A Thousand Years of Darkness: a Thriller

by Charles W. Sasser

  Food Prices Spark Riots

  (Miami)—Continuing high unemployment and a spike in food prices triggered deadly rioting overnight in Miami, Seattle, Kansas City, and other cities across the nation. Angry young people rampaged through Miami’s Liberty City district, throwing stones, looting shops and drawing police gunfire that killed at least nine people...

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Washington, D.C.

  Senate Majority Leader Joe Wiedersham summoned his protégé, Dennis Trout, off the campaign trail to attend what he referred to as one of a crucial series of conferences and summits crafted to help prepare selected U.S. leaders for global governance. Trout felt flattered even while he had to double his intake of Maalox to quell the roil of his rebellious stomach. His father, were he still alive, would not be proud of him; his father believed in the special character of the American people, the Republic, and the Constitution.

  His father had been old-fashioned and idealistic. Times for men like him had passed. It was a New World and anyone who didn’t want to end up in the slag piles had better compromise and latch onto the comet that was sweeping the world.

  Dennis Trout tried to think about his father as little as possible.

  Wiedersham instructed Trout to report to the Kellogg Conference Center at 9:00 a.m. on Monday. Trout took off from Chicago on Saturday to spend a night with Judy while informing Marilyn that he wouldn’t be home until late Sunday. The only thing Marilyn wanted out of him anyhow was a free ride to the top. Let her sleep with Reggie the pink poodle.

  Judy told him nothing about why she had been in New York most of the past week other than that she was looking after a sick cousin. How many cousins did this bitch have? He supposed everyone from Bugfuck, Oklahoma, was cousins to everyone else—some of whom ended up hung in cemeteries.

  She seemed more ditzy than before, not quite as puppy-wagging-the-tail as usual. She wasn’t even that enthusiastic in bed, which put him in a sour mood and set him to pondering the state of their rather odd relationship.

  In Washington, it was accepted that Senators and Congressmen have their little pieces of tail discreetly stashed somewhere in cubby holes they paid for. Although Wiedersham was often critical of the custom on practical rather than moral grounds, Trout suspected his brother-in-law was as disturbed by his choice of Bimbos as by a “Bimbo Eruption” per se. Bimbos were more acceptable in Washington society these days after the Clinton Bimbo-on-her-knees-in-the-John era. Providing the Bimbo wasn’t a dimwit hillbilly who probably hadn’t worn shoes until she started school, if she even went to school.

  The way things were going—his meteoric rise into the elite governing classes—Trout expected he was going to have to dump his goofy piece of trailer trash sooner rather than later. But not yet.

  While he took a hot shower in her grubby little bathroom, drawing it out as long as possible to delay another meeting this morning with Wiedersham, after which he would have to go home to Marilyn, he heard Judy watching a soap or some infantile women’s gab show on TV. He finally forced himself to get out of the water and dry off. He put on a fresh suit, button down pale blue shirt that accented his eyes, a red power tie, and a new pair of Kenneth Cole shoes like the latest fashion display by Wiedersham and his new kiss-ass chief of staff, Justin Cobb. It did no harm to play up a little to his brother-in-law whose coattails he was riding to wealth and power.

  Judy looked up from the sofa and smiled when he came out dressed and ready to go. “Don’t you look nice, Dennis.”

  She was still in her nightie, a sheer little thing through which was visible the black triangle that had proved throughout the ages to be the bondage of many a man. He felt himself aroused. She had a body that more than made up for her lack of brain.

  No time. He turned away and spotted his notebook open on the dinette table next to his briefcase. He had been making a few notes over coffee, but he was certain he shut the book on his way to the shower. He glanced at Judy. She seemed absorbed in her inane program. He noted the passages on open display in his bold, scrawled handwriting before he closed the notebook and stuffed it into his molded leather briefcase.

  What I know is that Wiedersham is a ruthless son of a bitch and it pays to watch your back. He sees himself as a king of the world—or at least a prince underneath whoever the king is going to be when this all plays out. I’m not sure from where he receives his orders. I think they come from somebody like that creepy character George Zuniga who has more money and power than God. Joe says even President Anastos gets his orders from higher up.

  Things are happening real fast. Joe says the summits will prepare all of us to govern when the time comes...

  Judy smiled at him and stretched like a cat, one boob struggling to escape. He shrugged off his suspicions; he must have left the notebook open himself. She hadn’t any more inclination to treachery or deceit than a cow or a sheep. She even lacked normal curiosity.

  Marxists Look To Future

  (New York)—Revolutionaries and radicals gather daily at the Brecht Forum Community Center on West Street to pontificate and plan for a future free of capitalism. Activists, agitators and community organizers join together for classes on “Josef Stalin: The Vision;” “The Principles of Mao;” and “Freedom after Capitalism is Gone.” On game nights, regulars put aside their copies of Marx and play a Marxist version of Monopoly called “Class Struggle.” In a nation grown increasingly cynical, the New York Times reports, the Brecht Community Center is a “surprisingly open and idealistic place...”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Washington, D.C.

