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

by Marcus Richardson

  The sword was like a work of art. The graceful curve of the ancient blade when Erik unsheathed it was stunning. Erik had kept the blade in pristine condition through a rigorous polishing ritual borrowed out of textbooks on the Japanese Shoguns. With a slight scraping of metal on tightly fitting wood, Erik slid the sword back in its protective scabbard and replaced it on the stand.

  “Do you know how to use it?” Ted asked. “I mean, I’ve seen you outside, practicing your…I guess it’s karate or something—“

  “Tai Chi. It’s a, well, it’s like slow karate, I guess you could say. But, yes, I do know how to use it,” Erik smiled. “I took every chance I could to learn from Brin, her father and grandfather. Obu-san even tried to teach me to speak Japanese. He was so impressed by my dedication to Japanese history he took it on himself to educate me in the Japanese experience. He became my sensei—or teacher, but more formally sensei is translated as ‘master’—for extra-curricular study.”

  Seeing Ted’s apparent lack of comprehension, Erik continued, “Yes, he taught me how to use it. The way of the warrior runs deep in Brin’s family. After all, Obu-san’s grandfather served one of the last samurai, still using a sword when Japan adopted western ways and began equipping its soldiers with rifles--”

  Erik still had his hand on the katana when they heard the scream. A woman screamed. A shriek of pure terror that made the blood in both men’s veins grow cold. It was the type of scream that only a woman in abject terror could make. The type of scream designed to awaken some long lost genetic marker in all honest males.

  It demanded immediate action.

  In less then the time it took for his heart to pump once, Erik’s mind raced to find the last known location of his wife: she had left to join Susan in making the rounds of the apartment complex. They were planning on getting another meeting scheduled for that night.

  “Brin!”

  “Susan!”

  Both men spoke at the same time, turned, and bolted for the door to Erik’s apartment. They erupted into the heat and sunshine of the breezeway, pausing to try and determine where the scream had come from. Ted turned to the right, Erik to the left, the sheathed katana still in his hand, forgotten.

  “Look!” Erik pointed towards the pool, just visible down the corridor. A few people stood by the fence, pointing south of Erik and Ted’s apartment building. Both men sprinted out of the corridor and raced into the parking lot.

  Rounding the corner, they saw the tall, muscular man towering over the fallen body of Ted’s wife. She lay doubled over next to the privacy wall, holding her head. Brin was there as well, cornered. She stood in a defensive pose, calm and ready to fight. The big man was shaking his head from the flurry of punches she had just delivered. He lurched forward. The intruder saw Brin’s eyes flash towards Erik and Ted, then turned to face the two men.

  “Get the food!” he barked, pointing towards Stan’s building. Only then did Erik and Ted see a second man, shorter, wider, and wearing clothes from the Sarasota County Jail. The shorter man took a look at the two newcomers then bolted for Stan’s apartment building, moving surprisingly fast.

  Something inside Erik snapped. Time seemed to slow to a standstill. He was able to take in everything with crystal clarity, something he’d never experienced before. All the colors of the grass, the sky, the surrounding landscape seemed dull while the colors of the dark eyes of the man that threatened Brin were brilliant. The red of Brin’s hair and the colors of the clothes she wore shone like pure sunshine. The whites of her eyes, revealed in terror were almost painfully bright. His own eyes narrowed.

  The moment everything slowed down, something deep down in Erik’s soul was released. It was something unknown to him, dangerous and primal, full of rage. A white-hot, intense, fury.

  Over the years, from the dawn of history to the modern legalistic society, the paradigm was essentially the same. One man chose to take what was promised to another, by trickery or force. Most men chose to fight, but as time wore on, the burdens of society pressed down on the human spirit, allowing more and more outrages to go unpunished. It was easier to give in, to give up, to yield, to let society handle the miscreants. Justice was global now, not personal. Just easier and as a consequence, less efficient. A thought flared into his mind: how would this situation have been handled in the last dark age?

  No…rumbled through Erik’s mind like thunder across a parched landscape.

