Dark Ages: 2020 (Dark Ages Series Book 1)

by JD Dutra

  Woods face grew serious and he sighed as he opened his briefcase and pulled out a tablet computer.

  “It’s not good, Mr. President, I wish I could wait longer to deliver bad news, but it simply can’t wait anymore… Every minute counts at this point.” He raised his sandy blond eyebrows in worry, filling the President with concern.

  Had it started already?

  “What’s going on out there, Mr. Woods?”

  “Well, things took a terrible dive since you got here, these last two weeks have been nothing but destructive for our economy. The dollar got dumped as the reserve currency by everyone in Latin America now, on top of everyone else who already left us. The BRICS bank was charted and now it’s facilitating high volume trade among the member countries, so Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa announced they will start shedding dollars over the next few months, they’ll just hold onto a couple of million each.”

  He paused to see if the President would say anything, but his jaw was set and he remained silent. He nodded for Woods to continue.

  “Another African country’s currency collapsed, so they are using the American dollar for now, it will help soak up some of the liquidity, but Mr. President, I’m seriously worried.”

  Woods sounded like a man running out of options, but the President had nothing serious to offer; no real decisions were his. There was silence between them for a few seconds, and then Woods continued.

  “What should we do?”

  The familiar feelings of terror and panic that came from those who really ran the country – who actually wanted these disastrous economic conditions - began to creep into his mind again, but he needed to suppress them immediately. He needed to think of something else, because he couldn’t deal with his fears in front of Mr. Woods. Barry realized his Secretary wouldn’t calm down until he was given some type of solution, so it was time to do the unthinkable, and use his political gifts on someone he actually liked.

  “Let’s start by having Big Media just keep doing what they are doing, telling people everything will be just fine, and we’ve got to slow down the bandwidth for those alternative media websites; let’s keep our cards close to our chests,” he suggested as if talking about an election strategy.

  “We can try, Mr. President, I think Europe will play along with us, nobody cares about what the Latin American media says, but I’m worried about what’s out there, what gets shared on social media between people, it’s hard to control that. I’m afraid we’ll have a run on banks before we know its happening.”

  “You underestimate our ability to manipulate perceptions, Mr. Woods. Things will be fine, you’ll see,” said Barry. He had a few ideas on how this might be handled, but in the end his opinion didn’t matter.

  “Mr. President, I’m sure this time it will be hard to kick the can down the road, their BRICS announcement a few days ago had a horrible effect on the dollar. If everyone actually starts dumping it, the value will drop so low that we›ll need to raise interest rates on our bonds in order to attract buyers so we can keep printing money. That will spiral our debt service out of control, interest on $27 trillion isn›t cheap. The interest rates have been zero for years, but if we need to raise them back to previous levels to attract bond buyers, like it was in the 80›s which peaked at 15.32%, we’ll need to triple the taxes on all Americans just to pay the interest on the debt alone.»

  Barry nodded. The bandage on his face and the pain made his body language hard to read.

  “I’m sure we’ll do what has been done in other countries, we’ll just keep on printing,” Barry said, as if things were just like business as usual. Part of him liked to be involved in manipulating people’s perceptions of reality, the sense of power was intoxicating, addicting. Like an actor on stage, even just playing the parts he played and not actually directing the show kept his adrenaline high.

  “Keep on printing until when?” Asked Woods, with real fear in his voice. After a brief silence, when Barry didn’t reply, he continued.

  “We’ve got 400 million people in America and 330 million of them were promised some kind of assistance - welfare, social security, health, pensions – and that’s not counting the millions of government employees, from the military all the way to city, county, state and federal levels, so money has to flow from us faster and faster. We will just devalue the money and destroy the people’s purchasing power? We’ll have pictures of people in America taking wheelbarrows full of money to buy bread, just like in Germany between the World Wars. This is America and there’s got to be something we can do to avoid this. I do as I’m told, but I have to warn you yet again that this is not going to end well for anyone.”

  “Do you remember seeing a 100 Trillion Dollar bill from Zimbabwe, Mr. Woods?” Barry said, sounding amused. When Woods was about to answer, Barry cut him off.

  “If Zimbabwe can get away, even for a few months, with printing millions of 100 trillion bills while being nothing in the world, 27 Trillion for us will be nothing. We have to just keep manipulating the numbers, changing the way we add up our gross domestic product, lie about the inflation numbers, and make that debt look like growth in the economy. That’s what we’ve been doing all along. We’ll be fine, you’ll see” said Barry, as if this wasn’t a crisis after all.

  Woods crossed his arms, took a deep breath and nodded. It was like the President had never learned about history. Barry reached for the glass of water next to his bed, took a sip and continued his explanation.

  “So we make reality what we want it to be by controlling people’s perception of it. That’s politics. By the time people are taking wheelbarrows full of money to buy bread, we’ll have bigger problems than a blown up currency to distract them. We’ll start another war somewhere and blame a new enemy. Then we’ll cut a few zeros off of the old currency and reissue a brand new piece of paper, with a new name and a new look and call it a new currency. We’ll blame the whole thing on the capitalists and start to do it all over again.” said Barry, trying to calm himself and his favorite Secretary.

