela turned to Josh and smiled. “Well, that was fun!”

  Josh started laughing, his eyes lightening up. And then Mikaela joined in.

  * * *

  Josh walked into Mikaela’s office, just as she was hanging up her telephone.

  She tellingly looked at Josh. “That was Jimmy.”

  “The CEO?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what do we do now?” Josh asked.

  “He’s already scrounged much of the world. It seems that there is hardly a loose brick of silver to be had anywhere.”

  “Okay.” Josh replied. “But what do we do now?”

  “Jimmy suggested, and I agree, that we should ship these bastards some of the silver from SLV.”[53]

  “But that silver is already leased. It’s not available.”

  “I know that. And so does Jimmy. But we’re thinking that it will give us time to get our shit together. And then she looked at Josh, eye-to-eye. We can replenish SLV later, before the next audit.”

  “Blimey! How long before the next audit is run?”

  “They’ll run it by the end of May.”

  “So we have a month to replenish SLV.”

  “That’s correct.” Mikaela replied. And then she leaned back in her chair. “Can you contact the SLV people and tell them to transfer the silver to the Chinese investors?”

  “I’ll call them now.” Josh replied.

  Chapter 2

  The ride from northern Virginia into Washington D.C. was always congested, and this day was no different. As usual, Mark and Sheryl had plenty to talk about as they drove to work ...

  “So, I talked with my Mom a couple of days ago. And she climbed my frame about Melissa and me not talking much. And I said to her –”

  Sheryl stopped talking as she put her face up to the window. “Wow! Did you see that?” She pointed out the window to the right.

  “See what?” Mark replied with confusion.

  “The price of gasoline. Did you see it? It's 7 bucks a gallon!”

  Mark looked up at the sign and whistled. “Holy shit! That's a big run up. I wonder what's driving it?”

  “I don't know. Let's see what's on the radio.” She turned on the radio and selected an all-talk radio station.

  “... and in international news, speculators have driven up the price of gasoline to historic highs. Here is a report from Gene Boroughs ... “

  “Early this morning, Asian investors drove up the price of oil to unprecedented levels; reaching two hundred and fifty dollars per barrel. The high price has taken many people by surprise; because the price is double that of three days ago. Investors cite the increased risk to the value of the dollar as the reason for the high price of oil. Of course, the price of oil is immediately reflected at the gas pump.”

  “Thanks, Gene, for your report. In other news ...”

  Sheryl switched off the radio and began adding her own thoughts. “Well, THAT doesn't give us a whole lot to go on, now does it?”

  “No. Not really,” Mark sounded unperturbed. “Maybe we'll find out the real reason when we get to work. You know? There's a lot of people who are plugged into more accurate information sources – not like these news broadcasts that spew whatever the government feeds 'em.”

  Sheryl laughed and said, “But we work for the government.”

  “I know,” Mark replied with a wry grin. “And that fact alone gives us a multitude of reasons to doubt everything they say!”

  “Point taken,” Sheryl said as she grinned. She glanced toward the side of the highway as they continued along the road.

  Soon, they passed a convenience store; and Sheryl again plastered her face to the window. “Hey! Look at that. Look at that!

  Mark let out an impatient sigh and said, “What do you want me to look at now?”

  “That crowd of people coming out of the Fast Stop store. There must be fifty people; and they're all carrying candy and bags of food – all at once! And then, an older man came out yelling at ‘em and screaming for money!”

  “Do you think they're looting?” Mark asked.

  “I dunno,” Sheryl replied. “She looked back to see if anything else happened.

  * * *

  Mark and Sheryl parked in their usual space and walked across the street, finally entering the Russell Senate Office Building. As they strode through the corridors, they passed a group of people huddled together. A few of them were curiously animated, waving arms and hands while they were speaking. Mark and Sheryl continued on, passing by another group, and then yet another group – all curiously dwelling on the same topic.

  As they came upon yet another group, Sheryl overheard, “... and they're talking about a big increase in commodities. So food is going to be out of sight very soon!”

  They continued on, walking past a couple traveling in the other direction. The woman was waving her hands in disgust, “... those damn oil companies are out to kill our way of life ...”

  They soon reached Senator Bannister's office. Sheryl looked up at Mark and smiled. “Would you like some coffee before you head down to your office?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Mark said. “But please, don't try to shovel any of the supply sergeant crap at me again. That stuff was like mud!”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Sheryl grinned at him.

  “Yeah – right!”

  Mark followed Sheryl into the break room where they found an extra cup. Sheryl poured for him. “Okay?” she asked.

  “I think I'll have some sugar,” he replied.

  “But you never use sugar, do you?”

  “Not usually, but I think I need a little sugar spike today.”

  Sheryl dropped a cube into his cup, and Mark stirred it in, slowly. He took a sip and his face lit up. “Hey – this IS better than the last time.”

  “Of course it is, silly. We don't like muddy coffee any more than you do!”

  Sheryl spied Walter Grant as he walked past the break room entrance. “Hey Walt.”

  Walter backed up and looked in. “Hi Sheryl. How goes it?”

  “Okay,” she replied. “What are you hearing about gasoline prices?”

