People gasped at the sight of the bodies—especially the one that looked like it had been through a meat slicer at the local deli. One woman fainted dead away when she saw Erik holding the bloody samurai sword.
“Besides, the asshole deserved what he got and you know it. Never forget that. Remember what you told Brin last night…about what I went through at the prison break? Just remember he tried to attack Brin and…Susan,” said Ted in a low whisper as they grew near the crowd. “Thank you, Erik. I mean that.”
Erik tried to remember, but his thoughts were all muddled—he attempted to stand tall and take the gratitude like a man, after all, he had helped protect not only his wife, but his friend’s wife. But despite his efforts, he could feel his insides beginning to quake. His knees began feeling weak as the adrenaline was flushed out of his system. All he could think about was getting to Brin.
“I’m so tired…” he said, losing his own thoughts as the growing mumbling of the crowd grew louder.
“Oh my God, did you kill that man, Erik?” someone shouted.
“There’s another over there!”
“He’s still got the sword!”
“Oh, he must have shot that one…”
“Goodness gracious, I didn’t think people even had swords anymore!”
“Jesus! Erik, Ted, you alright?” asked Alfonse, forcing his way through the crowd of nervous residents. “I heard the gunshots…what happened?”
“’Fer fuck’s sake, Erik! You do that?” asked Henry Grimes, looking like he hadn’t shaved in a week. He whistled. “Who was he?”
Ted stepped in between the pressing crowd and Erik. He raised his arms in the standard police fashion, signaling ‘step back’. “Okay, everyone, settle down. I need you all to go home for a—“
“We are home, Ted!” a voice called out from the back. People were straining to peer around him at the dead convict, a pool of congealing blood around the body. “Yeah!” someone else said.
“Look, we’ve had a little trouble this morning. Two intruders—escaped from the County Jail, remember I told you about it last night? These two got in here and attacked my wife and Brin.”
More gasps, hands reaching out to comfort the two women. A few of the other women instinctively moved towards Susan and Brin to offer support. More than one man was shaking his head in disbelief and anger.
“But it’s all over now. No one was seriously hurt besides the escapees. Now…I need you all to just give us some time to clear things up here and I promise, we’ll tell you all about it tonight.”
“We having another meeting by the pool, Ted?” asked Alfonse, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Ted nodded. “Sure, sure. We’ve been having them there at sunset every night since the…since the lights went out,” he said. “Might as well.”
“Is it safe? Are there more out there? What if they come here too?” a high nervous voice asked.
Before Ted could respond, someone else spoke up, “What are we going to do?”
The mumbling started to turn into a louder rumble. Ted, trained as a Marine and a Sheriff’s deputy, could well recognize the workings of panic on the group mentality. Fear spread, then…”Okay, we’ll talk about that tonight. We’re all pretty keyed up. How’s about everyone go home and attend to you own families. Everyone try to think up ways we can protect ourselves in case this happens again…think about anything you can to help the community. Tonight we’ll tell you everything we know about what happened here and what we can all do to make this place as safe as possible.”
He held his breath until it looked like the group began to accept his plea. People in the back began melting away and slowly heading towards the pool or their own apartments. As more people left, the rest of the group started flowing away. One family was actively trying to convince people to leave.
“All I’m saying is, this,” the balding middle-management executive said to his friend, pointing towards the bodies of the ground. “This is enough for me. We’re getting the hell out of here before someone else gets killed. You can’t have people running around with swords and guns, for Christ’s sake! What do they think this is, New Orleans?” To forestall the response, he continued, “And you’d be smart to do the same—think of your kids, John!”
The other man shrugged and tried to argue that he’d at least wait and see what happened at the meeting tonight, but Erik lost the other man’s response as the two men and their families moved towards the pool and out of hearing.
Ted turned around, situation under control again and looked at the two bodies, then Erik with his bloodied Japanese sword.
“What the hell are we gonna do?” he said quietly.
IRAN
Finger of Allah
IT WAS 2:32PM in Amman, Jordan when the dirty white delivery truck rolled to a stop at a crowded intersection in the Arab nation’s capital city. Pedestrians crowded the streets. The driver yawned.
“Looks like another celebration…” observed the sleepy driver, smiling. If he were not awakened in the middle of the night to take this mission, he might be one of the masked men out there with an AK-47, chanting and dancing in the streets at the downfall of America. The fact that there were international TV reporters on the scene documenting the excitement only encouraged the demonstrators to more and more showboating.
The navigator, engrossed in prayer now and sweating, had ignored the driver for the past two hours. “I said, do you not see the celebration?”
The navigator unclenched his eyes and focused them on his ‘partner’. “Celebrating what?” he asked weakly. His face dripped with sweat. His stomach was doing summersaults in his abdomen. He was almost quaking with nervous energy.
The driver laughed. “Have you not heard anything in the past week? America is dying, my friend! It is a great time to be alive!” he said, clapping his feverish looking partner on the back as they waited for the massed demonstrators to clear the road. The driver stuck his head out the window, chanting and screaming with the rest, pumping his fist in praise of Allah.