  He continued.

  “We’ll tax as much as we can get away with without upsetting the people, and we’ll print the rest of what we need. We don’t need to reinvent the wheel here; hundreds of countries have done it around the world, so with us it will be no different,” Barry said, knowing sometime soon things would go beyond that. He truly wished he could tell Woods that a dollar crisis was the least of his problems, but he had probably gone too far already by saying something to his wife.

  “But there is one major problem with that,” suggested Woods nervously, his anxiety making him pace around the room.

  “And what is that?”

  “The means of production, the factories, even most of the food America eats is bought abroad with dollars. Once our suppliers aren’t taking our dollars, how are people going to clothe, feed and medicate themselves? We don’t manufacture anything on US soil anymore that people really want abroad, let alone in our own country. We send people overseas a piece of paper we hope they can believe in and they send us goods. I don’t think countries will dump dollars just to turn around and start accepting a new fiat currency backed by the same country, with the same problems, with just a new face and name on it.”

  “Okay, our citizens will suffer for a few years, but we’ll be fine,» Barry said feeling his body age with all of this. Woods was a lovely man, but he was such a worrier and that aspect of his personality always got on the President’s nerves. It was like he really didn’t understand the role of government and politics at all and he’d never be able to comprehend what was really going on. He decided to enlighten him a little more.

  “When other countries came back from financial failure, it took a while for the people to trust them again, but all governments need is a meeting with other global leaders, a few contracts for natural resources in exchange for backing and faith and we’ll be back in business in no time.”

  “Mr. President, becoming more self-sufficient a
nd replacing the means of production back inside the US will take years. With all the taxes and regulations we have here, it will be decades or more before everything we need to be manufactured here. Even if we can get away with it, like you suggest, there will be chaos on the streets when hyperinflation hits; that’s what has happened to other countries all over the world. Most of the US citizens are a bunch of free loaders and there will be riots on the streets; they will want their promises paid up. They will want food, clothing, medication, gas in their cars. It won’t be just in a few of the poorer areas, the entire country will riot Mr. President… « Woods said, before putting one of his hands in front of himself, holding it still, only to find out he was shaking with anxiety.

  “Don’t worry about that, things will work themselves out. Like I said, they’ll suffer for a while, but we’ll be fine.”

  “I’m starting to have nightmares about it,” said Woods. He started to say something else, but the President cut him short with a raised hand. The word “nightmares” sank Barry’s heart down to his stomach. He had bigger things to worry about now, he couldn’t wait.

  “All this talk of politics in the middle of my recuperation isn’t good for me Mr. Woods; put all this on hold until I get back to the White House. I think I’m going to ask for my breakfast and try to get some more sleep. Leave your tablet please; I want to do some research on this.”

  Woods sighed. The President talked like things were as simple as not answering the bill collectors calling the house all the time, but Woods knew things were 27 trillion times worse. He got up to give his tablet to the President, and offered him a warm smile.

  “Get well, Sir, I’m afraid I’m only the first Secretary to come and deliver bad news. The others will need your guidance too.”

  When Barry took the tablet off his hands, he briefly stroked the back of Woods’ fingers on purpose and gazed deeply in Mr. Woods’ eyes, as if wanting to ignite an old flame. That got no response at all and the Secretary just turned around and left with a nod and a simple, “Mr. President.”

  Once Woods was gone Barry let out a sigh and then decided he had to focus on his bigger problems, those of staying alive, and that it was time to find an explanation to what happened to him that night the world went dark for the first time. He turned the tablet on and opened Google then typed ‘large skulls’. Under the image option results, he saw something that immediately petrified him. The right term was ‘Elongated Skulls.’ What he was looking at was more than just a person from a third world country with a wrapped head. These were massive humanoid skulls, thousands of them found all over the world, with apparently no DNA match to humans.

  “If there are skulls… that means they die… and can be killed,” he mused out loud and the thought of it made him have difficulty breathing; he felt so vulnerable here in this bed, strapped down. He needed a gun by his side, but would that be enough?

  A knock on the door startled him and he was too busy catching his breath to answer before Dr. Singh entered. Barry’s eyes went immediately to the turban on his head.

  “Hello Mr. President, how are you feeling?” Said the pleasantly accented voice of the doctor.

  Barry didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still fixed on the large purple turban on the doctor’s head. He could almost make up in his mind’s eye, the outline of something massive under the fabric. His adrenaline started to rise.

  “Would you please remove your turban Dr. Singh?” Barry’s good eye narrowed, analyzing it.

  “I am sorry Mr. President, I can’t. I hope you understand, it’s my religion.” The dark skinned doctor looked startled; the friendly smile was gone from his face.

  “Take that off… Now!” Barry said in controlled anger with his teeth clenched, pointing a trembling finger to the doctor’s head.

  “Mr. President, calm down please,” said Dr. Singh warmly.

  Is he being condescending towards me?

  “Take that turban off right here, right now or I’ll have you arrested for disobeying a Presidential order!” Barry’s voice was so filled with anger it made his face throb in pain.

  “I can’t. Not even for you Mr. President,” said the doctor, who was frozen in place, thinking about what to do next.