  Armed AmeriCorps guards manned all entrances to the large Kellogg Center where The International Summit on Social Justice was being held. Flags of socialist and Marxist governments blazed on the stage, as well as the flags of nations bent on going that direction. China, Russia, North Korea, Cuba, Venezuela, Iran... Greece, Nicaragua, Jordan, Britain, the United States... Delegates arrived solemn and reserved and spoke in low tones in various languages, as though to prevent being overheard by spies. Interpreters at banks of microphones to one side of the stage stood ready to translate conference speakers.

  An AmeriCorps officer properly vetted for inside duty ushered Majority Leader Joe Wiedersham and future Congressman Dennis Trout to front row seats reserved for international spokesmen, organizers and other VIPs, an indication of Wiedersham’s status. Wiedersham had been selected to open the summit and introduce President Anastos, who would speak via remote from the White House. It was considered too risky for him to appear in person and chance being linked to the gathering by Zenergy News or some crafty rightwing blogger. The U.S. flag flying next to those of China and North Korea seemed to Trout to be a fait accompli that America was next to fall in line.

  As the two politicians took their seats, Wiedersham said, “My sister called this morning. She said you left before she was awake.”

  Fuck Marilyn.

  The guy knew how to irritate Trout’s ass off. That fucked-up little bark that served as laughter but was not quite laughter. His expensive duds that always looked as though he had slept in them. The narrow, mocking eyes and blubbery jowls... Part of Trout’s irritation today rose from Wiedersham’s refusal to tell him in advance what the summits were about, other than in general terms of “preparing to govern.” Everything about the conferences was classified Top Secret: who attended them, where they were held, even that they were being held, topics discussed... If word leaked out prematurely, Wiedersham said, it could be explosive enough to set back the movement for months.

  Trout looked around for the spooky dude with the spooky East European accent and located him sitting on-stage in the center of a mixed-nation delegation. Even though George Zuniga was backing Trout’s campaign, the guy still gave him the creeps. Zuniga was the man known for having broke the Bank of England and, Wiedersham said, would do the same to the U.S. Federal Reserve to open the way for the collapse of the United States and the ascent of a New World Order. Like s
o many of the Progressives Trout had met through his well-connected brother-in-law, Zuniga was a narcissistic sonofabitch who pretended to know better than God how the world should be run. Trout recalled a Zuniga quote from a Progressive publication:

  “It is sort of a disease when you consider yourself some kind of a god, the creator of everything, but I feel comfortable about it now since I began to live it out.”

  Wiedersham rose and stepped to the podium on-stage and lifted both hands as though to part the waters.

  “We are in a fight for the minds of men,” he was saying when Trout’s wandering mind finally focused, “for the conquest of their convictions and hearts, to open the eyes of the intelligent few to the possibilities of regimenting the public mind that all the planet may be able to thrive. In order to get things like universal health care and free education and decent standards of living for people in Bangladesh as well as in the United States, we are going to have to redistribute the pie so that everyone can have social justice...”

  Trout doubted Wiedersham gave a flying fuck about “social justice” unless it was defined in terms of political power. Wiedersham continued.

  “The governing classes must rise to lead and make the tough decisions that can save the world from disaster and that will lead to peace and prosperity for those most deserving. Global governance is the answer to the social, climate, economic and population challenges this generation faces. An international order is within our reach for the first time in the history of mankind...”

  Trout had to admit that his brother-in-law was a gifted orator. One could almost overlook his rumpled appearance and abrasive character.

  “It is therefore with great honor that I introduce Patrick Wayne Anastos, President of the United States. President Anastos can do more than speak the truth. President Anastos knows how to be the truth. He is an evolved leader who will bring evolved leadership to the United States and to the world...”

  The President’s image flashed onto a huge screen in a bigger-than-life telecast from the White House. The familiar Presidential Seal on his podium had been replaced with Anastos’ campaign shield featuring its iconic “A” logo emblazoned against a field of stars and stripes, under which appeared: Vero Possumus.

  Yes we can.

  Wiedersham retook his front row seat next to Trout as Anastos began his teleprompter wag.

  “Fucking dickhead,” he sniped, glaring at the screen.

  “The need for de-development, uh, presents the world with a major challenge,” the President began. “It is up to us to design a stable, low-corruption economy in which there is a more equitable redistribution of worldwide wealth. Redistribution of wealth within and among nations, uh, as well as among a necessarily smaller and more manageable population, is absolutely essential if a decent life is to be provided to every sustainable human being...”

  What the hell did he mean by sustainable? Trout’s stomach was already starting to sour.

  While the President’s opening remarks may have been purposefully vague, his words carefully chosen to permit damage control if necessary, there was nothing equivocal about what followed. The program began with a film in which historical Progressives from the late 19th Century to the present extolled the virtues, indeed the necessity, for worldwide population control if the human race and the planet it inhabited were to survive. It featured George Bernard Shaw, Nobel Prize-winning playwright and one of the founders of England’s Fabian socialist movement a century ago. Typical intellectual with a beard, high-foreheaded and high-handed.

