End of the World

by D Thomas Jewett

  And then Allystair turned his attention to the woman, his companion. “And who might you be? Another bloody banker?”

  “N-n-no. Sir. I'm – I'm just a f-f-friend,” she replied. Allystair could see the fear in her eyes. This is good, he thought. I want them to be afraid!

  Allystair turned his attention back to the man and glared. “You motherfucker,” he spat as he again launched his fist. He felt the man's head snap as though it were rubber. Again, and then again.

  Allystair's voice was a growl. “Alright mate! Let go of 'im. Let 'im fall.”

  The man dropped like a stone.

  Allystair stepped forward and kicked the man. Again, and then again. But the prostrate body was like a sack of potatoes – there was no life remaining.

  Allystair stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. God how I hate these bloody bankster fucks, he thought. These slimy parasites! Allystair scanned the people around him, seeing many nod their approval. He motioned to the woman and bellowed, “who will do the honors?”

  A member of the mob stepped forward. “All right, Peter,” he bellowed, “take care of 'er!”

  As Peter administered the beating, Allystair patiently scanned the surrounding mob. And then his eyes shifted higher as he scanned along the buildings just above the mob. Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed a movement; a motion several floors up on a nearby building. He looked upward, ever so slowly, and caught a glimpse of someone standing in the window. Watching.

  He noted the building, and he smiled. For he knew that bankers lived there.

  Chapter 9 – Monday

  It was an early spring day that found Chairman Ross gazing from his office window, looking out over Washington D.C. The city over which he presided didn't seem like such a big prize anymore, for it was bloodied and beaten down after four years of economic depression. And like the USA, Washington D.C. was now just a figment of its former glory.

  Oh, sure. The military was second to none in the world – fighting five simultaneous wars was testimony to that fact! And the government was larger and more powerful than ever. As was the financial sector as it continued to consume and claim huge quantities of resources from the remainder of the country. And Chairman Ross had seen to all of it with his zero-percent interest policy!

  Enough of this! He chided himself. There will be much time later to be tired. I need to focus on the end game, and how it will unfold.

  The Chairman heard his office door open and turned around to see Carol walking in carrying a tray. “Good morning, sir. I brought you a couple of muffins to go with your coffee. You may need it today.”

  The Chairman smiled. “Thank you, Carol.”

  “How was your trip, sir?” Carol asked.

  “Tiring,” he replied. “Back and forth to Europe in two days is a challenge.”

  “Yes sir,” she replied. “But please do get some rest.” With that, she turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  * * * * *

  As Tim and Lori spent more and more time together, Tim felt ever closer to her. He came to appreciate her crinkled nose and easy smile; and he enjoyed her full expressive lips and her flaming red hair, and especially the way her hair flowed through the arc of her motion when she turned her head. And when they were alone and intimate, he enjoyed that she was short, and just a bit pudgy; and yet, he was brought closer still by the suppleness of her stomach, of her legs, and the easy manner she enjoyed pleasure with him. And when he was with her, he felt alive; alive as he had never felt before.

  And so Lori stayed over for the weekend. A weekend of enjoyment and seclusion, where they learned more about each other. And as they conversed and connected, Tim felt her passion – for life and for living.

  On Monday morning, Tim and Lori left the apartment together near 175th Street and stepped into the din and chaos of Queens. They ignored the noise – the cars, the trucks, and the fumes. They ignored the sound of the pounding jack hammer off in the distance. And they ignored the winding diesel motor of the trash compactor truck as it plodded along – hauling its stench along the grimy street.

  But Tim noticed that something was different. There were fewer people on the street; and those who were there seemed to be walking faster, with yet more purpose. And then he put his finger on it. The corner market where he usually grabbed a coffee was closed. They walked by a scribbled sign on the main entrance: Closed Until Further Notice.

  Tim voiced his surprise. “Shit! What the hell is goin' on?”

  “What do you mean,” Lori replied.