  The force that welled up inside Erik’s soul transformed him in an instant into something from his ancestral past. Erik unconsciously slipped into the battle rage feared by the enemies of his people from centuries past. A Viking berserker, perhaps some long distant forefather of Erik’s family, buried deep in his genetic makeup was unleashed once again into the world.

  Acting faster than Ted would have thought possible, Erik surged forward with adrenalin-induced speed. He bellowed a deep animalistic, guttural roar that startled everyone in hearing distance. Erik unsheathed the katana with a whisper of metal on wood in mid-stride and dropped the lacquered scabbard in his wake to clatter on the pavement.

  A second later, Ted’s instinct and training kicked in and he reached for the service pistol attached to his waist. Erik was already three strides away, closing the gap between himself and his wife. The wide shouldered 25 year old unknowingly blocked Ted from a clear shot of the intruder.

  Making a snap decision, Ted quickly spun left and trained his 9mm service weapon on the fleeing escapee. He gripped the pistol with both hands in the most stable up-right firing position, leaned into the gun and took aim.

  The roar in Erik’s throat reached crescendo just as he got within range. In his oddly slowed personal time frame, he could see the intruder’s eyes go wide. It was either surprise or fear, Erik didn’t care which.

  The man froze, not sure whether to fear more the crazed man that was shrieking like a demon straight from Hell, or the lethal looking curved sword that flashed in the sunlight as it rose over his head, gripped by both hands.

  By the time the convict resolved himself and decided to charge at Erik, it was too late. Erik brought his katana down in a vicious swing, catching the convict where his bulky neck met his shoulder. The old Japanese sword did its job well, cut threw skin, tendon, and muscle, stopping with a jarring crunch only when it broke the man’s clavicle bone. The rage fully on him, Erik jerked the sword free with a backwards slash, slicing open the man’s chest in the process. The ancient blade cut through everything in its path like a hot knife through butter. A small voice in Erik’s mind said that the sword’s maker would be proud.

  Erik’s momentum propelled him forward at an unstoppable speed. He was left little choice but to continue the backswing, turn his left side towards the convict and crash into the heavier muscled man with his left shoulder. Erik’s forward motion halted immediately, but the bigger man, surprised and gushing blood from his horrendous neck wound, was bounced to his right and away from Brin. The body check effectively put Brin and Susan out of harm’s way. The convict’s scream of pain was stifled in a grunt as Erik’s body collided with him.

  Erik ignored the scream of the wounded man, reversed his back swing to preserve the speed of the sword and brought the bloody samurai sword straight down over the back of the falling man’s head. It sliced with a grizzly crunch right through his spinal column and nearly severed the intruder’s head in the process. Blood droplets sprayed up in an explosive release as the steel sliced through arteries and veins on its way through the muscular neck.

  Erik mostly avoided the spray of blood from the already dead intruder and watched with dull eyes as the body hit the pavement. He let go of the sword still stuck in the convict’s crumpled form and sprang to Brin’s side. The rage was already forgotten. It was almost as if his soul had whiplash inside his body, the way things jumped to normal speed around him. All he could think of was getting to Brin. The only obstacle that had been in his path now lay bleeding at his feet, opened up like a pig going to slaughter.<
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  “Are you okay?” he said in a breathless whisper, his hands going gently to either side of her terror-white face. She blinked, starting to shake. Erik grabbed his young wife in an enormous bear hug. She clung to him then, feeling his arms encircle her in safety, closing her eyes against the sight of the dead man. She could still see her husband striding forward with that sword flashing in the light like some sort of avenging Angel, literally tearing through the man she thought was about to…

  After a few shuddering breaths, Brin fought back the tears and whispered, “Y-y-yes…Oh God, Erik…that man…he jumped over…came out of thin air from the wall—Susan!” Brin gasped.

  Both of them crouched next to the moaning form of Susan, curled up on the grass next to the parking lot. Erik immediately noticed she was alive. Brin moved to help her friend up. Susan blinked, a painful looking swelling already forming on her forehead. Ted suddenly appeared at her side, surprising Erik.