  “I think it would be a good thing,” lectured the dead man preserved in film, “to make everybody come before a properly appointed board just as he might come before the income tax administer and, say every five years or every seven years, and just put them there and say, ‘Sir or madam, will you be kind enough to justify your existence...?’ A great many people will have to be put out of existence simply because it wastes other people’s time to look after them.”

  He was followed by shots of professors, environmentalists, scientists, politicians, and other prominent people, all saying essentially the same thing—that it was necessary to eliminate undesirable populations for the greater good of the collective. To Trout, there was something surreal about the intellectual and social elites of the world getting together in secret to focus on one of the primary objectives of One World Government—population control.

  “The simplest answer is that the world’s population should be about two billion, and we’ve got six billion now...”

  “”If I were an animal, I would like to return as a deadly virus in order to contribute something to solve overpopulation...”

  “We are the riders of the Pale Horse and we have the means to eliminate uneducated masses...”

  “Childbearing should be a punishable crime against society, unless the parents hold a government license...”

  “In order to stabilize the world population, we must eliminate three hundred and fifty thousand people per day. It is a horrible thing to say, but it’s just as bad not to say it...”

  “The Earth can only be saved if ninety percent of the human beings alive today are purged from the planet...”

  “Society has no business to permit degenerates to reproduce their kind... We have no business to perpetuate citizens of the wrong type...”

  “Adding a sterilant to drinking water or staple foods is a suggestion...”

  “The state must interfere on behalf of the really fittest...”

  “Universal Healthcare must include the provision, based on objective judgment, that care will be rendered on the basis of individual merit and level of productivity...”

  “There’s nothing wrong with killing things that are replaceable...”

  Trout was sweating and feeling sick to his stomach by the end of the film, Nevertheless, he stood with the rest of the auditorium and applauded wildly. The elites obviously agreed upon the principle of eugenics, the necessity to reduce the global population by weeding out undesirables. How it was to be done was the challenge. The congregation broke up into smaller workshops to discuss specifics.

  President Seeks Increased Power

  (Washington)—President Anastos today asked Congress to grant him special powers to issue executive orders in order to quash growing disturbances across the nation. Congress immediately granted his request. The temporary measure will allow the President to bypass Congress for a period of one year. The unusual petition followed thousands of demonstrators marching down Pennsylvania Avenue in protest over alleged voter irregularities in the upcoming mid-term elections. Dewey Gubbins, White House spokesman, described the rioters as “tea-bagger revolutionaries.” They were driven back and beaten by police and Homeland Security...

  Two marchers were killed...

  PART IV

  “Freedom is a fragile thing and is never more than one generation away from extinction.”

  President Ronald Reagan

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Scranton, Pennsylvania

  The candle in its globe on the table in an intimate corner of The Eclectic Diner diffused soft shimmers of light into the faces of James Nail and Sharon Lowenthal. They chose the restaurant because it had enough atmosphere to make it a night out but was remote enough that no one was apt to recognize either Sharon or Nail through their minimal disguises. They held hands across the table, their drinks almost untouched.

  “Is this a real date?” Nail asked.

  “Feels like a date.”

  “I want to kiss you.”

  “In public?”

  They leaned toward each other across the small table and kissed briefly but tenderly. Both appeared more sober and reflective when they withdrew. Nail entertained no illusion that their time together was not coming to an end. In this Brave New World, there was no such thing as Happily Ever After.

  They glanced as in common accord toward the restaurant windows and the violence that seemed to lurk against them in the darkness beyond. On
ly Big C’s presence out there watching over them on this special night held it in abeyance.

  Sharon had wanted Nail to recuperate in North Dakota or Wyoming, somewhere far away, but he insisted on remaining near her. They compromised. After Judy returned to D.C., Sharon and Big C had moved Nail out of the seedy motel in New York to a pay-by-the-month apartment she found across the Pennsylvania line in Scranton, far enough from New York that Homies wouldn’t likely be out in force searching for Nail.

  “I’m a fast recuperator,” Nail had promised. Hair had almost grown back on his head to cover the scar from ORU.

  He seemed to be coming along. Fortunately, the Homie’s bullet had made a clean in-and-out hole, striking no vital organs.

  This being their first real date, they agreed to discuss nothing beyond the moment—like any other normal couple going out for dinner.

  The waitress at The Eclectic Diner was small and dark black with a pretty face and a name tag that introduced her as Chloe. She refilled their drinks and displayed gleaming teeth in a friendly smile.

  “It’s wonderful seeing happy folks like ya’all,” she said. “People ain’t so happy no more.”

  Sharon took Chloe’s hand and squeezed it, smiling. “It’s our anniversary,” she said.

  Chloe beamed. “How many, folks?”

  Sharon laughed delightedly. “Eight weeks.”

  It occurred to Nail that if this was the anniversary of their having met, it was also the anniversary of the deaths of the people they loved.

  “Newlyweds, huh?” Chloe said. “God bless you folks.”

  “God bless you,” Sharon responded. “You’re a Christian?”