  “The locals told me this store never closes. Never! So far as I've been told, it hasn't been closed in years.” Tim glanced across the street, seeing a gang of young men crowding out the pedestrians as they walked along the sidewalk.

  Tim and Lori strode quickly along 175th Street and then to 75th Avenue, where they turned right onto the Union Turnpike at 174th Street. Tim continued to see a sparsity of people as they waited at the bus stop. They stood near the curb, watching one bus after another pass by.

  “Hey motherfucker!”

  Tim and Lori turned to face four young thugs. Lori grabbed on to Tim’s arm while Tim eyed the thugs warily. “What do you want?” Tim’s voice quivered as he spoke.

  Two of the gang produced switchblade knives. The leader held his knife high and snapped it open. “Give us your fuckin' wallets!”

  Tim thought he heard the sound of an approaching bus.

  His voice quivered as he said, “Wallet? Ah, er – let me pull it out.” Tim reached into his pocket. But at just that moment, a bus pulled up to the stop, and the gang simultaneously disappeared into an alley. Tim and Lori jumped on, and the bus pulled away from the curb.

  They were still trembling when they sat down. “Shit! That was close!”

  “Have you ever seen that before?” Lori asked.

  “No. Not here,” he replied. “This is usually a pretty safe neighborhood, especially during the day and during rush hour.”

  Lori was breathless, shaking. “Why is this happening?”

  “I don't know. But check out this bus – it’s almost empty! I've never seen it with this few people!”

  Lori hugged him close. “Hold me, Tim.”

  They rode the bus with some angst, watching as the bus stopped again and again. At one of the stops, they could see a gang of hoodlums invading a store. The bars on the front of the store had been pulled down and the glass was shattered. “Damn!” Tim muttered.

  They passed a gas station. Lori tapped his shoulder and gestured toward the price list. She whispered, “Look!”

  Regular Unleaded $602.4999

  Premium Unleaded $607.4999

  Diesel $895.7999

  “Holy shit,” Tim exclaimed. They continued their ride – in silence – but with their eyes fixed on the unfolding drama outside. Finally, the bus pulled up to their stop and they disembarked.

  They began walking the minute or so needed to reach Kew Gardens and Union Turnpike. Across the street from the subway entrance, there was a mob shouting and beating on the caged enclosure of store fronts.

  “Holy shit!” Lori whispered.

  “I don't know,” was Tim's only reply. “Did you notice we've not seen a cop since we left the apartment?” They reached the subway entrance in a rush and hurried down the stairs to the station. Their train was marked WORLD TRADE CENTER, and it soon appeared. They stepped onto the train and grasped the overhead bar – the train began to move, accelerating quickly.

  Twenty-four minutes and 7 stops later, they disembarked. They hurriedly made their way up the stairs to ground level and 7th Avenue, and then walked the few minutes to the Barclays Capital Building. They entered the trading floor at 8:30 am, sharp.

  * * * * *

  The intercom sounded. The Chairman pressed the 'connect' button. “Sir, Secretary Duncan and New York Fed President Turin are waiting for you on the conference bridge.”

  “Thanks, Carol.” He disconnected the intercom and pres
sed the speaker button on the telephone. “Good morning gentlemen.”

  “Good morning, Samual,” they both replied.

  And then Tom continued in his soft voice. “Thanks for calling us yesterday afternoon. Are there any more developments?”

  “No, not really. You can see that the Asian markets are down. And European markets are also down.” Samual paused and then went on. “And as you know, the Dow futures point to a large decline, so it's clear that the added liquidity is having little positive effect at this time.”

  “Actually,” Secretary James Duncan interjected, “it's looking like the additional liquidity is causing the dollar to decline and making things worse. For example, we're seeing a lockup of the commercial paper market; and if this market freezes, then commerce stops and the grocery shelves will be empty in just a few days.”

  “Hmmm. I'm not surprised,” Samual replied. “Do either of you have recommendations? Tom, how much have you loaned out since Friday?”