  Walter frowned. “It looks bad. The market is in the hands of the speculators, and they're driving prices higher. Of course it doesn't help that the value of the dollar is continuing to go down. I think it's dropped ten percent in the last week.”

  “So, it's really a loss of confidence in the dollar?” Mark chimed in.

  “Yes. Absolutely,” Walt replied. “That’s the heart of it.”

  “But can't they fix it?” Sheryl asked.

  Mark and Sheryl listened intently as Walter answered. “Actually, no – they can't fix it. It's the Fed whose setting interest rates and printing money, and not even Congress can control them. They do what they like!” Walt paused and eyed Sheryl. “But you know that already, don't you?”

  “Yes. I know it,” Sheryl replied. “But I thought you were privy to 'unpublished' sources of information.”

  “Well, I am,” Walt replied with a wry smile. “But this is all I know at the present.” He glanced down at his watch. “Hey. I've gotta go to a meeting. I'm already late!”

  “Okay,” Sheryl replied. “See you. And thanks for the info!”

  * * * * *

  The Freedom Dollar coining operation was in full swing ...

  “What kind of machine is this?” Brandy shouted over the noise.

  “We call it a coin press.” Murray yelled back. “It's one of our main pieces of equipment.”

  “How does it work?”

  “I'll show you as soon as I reconfigure it.” Murray made some adjustments to the equipment, inserting a different set of dies into the stamping mechanism. When he was ready, he looked over at Brandy. “C'mon over here and watch as I feed coin blanks into the machine.”

  Murray continued talking. “Now, this run is for the standard business strike that you sell. It’s basically a single strike coin with non-polished dies.
” Murray paused and then continued. “It’s different than the proof coins we also make – they get a mirror finish by double striking with polished dies. I personally like the ones with a frosty relief – where the coins’ background is like a polished mirror, and Liberty and the lettering are raised and frosted?”

  Brandy nodded her head in understanding. She watched as each coin blank was fed, stamped simultaneously on both the top and bottom, and then ejected from the machine. It's kinda slow, but it sure turns them out fast enough for our purposes, she reflected.

  Brandy looked up from the coin press and gazed around the shop, noting each object and piece of equipment in turn. “What's that?” she shouted, motioning over to the far corner.

  Murray turned and looked. “Oh, that?”

  “No. That one over there.” She motioned to the piece next to the one Murray was looking at.

  “Oh! Well, that's an upsetting mill. It raises the rims on the coin blanks and reduces the blanks' size to specification. This makes it possible for the blanks to fit into the coining press collar on the coin press.”

  “Oh.” Brandy was beginning to feel bored. “Okay.”

  And then Brandy's face lit up as she looked over at the entrance door. “Hey, Bill!”

  Bill walked over to the two of them. “Hey,” he said.

  “Murray was just showing me how the equipment works.”

  “That's great,” Bill’s voice had an underlying sarcasm to it. “Considering we've been working out of here quite a few months, it's probably good that you learn about it.”

  Brandy's face turned flush. “Damn it, Bill. I'll do whatever I damn well please!” And with that, Brandy stomped out of the shop.

  Bill turned to Murray. “We meet with Dwayne this afternoon. Any chance you can give us a ride?”

  “Sure,” Murray replied. “I was planning on it. What time do you want to leave?”

  Bill looked at his watch, and then said. “How about 30 minutes?”

  “Sounds fine. I'll be ready.” Murray replied.

  “In the meantime, I need to go patch things up with Brandy,” Bill observed. “I think being confined here is getting to us both.”

  “I wouldn't be surprised.” Murray replied.

  * * *

  Bill and Brandy wanted to avoid the public eye, and especially law enforcement. So they enlisted Murray to drive them to Moe's barbecue – a ‘hole in the wall’ diner in far north Bonner County. Situated on a corner lot alongside second-hand stores and thrift shops, it was the best place to eat for at least a ten mile radius. The three entered the dining hall and found Dwayne at one of the many old tables – the tables lined up in a neat row. Months had passed since they'd last met, and so the group spent time catching up on friends and family. But finally, they got down to business.

  “What’s on your mind?” Dwayne opened.

  “The collapse is almost upon us, my friend.” Bill said.

  “You won't get any argument from me,” Dwayne replied. And then his face hardened as he said, “Did you want to meet just to tell me that?”

  Bill glanced down at the table top, a sheepish expression on his face. And then he looked into Dwayne's eyes. “Not exactly. Brandy and I have been talking about starting a bank, and we thought we should run it by you. Hell, maybe you'd even like to partner with us?”

  “A bank?” Dwayne stammered. “Shit, man. This country needs a lot more than another bank!” He paused, looking in turn at Bill and then Brandy, and then to Murray sitting next to him.

  “So what kind of bank do you want to create?”

  Bill crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “A bank that keeps gold and silver reserves on deposit. And a bank that doesn't do fractional reserve banking.[54] In other words, they only loan money that they actually have in their possession. Will that work for you?”

  Dwayne rubbed his chin. “Hmmm.” He looked into Bill's eyes. “Maybe, just maybe. But what about the Feds. They'll be crawling up our ass like bees after honey!”