  Was it because of his religion, or something else?

  Barry franticly stabbed the button by his bed, calling for help. The doctor looked at him like someone deeply offended and betrayed.

  He looks like a villain being unmasked.

  In a jolt of fear, Barry hurled the tablet at the doctor as hard as he could, aiming for his head. It exploded against the wall next to him, glass shattering everywhere. Seconds later the Secret Service agents ran into his room, guns drawn. The doctor looked calmer than he should.

  “What’s going on here, Mr. President, what happened?” Asked one of the large men in suits as he held a pistol at low ready. The other just scanned the room, in silence.

  “Agent Adams, unwrap that turban off his head, right here, right now!”

  The President’s veins throbbed on the side of his head, his breathing was out of control and he began to tremble. The doctor eyed his patient and slowly pointed a calm hand at him.

  “Agents, he is having an allergic reaction to his medication, causing him to have severe delusions. I need my staff here immediately to sedate him. Will one of you please stay with him, the other come with me if you’d like, but I need to go check on the allergens in all medications he took in the last 48 hours,” said the doctor, his accent and medical speak putting weight on his argument.

  “If any of you leave this room I’ll have you all arrested!” Barry said, using the only threat he could from his restrained position. Again he wished he had a gun, then he’d make them do as he said. He would feel safer then. The feeling that his life was in danger was more real than the throbbing pain in his head and he decided he would fight back now and for the rest of his life, however long that might be.

  “Agent Adams, give me your gun now, just give it to me!” Barry said, clawing the air for the man’s weapon.

  The President’s behavior was so far from normal that Agent Adams simply turned to his partner and said, “Go with the doctor, I’ll stay here.”

  And before he was even done saying it, Dr. Singh and the other Agent were out of the room, running. Barry screamed and cursed at his bodyguard and the staff in the entire hospital hall stood still.

  Chapter 7

  Chihuahuan Desert, Mexico

  Wednesday, October 21st, 2020

  12:30 P.M.

  Deep into the Chihuahuan desert in Mexico, sweat dripped into Nathan’s eyes and ran down his neck as he adjusted his sombrero in the baking heat of the day. He wished he could at least put on his sunglasses, but the assignment called for complete and absolute immersion. He could see the scorching heat rising from the ground when he looked away into the distance. In any direction, there was nothing but dust and gray rocky sand, dotted here and there with cactuses and small, pale green shrubs. The hot wind made him feel like he was being broiled alive and his lips felt dry and cracked.

  What kind of life do the real illegal immigrants leave behind?

  A few hours before, he and the five men he was in charge of had met at the small town of Ojinaga in Mexico, and bought the clothes, shoes and backpacks from immigrants who had been preparing to cross the border. Nathan and the others put them on, burned their own clothes in the back of an alley and drove north. Ojinaga reminded him of the slums and poor neighborhoods of Phoenix. He had left his home less than 24 hours earlier, but he missed his little girls already.

  He had then led the men to this specific spot in the middle of the desert, far from the dirt road that brought them here. These were the exact coordinates in the assignment.

  “Everyone ready to go?” The five men nodded to Nathan as they stood around the old El Camino they drove. He continued.

  “Again, we should be able to do this in two nights, and I was told in my briefing that we shouldn’
t have any problems at all during our crossing. The border patrol on the USA has been taken care of, and so has the cartel on this side. The local Mexican authorities don’t care, so we should be good to go.”

  «I know I’m going to have some big blisters if I wear these shoes, I can already tell,” said John, a tall wiry man who once led a biker gang, as he tried to get a finger inside the cracked old leather shoe to rub his heel. He sniffed his finger afterwards and grimaced, “And these shoes smell… like a sour mix of corn and cheese.»

  “Stop crying Mr. Quesadilla!” quipped Joe with a grin, the only other military veteran in the group besides Nathan.

  “Oh, you all will look pink as shrimps by the time we›re done with this,” said Tony, the only African American in the group, who was famous for giving up a promising career on Wall Street for his current one.

  Bruce, who once was a police officer but now was the second in command, turned to Nathan and asked, “Are you sure the water holes on the map are good?»

  “To be honest, I have no idea. We’re going to have to trust our sources on this one,” Nathan replied with a mocking smile.

  “We’re all going to die then,” John said before chuckling again and the others followed suit.

  Suddenly, they saw dust rising in the distance and Nathan gazed at this dirt cloud through his pocket binoculars. He saw a line of dilapidated old busses, none the same, coming down the dirt road in their direction; the mission was about to begin. He pulled out his pistol, a tactical .45 Rock Island Armory 1911 and did a chamber check before tucking it away again in his waistband.

  “Something still doesn’t feel right about this, Nate. Why couldn’t the military just fly these guys into the country?” Asked Tony.

  “The military has no idea this is happening. Even the border patrol squad that watches this area was paid off as if this was just another old fashioned coyote run.”

  “Any idea who these guys are? Why so much secrecy?” Bill, a self-taught sniper and tracker asked while putting a homemade leather knapsack on his back; there was no Barrett M107 sniper rifle to sling over his shoulder on this trip.