  “Susan! Are you okay—here, let me…no, I got you, that’s it, easy now…” the ex-Marine had holstered his sidearm and was gently helping his wife sit up in the warm grass. He quickly checked her over for other wounds, but found none save the nasty bump on her head. He hugged Susan tightly, “Thank God…”

  Erik looked around and blinked in the sun. Fifteen yards away a body lay in the parking lot, dressed in correctional institution coveralls. It was slumped over, face down in the gravel arms and legs flailed about in all directions. Erik turned his head back to Ted. He raised one eyebrow and jerked his head towards the second inmate.

  “Every Marine a rifleman, Erik,” said Ted with a wry grin over the top of Susan’s head, buried in his chest. “…or should I say Erik the Red? That was some fancy sword-work there, man. Jesus Christ,” said Ted, glancing down at the still twitching corpse at Erik’s feet. The red splattered Japanese sword jutted out of the man’s neck at a gruesome angle. “That thing is sharp.”

  A moan from the man Ted had shot interrupted Erik’s reply. Ted abruptly left Susan to Brin’s care and strolled purposely towards the man he had taken down with a double-tap to the center of his back.

  Erik looked at Brin, who nodded in acknowledgement that she was fine. He reached down and with a grimace and slightly shaking hands, jerked free his katana with a sickening squelch. He stepped over the body and put out of his mind the screaming voice that was yelling over and over again in shock that he had just killed a man. He bellowed back inside his mind that he had just dispatched an animal. Not a man.

  As he jogged to catch up with Ted, Erik’s inner voice roared, He was about to attack Brin! The lament over the dead man and his acts vanished in the silence after his last forceful thought. There’ll be time to dwell on what happened later. This son of a bitch is still alive…

  The wounded man rolled over with a pathetic whine and lay in a pool of his own blood, squinting up at the sun, approaching mid-morning. “Aaaah…I knew we should have taken him earlier…” he groaned to himself.

  Ted stopped a few feet away, gun conspicuously drawn and pointed at the ground. He addressed the wounded convict with a tone of voice reserved for his police duties and life in the Corps. It called for automatic and unquestioning obedience.

  “What were you doing here, asshole?” Ted’s voice was hard with anger and the promise further violence.

  The man moved his head, a visibly painful motion, and grinned with bloody teeth. “Fuck you…you fuckin’ Pig…” he hissed, spitting blood. “Yeah…I seen you at the jail, man…”

  Erik joined the conversation, walking up to and past Ted, the once gleaming katana now streaked and coated in a faint sheen of the other convict’s bright red lifeblood.

  “The man asked you a question,” Erik said, surprised at the steel in his own voice. As if on impulse, he moved his left arm forward, bringing the bloody point of his curved sword to the throat of the convict. “You’ll answer it.” There was no doubt that silence was not an option.

  The convict swallowed in surprise and feebly tried to move away with his crippled body. “Holy shit, man!” he said, gasping and choking on his own fear at the sight of the recently blooded sword pointing towards his throat ready to impale him. The man holding it, about the same size as his former companion, looked mad enough to use it as he threatened. Some blood ran down the blade and began to wet the wounded man’s throat.

  “We…we seen this guy stealing food from a…a restaurant and…” he coughed a bit, struggling to breathe. The bullets had punctured one of his lungs, letting it fill with blood.

  “And?” asked Ted, kneeling down beside the man and looking up at Erik, who pulled the katana back and watched.

  The wounded man, seeing the sword removed, gained some courage and attempted to stall until Ted slowly and deliberately put his pistol to the side of the swarthy man’s head.

  “You’re going to die one way or the other. I suggest you tell me what I want before you meet your Maker. Maybe it’ll go easier on you.” Ted suggested.

  “But…” the man protested weakly, trying to eye the gun and Ted at the same time.