  Tom's quiet voice came on. “I've loaned out – let's see – about $145 Trillion. So far.”

  “And all we're buying is higher inflation and collapsing markets,” James interjected. “I'd say that we need to stop digging this hole, at least if we ever want to get out of it!”

  “Point taken,” Samual replied. “How about you, Tom? Do you have any recommendations?”

  Tom's quiet voice came on the speaker. “I think we need to continue the loan program. Because if we allow the banks to fail, we'll be toast.”

  “I agree, Tom.” Samual replied. “Let's continue the loan program –”

  “Are you sure that's a good idea?” James interrupted. “We're gonna kill this economy if we keep pumping money. We need to pull back!”

  “Point taken,” Samual replied. “But let's continue to do the loan program and see where we're at tomorrow morning.” Samual glanced at his wristwatch, and then said, “Ah – let's check in, say, about 8:30 am tomorrow?”

  “Okay.”

  * * * * *

  Sheryl was talking as the couple drove to work ...

  “So, Mom was telling me that her and Dad are in tough straits. There've been break-ins in their neighborhood, and the police are not responding. In fact she said the police don't even pick up their telephone half the time.”

  She looked over at Mark. “Did you bring the gun?”

  “Yep,” Mark glanced over at her as he was driving the main thoroughfare toward D.C. “I've got it tucked right here in my waist!” He patted his hip.

  Sheryl became thoughtful. “You know? I used to think that banning all guns was a good idea. But now that we are using one for protection, I wouldn't want them banned.”

  “In fact,” she looked tellingly at Mark, “maybe I ought to get one for me.”

  “Let's see what we can do,” Mark replied. “But with martial law, it may be tough to get one right now. Hell – I'm illegal with this one in my belt! And worse yet, DC doesn’t allow anyone to own a gun.”

  They continued their drive.

  Sheryl started watching the buildings off to the side. “Wow! Isn't that where Hanscom's market was?” She let out a low whistle and said, “It's burned to the ground.” She paused and then continued. “And look at that – three stores in a row with shattered windows. Damn! They pulled the iron cage fronts right off the buildings!”

  “Did you notice how little traffic there is this morning?”

  “Yep. But with $600 gasoline, its no wonder!” Mark looked over at her. “I heard on TV yesterday that credit cards and ATMs are no longer working.”

  “What do the merchants want for payment?” She asked.

  “Cash. And with gas prices this high, we may not be able to come in here much longer.”

  They rode in silence for a time, with Sheryl keeping her face glued to the window.

  “Twenty seven,” Sheryl said.

  “Huh?” Mark replied.

  “I've been counting soldiers as we've been driving. So, I've counted twenty seven,” Sheryl said.

  She glanced over at Mark. But Mark's focus was straight ahead. His hands tightly clasping the steering wheel, he continued driving with a grim, determined expression.

  * * *

  Mark and Sheryl soon found their way to Senator Bannister's office.

  They were in the office talking when Mark heard someone behind him. “Hey. You're here!”

  Sheryl and Mark turned around to find Walter Grant, Senator Bannister's Chief of Staff, standing behind them “Hi Walt.” Mark and Sheryl said in unison.

  “So,” Walter continued, “why are you two here?”

  Sheryl laughed. “We could ask you the same thing, Walt.”

  “Haven’t you noticed?” Mark chimed in. “We've seen hardly anyone since we arrived.” Mark's voice turned to a whisper. “And the streets – hell, there's hardly any traffic!”

  Walter gestured to an adjoining office. “Let's go in there.” Once inside, Walt closed the door and turned around to face them. “What I'm about to tell you is obvious; but it needs to be said and we shouldn't advertise it.” Walt paused. “Okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Mark and Sheryl agreed.

  Walt continued. “With the inflation we now have – especially with gas and food – no one can afford to come to work. In fact, many people are staying home to protect their families from marauders and burglars!” Walter’s voice sounded grim as he said, “Unless things change for the better – and I mean a lot better – we could soon see the end of the U.S. government. In fact, some think it could happen as early as tomorrow.”