  Brandy interjected. “We don't know that, Dwayne. No one knows if the government will even exist after the collapse. After all, a collapse is likely to leave the government without money. And a government without money is, at best, a government without power.”

  “But what about the state government?” Dwayne snorted. “Do you think they'll just stand by passively as we establish a bank?”

  Bill rolled his eyes. “Dwayne, I don't know what the state government will do. Damn it, I don't know what any government will do. But I do know that our community – hell, our entire region – will need banking to support and promote capital formation and investment.”

  Brandy interjected. “And let's face it, Dwayne, even the state government will have a much smaller reach, so each community is going to have to fend for itself.”

  Dwayne nodded.

  The blond-haired waitress approached their table with her pad and pen at the ready. “How are we doing today?” She asked.

  Brandy shifted her eyes from the menu to the waitress. “We?” She said with just a touch of sarcasm. “We, are doing fine. How are you doing today?”

  “Fine,” she said in an emotionless tone. “May I take your order, please?”

  They each gave their order. And when the waitress departed, the three resumed their discussion. Murray looked on but remained silent.

  At the end of the meal, Bill asked his payoff question. “So what do you think? Will you go in with us?”

  Dwayne slowly wiped his mouth. Then he looked at the two and said, “I'll consider it. At the moment, that's my best answer.”

  “I guess that’s all we can ask – for now,” Bill replied as he stood up. “You take care. Hopefully, we can get together again – soon.”

  Dwayne raised his glass of water in a salute. “Soon!”

  The three walked out, leaving Dwayne to finish his dessert.

  Chapter 3

  Joe spent the morning holding a sign at his favorite freeway overpass. He stood close to the road’s edge and waved the sign over the roadway, trying to get drivers’ attention. But as he waved, his subconscious was elsewhere – daydreaming. His daydream soon spread into his consciousness, taking hold and sending him back in time a couple of years. The cars were newer, nicer, and more expensive back then. Now a lot of these cars are used. And a lot of ‘em are just plain used up. And then he began noticing the people inside the cars – shit, they looked used up too. Joe shook his head, trying to drive away his depression.

  Although grueling, Joe took in a good amount of money. Well, that’s enough for now, he mused as he put his sign out of sight. He began walking, shuffling along at a slow pace as he moved from the freeway zoning to an older retail section of the city.

  He came upon a street corner, a usual hangout for prostitutes. He watched as a young blond woman talked with the driver of a BMW through the car window. She had her head and chest inside the window, using her large breasts and alluring cleavage as an enticement.

  “Whatdya think buddy,” she said between smacks of her bubblegum. “Ya wanna go for a ride?”

  The man motioned with his arm, but Joe couldn't make out what was said.

  The girl grabbed her breasts and hefted them. “I'll let you suck on these as a bonus.” She popped another bubble. And then she pulled down her low-cut blouse and displayed her nipples.

  “Whadya think?”

  Joe thought he heard the man say, “Okay. Get in.”

  The girl got into the car. The man gunned the engine and they drove off.

  Joe continued on, shuffling past a row of boarded-up stores. He approached a filling station and glanced up at the sign:

  Regular Unleaded $11.4999

  Premium Unleaded $12.4999

  Diesel $16.7999

  Wow! It went up more than a buck today.

  He continued his shuffle along the sidewalk, marveling at the boarded-up stores along the way. What's this world coming to? He thought. Soon, he approached a crowd forming ahe
ad of him.

  The people in the crowd were not wearing the tattered clothing of street people; instead, they wore the blue jeans and jackets of the middle-class. The crowd was unruly – yelling and screaming as they chanted their slogan. We want our rights! We want our rights!

  Joe caught a glimpse of their signs – many supporting various labor unions. He knew that unions had a lot of clout, especially here in California. He thought back to how they’d extracted higher pay, more benefits, and more jobs from him and the other taxpayers – all money that the taxpayers could no longer afford.

  He slowed his pace to a crawl, watching as a contingent of police officers scrambled out of the back of a paddy wagon. The cops wore helmets, kevlar vests, and black uniforms – across each officer’s chest and back was the legend, POLICE.

  Joe stood back, watching as the policemen lined up abreast of each other, creating a human barricade. The commander shouted and the officers began to march in formation toward the crowd, their wide front reminiscent of a beachhead invasion.

  The protesters on the flank nearest the police noticed them first. Screams arose from the crowd as the police officers approached, closer and closer. Some of the protesters stood their ground, but others dispersed into the surrounding alleys and buildings.

  Joe pulled further back from the ruckus, deciding that to continue on this path could attract attention to him. He resumed his slow shuffle; but this time taking an alternate route toward the shelter.

  * * * * *

  Lance took his last drag from the joint and passed it on. He stretched and then looked around.

  “Hey Pimp. Pimp!” Lance paused, waiting for a response. “Have you seen my shoes?”

  “Huh?” Pimp replied. “Ah no, man – I ain't seen 'em.”

  Lance grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close. “Then gimme yours',” he sneered.

  “Shit.” Pimp began to stutter, “If – If you take ‘em then I won't have any. Them streets is cold!”