The navigator looked at his watch, shaking his head.
Idiot. You interrupt my prayers for this? America’s downfall will only be the first. All of the Satanic West is about to fall.
The digital watch didn’t show the time, it was set to timer mode, counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until his mission, and his life, were complete. 27 seconds…praise be to Allah…grant me mercy for fulfilling your word, Merciful Allah. The navigator blinked back his tears of joy. He was about to pull off the greatest feat in the history of Al Qaeda.
15 seconds…
The driver was giving a loud and impromptu interview to an interested camera crew from the BBC. The navigator had just enough time to look up with glory-clouded eyes and smile for the camera before he died as the timer on his watch struck zero.
Inside the cargo hold of the truck, the enriched uranium nuclear device detonated. The spherical blast charge imploded the fissionable material so quickly that the only release for the energy was after the bomb reached critical mass in a fraction of a second and erupted into a ball of pure white energy. The roughly 2 kiloton ‘bomb’ instantly created a crater just over 200 feet wide and close to 40 feet deep. All the surging throngs of militant Jordanians, who were just a split second before celebrating the downfall of America turned to ash in the atomic fire. The entire event lasted less than a second.
The blast wave erupted from the vaporized atomic device swept clean the crowded city for about a mile in all directions, flattening all the brick, mortar and sandstone buildings and ripping apart everything in its path. Glass and debris was pushed ahead of the blast wave like a storm surge of deadly missiles, peppering and shredding buildings, people and vehicles. Anyone unfortunate enough to be looking towards the center of Amman when the bomb went off would be blind for life by the searing heat and intense light of the blast.
One mile from the explosion the survivors lived long enough to see the blast wave approac
h. Racing outwards at the speed of sound the shockwave blew them through the air at 20 feet per second, flinging bodies, cars and bits of buildings through the streets like paper.
Quickly rising up over the city, towering like a giant evil mushroom, the cloud formed. It cast a menacing shadow of death over the shocked and eviscerated Jordanian capital city.
NORAD
To Reap the Whirlwind
OKAY, TELL ME we got some good news this morning,” said the President, taking his second cup of coffee and sitting down at the head of the War Room conference table. He still was not used to being this deep inside a mountain. “I’ve been informed that the D.C. Police are no longer able to contain the riots, even with the National Guard. People,” he said, looking around at the monitors in front of him. “I don’t want to end up being the President who was run out of town by a bunch of looters. Now what have you got for me?” Most of the faces that peered back at him were tired and scared.
“Well, sir, we’re getting word out of Texas,” said the Secretary of Homeland Security from across the massive table.
“Hank,” the President warned with a hand. “Tell me it’s good. Please.”
“It is,” SecDHS leader said with an odd smile. “In a way.”
“What happened?” sighed the President. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Too early for bad news.
“The rioting in Houston and Austin has been put down.”
The President sat up. “Put down? How? What do you mean, ‘put down’?”
“Well, Governor Santos was afraid for the Legislature’s safety. He did something rather rash. Signed an order allowing for the deputation of all legally armed citizens in Houston and Austin.”
“That would mean that anyone with a gun in those cities became an agent of the state government…” mused the Secretary of Defense.
“It’s unprecedented, but…technically yes, that’s what happened. He nearly doubled the size of his National Guard forces by adding those armed citizens already in the occupied cities,” concurred SecDHS.
“Wait—what’s this about ‘occupied’?” asked the President testily. “This is rioting, not an invading army.”
“Of course, sir. It’s just that…well, some of our soldiers are referring to the cities as ‘occupied’….and the term’s been picked up by the state governments. Makes it easier to do what they have to do. Slip of the tongue, sir. Sorry.” Suthby’s face said he was anything but sorry.
“Is it really that bad?” The President frowned. “No—just tell me what happened in Texas.”
“Yessir…once the news spread that anyone legally carrying a firearm was deputized, all hell broke loose. In a matter of a few hours early this morning, the rioters were dispersed. Seems the rioters lost an awful lot of their own when the citizens started fighting back on the inside and our soldiers attacked from the outside. A giant city-wide pincer.”
The President slapped his hand down on the table with a grin from ear to ear. “Now that kind of initiative is what we need more of, people! Damn fine job—cleaned up the mess on his own,” the President beamed. Then his face clouded. “But why weren’t the civilians fighting back in the first place, if they had so many guns? I sure as hell know I would.”
“Well, sir, most people we’ve been able to talk to so far—we’re investigating whether or not to recommend this tactic to the other governors affected…“ the Secretary for Homeland Defense said as an aside. “So far we’ve been told they were afraid to do anything because they’d be in legal trouble once things quieted down. When the Governor cleared that burden away by deputizing them…well…” the DHS Secretary shrugged. He looked disappointed in the outcome.
“Looks like the good people of Texas had about enough of this rioting bullshit,” SecDef said. He folded his arms across his ample chest and grinned.