  Mark sucked in a breath as he glanced over at Sheryl, seeing her eyes widened. She stared transfixed at Walter.

  “Hey,” Walt clapped his hands. “Are you there?”

  Mark was the first to speak. “Shit! That means that even martial law will end – not because the President declares it, but because there's no money to fund it!”

  “Correct,” Walt responded. “We're talking about changes the likes of which this country has never seen.”

  Walt paused and then went on. “But this is even more important. Because the dollar is the reserve currency of the world, we're seeing this play out across the globe, and it’s most severe in the more-developed countries.” Walt paused. “Mark, Sheryl. We're watching a collapse that's bigger than the fall of the Roman Empire!”

  Silence enveloped the room. And then Sheryl began to sob – deep sobbing as though rising up from her belly. And then her sobbing changed to low guttural sounds – muttering. Her muttering became louder – staccato-like, until she was near screaming.

  But Mark silenced her quickly with a sharp slap across the face. She stopped her muttering, but her gaunt cheeks, disheveled hair, and red eyes made her appear as a zombie. She looked at Mark through vacant eyes.

  Walt spoke up. “You two can stay here until she recovers. Then, I think you should go home.”

  Mark nodded his understanding. “Thanks, Walt.”

  * * *

  With Sheryl sitting beside him, Mark began the drive home. He mostly kept his focus straight ahead, but sometimes he would steal a glance at Sheryl. She’s just staring straight ahead – uninterested, he thought. I hope she recovers okay.

  But as they drove, Mark noticed her posture and her eyes becoming alert, regaining their focus. She’s coming back – she's looking out the window. Mark began to smile.

  “How're you feeling?” He asked.

  Sheryl had a sheepish expression as she turned and looked at him. “Thanks,” she said, “for helping to bring me out of it.” She sighed. “It was such a shock – I'm still not sure I can wrap my head around it!”

  “Me neither,” Mark confessed.

  “You? You seemed to handle it so well!”

  Mark looked over at her and smiled. “I'm not sure anyone can handle the idea of the end of the world. I assure you that I’m having trouble coping with it!”

  They rode in silence for a time, and then Mark spoke up. “I'm not seeing any
military on the streets now. I wonder what's up?”

  Sheryl was thoughtful. “Yes, I wonder too.”

  They soon arrived home and parked their car. And then they disappeared inside the apartment.

  Sheryl went directly for the television. She flipped it on.

  “ ... and we are still seeing a decline in crime as the –”

  Suddenly – the television, the lights, and all other electrical appliances ceased to operate.

  Mark and Sheryl looked at each other. “I'll get the candles,” Sheryl announced.

  “And I'll call the power company,” Mark said, as he went for the telephone.

  Mark picked up the receiver and tapped the bar several times. He put the receiver back on its cradle and looked at Sheryl. “No dial tone.”

  “I'll get the candles,” she replied.

  * * * * *

  The trading floor was already a bedlam of activity when Tim and Lori walked in. Chaos, pandemonium and shouting were the order of the day, and Lori strode through it as she headed immediately to her console. But Tim decided to stop by the manager’s desk. Maybe Shawn has some rumors he’s willing to share, he thought.

  Tim really liked Shawn. He was a likable Irishman who emigrated about fifteen years ago. In times of stress, he still talked in his Irish parlance.

  “Hi Shawn.”

  Shawn's face was strained as he looked up at Tim. “Asia's down. Big. And so is Europe!”

  “What's the Dow futures look like?”

  “Down, Mr. Tim. About 800 points.”

  Tim gasped. “That’s 800 below Friday's close?”

  “Aye!”

  “Holy shit! What's causing this?”

  “The dollar. It's crashing. In fact, all the paper currencies are crashing! And bonds – they're crashing too!”

  “Oh, man! What're they doing about it?”

  “They had an emergency G8 meeting yesterday.”

  “And?”