  “But nothing…you attacked my wife, you scum sucking bastard. You helped kill my friends yesterday during the prison break. You will die—either by bleeding to death or when I pull this trigger and spray your fucking brains across the parking lot…Now answer me!” Ted growled just loud enough for the convict to hear, pushing the barrel of his pistol painfully into the flesh on the side of the convicts head. Ted’s forehead shone with sweat to match that of the wounded man, dying on the ground next to him. Behind them, Erik only saw the bleeding intruder stiffen in fear as Ted kneeled over him.

  The writhing convict winced in fear. Finally the escapee gathered his dimming wits and spoke in a faint whisper. “L-l-look…we followed that guy…” he said, feebly pointing with a bloodied hand over his shoulder towards Stan’s building. “We seen ‘im…had food…we didn’t have any…”

  “So you were gonna take it from him, let his family starve, huh?” said Ted, twisting the pistol barrel. A trickle of blood formed around the fresh scratch.

  The convict tried to nod and moan at the same time, his voice fading fast. “Can’t see, man…it’s co-co-cold…” he coughed, wincing. “We wanted his…woman…but found those…two…where…who…”

  “Are there any more? Any more escapees? Answer me!” screamed Ted, grabbing the man’s shirt collar with one hand, jerking his body painfully up off the pavement, keeping the gun on his forehead with his other hand.

  “Yeah…we…got…who…” the man’s head lolled back, his eyes fluttered.

  Ted let his body drop to the ground with a bloody splat. He listened as the last breath leaked out in a gurgle from the man he shot.

  “Is he…?” asked Erik, peering over Ted’s shoulder. A quick check of his pulse revealed the convict was dead.

  Ted stood up and holstered his pistol. Getting his emotions under control, he answered, “Yeah, he’s dead.” Ted noticed the pale look on Erik’s face. The younger man was drained and starting to get the shakes.

  “We got some things to take care of. And you gotta get inside.”

  Erik looked at him suspiciously, feeling like a leaf in the wind. “Why?”

  “Ever kill a man before?”

  Erik went silent, looked down at his still bloody sword. With a morbid fascination, he turned the curved blade in his hand back and forth, watching how the color of the bloody sheen changed in the sunlight. He idly wondered how many times in the past this same sword had spilled blood and taken lives on the other side of the world. “What stories you could tell,” he whispered.

  In all his survival preparation and disaster planning, even with all that he had read on riots and post-disaster chaos, he had never imagined himself in this situation. I killed that man…no—not a man. He was a beast…he was…someone’s son…or brother…he—

  “I’m taking that as a no,” muttered Ted. He gripped Erik’s arm to steady the bigger man.

  Erik looked
up, his mind fighting itself. “No…” Then with more force, “No, no! Of course not. Look, Ted…I mean I’ve read about this…I read a lot about it…but I never…I mean…you’re not going to arrest me or anything…are you?”

  Ted moved his hand to Erik’s shoulder, a calming gesture. “It’s okay…I don’t think the law is in all that much effect at the moment. I’m not going to arrest you. That was a clear cut case of defense if ever I saw one.”

  Erik relaxed a little.

  “No, I don’t think the law is going to help us. Hell, I am the law…or was…I don’t know anymore. I think there’s a new law we’re going to quickly have to get used to—natural law. ‘Survival of the fittest’ and all that kind of stuff. I have a feeling things are only going to get worse…besides, they broke out of jail yesterday, killing…” Ted paused, flashing back to the bloody jail-break that effectively shut down the Sheriff’s department, leaving the county’s citizens unprotected. “…killing good men, cops. That there is the best case for capital punishment, if you ask me.”

  Ted looked down at the dead man at his feet, then back across the parking lot at the other dead escapee. “Well, that’s two of ‘em. The rest are still out there somewhere.” He looked at Erik again, who was watching his own hands start to shake.

  There was blood on both Erik’s hands past the wrist. Another human’s blood splattered in his arms and clothes. Erik began to reel slightly.

  “The first time is always rough. You’re lucky you got Brin to help you through it. A woman…well, I know it sounds sexist, but they always seem to make it better,” Ted said. He walked Erik back towards Brin and Susan, where neighbors were starting to gather, wanting to know what had happened.