“There was significant loss of life, Mr. President. Both the rioters and the deputized citizens suffered heavy casualties, though we’re still working on the numbers. We’re giving you an early estimate of close to three thousand…” began Suthby.
“All those citizens dead…my—“
“No sir. That was just the rioters. We don’t have an accurate number on just how many citizen-deputies there were, yet.”
“Good Lord, look at that nonsense,” said the image of the Secretary of State, pointing towards an off-screen digital display at his own secret location.
The screen everyone turned to depicted a BBC news cast, showing scenes from Jordan of an anti-American demonstration in Amman. American flags burning, people dancing on the flames, others waving Jordanian and Palestinian flags.
“Laugh it up, assholes…laugh it up,” remarked the Free World’s leader sarcastically. “Any news on who hit us yet?” he asked over his shoulder to the National Security Advisor sitting at the conference table.
“If these jackasses had anything to do with it—“ began the SecDef’s image.
The screen focused on a truck driver sticking his head out the window of a white delivery truck, joining in the celebration. Before the President could finish his sentence, the television screen went white and then black, confusing both the President and the British anchorman.
“Uh…Ah…sorry…Our most sincere apologies about that,” said the Brit, effectuating timeless English class while covering up his channel’s SNAFU. “Appears we’re having a spat of trouble with the signal from Amman…I’m getting word…” he put a finger to his hidden ear piece. “Ah. Yes—well it seems we have another crew ready to report on the outskirts of Amman…and we go live there, now.”
The screen flickered, cut through some static then the camera focused on something no one had seen since the horrific summer of 1945. The audio feed from the second camera crew wasn’t up-linked, but the video came in crystal clear. The scene was something out of a nightmare of biblical proportions. The ravaged city of Amman was centered on the screen, with a huge, threatening snake of a mushroom cloud creeping up and out from downtown. The cameraman shook in fear, causing the image to blur. Then it rapidly zoomed out to give the impression of size as the cloud towered above the city. The image was still shaky.
“God have mercy…” said the shocked anchorman’s, voice.
No one said a word in the War Room, all eyes transfixed on the image of the mushroom cloud floating above Amman. The President put his coffee down absent mindedly on the edge of the table with his eyes glued to the display. The cup fell to the floor with crash—the only sound in the room. He slowly pulled himself away from the screen, looking at the National Security Advisor. She stared at the screen, mouth open in shock.
Only the Secretary of Defense spoke. “Well, I will be dipped in shit,” he said with a straight face, taking his glasses off. “Who in the hell would nuke Jordan of all places?” he asked the room.
All heads swiveled to the President.
“Israel,” he said, frowning, his fists clenched. “But why now? Dammit, get me the Israeli Prime Minister on the phone.” In seconds, a phone was handed to the President, connection established. When a nuclear device was detonated in your backyard and the President of the United States called, you answered the phone.
“I swear to you on the life of my daughter, Israel did not do this horrible thing!” said the Israeli Prime Minister heatedly over the secured speakerphone.
The President leaned back in his chair, looking at a monitor that showed the streets of Washington, D.C. out the windows of the abandoned White House. He looked towards the smoke rising in the distance, outside the security perimeter thrown up around the nation’s capital complex. Something on fire sailed past the window.
“Look, Ben, I believe you…you don’t have to convince me, but—”
“You are the only one then! Have you seen what those…” the Prime Minister rattled off something the President couldn’t understand. “What they said? King Hussein says we did it and they have proof! How can they have proof, I ask you? It’s only been a few minutes! The Pa
lestinians have gone wild—I…the Saudis and their cohorts have already begun to mass armies on their borders. They were just waiting for an excuse to invade. This is a set up—they have planned this, I tell you. They’re all going to start a war!” The prime Minister spat.
“Look, Ben, if there’s anything we can do—“
“You can do something. Do not recall your forces! We need your protection. Without American military presence, there’s going to be nothing holding them back. I tell you, they will attack us soon!”
“Ben, I’ve ordered our forces home to deal with our own problems, but I’ll have a carrier battlegroup stationed in the Med. I’m sorry, but I can’t spare more.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone. President watched the black smoke in the distance on the monitor screen, like so much smog hovering over the ground, as it smeared the blue sky like oil in water.
“Is it really as bad as they say?” The question was asked in a quiet, not unkind voice.
The President sighed. “Ben, it’s worse.”
“Of course you have the thoughts and prayers of Israel with you, my friend.”
“Thank you—America thanks you, Ben. We’re going to need it.”
“Is there nothing we can do?” asked the Israeli leader.
The President nearly choked. He had never, in all his life expected to be asked that question by any foreign nation, let alone a tiny nation that America had nearly single-handedly supported since its creation…America was the world’s only super-power. America needed help from no one, because America helped others, not the other way around.
What’s the world coming to?
“No…no, Ben, on behalf of our people, I thank you, but there’s not much anyone can do at the moment. We’re just dealing with internal issues. That’s all.”
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 22
