by Bobby Akart
They were divided along geographic “turf” lines. The Academy Homes gang, representing a large territory in central Roxbury near Martin Luther King Boulevard, boasted five hundred members. J-Rock rose up the ranks starting as a runner, and graduated to enforcer by age sixteen, when he committed a double murder against an encroaching gang. At age twenty-three, he was the undisputed leader of the Academy Homes gang. Of course, anyone in Roxbury that disputed his reign didn’t last very long.
“Baby, are you ready for this?” asked J-Rock, squeezing his pregnant girlfriend’s hand. Monique Perez had been his girl for almost a year and had become known as the first lady. With Perez six months pregnant, the two were considered Academy Homes royalty.
“I am, Jarvis,” said Perez, holding her stomach. “We need to stand up for ourselves. This is our time.”
J-Rock looked back and forth along the front line of the marchers. The gangs of South Boston stood together in solidarity—for the first time ever. He nodded to the two brothers who led the Castlegate Road Gang, grinning when they both flashed their gang sign and nodded back. Turning his head left, J-Rock gave a quick nod to the Franklin Field Boyz. We may be shooting at each other next week, but today we’re brothers.
“Move those mutherfuckers,” said J-Rock. Two of his enforcers jogged ahead of the protest line, kicking down the barricades. Other members of the procession followed suit, quickly clearing the road of any obstructions. People within the barricades scattered to make room for the protesters, who picked up speed as they crossed St. James Avenue.
“Black lives matter! Black lives matter!” chanted the crowd.
The bodies pressed forward, and J-Rock started to feel the sheer power the group possessed. They were getting the attention they deserved. The reverend was right!
Loud, shrill whistles filled the air, followed by a dozen or so Boston Police officers dressed in full riot gear with shields. They poured out of Copley Park, forming a tight skirmish line that blocked the protestors’ access to the Boston Marathon finish line. J-Rock hesitated, slowing just enough to be pushed forward by the crowd surging behind him. The two groups would collide if he didn’t slow down the procession, and he hated to think what might happen to Monique in the chaos that would unfold.
“We’ve got to slow down, baby,” said J-Rock. “Everybody slow down!”
J-Rock turned toward the advancing protestors with both hands raised high in the air. The group responded by raising their hands over their heads and shouting, “Hands up, don’t shoot!”
“No, no, stop! Everybody stop!” screamed J-Rock, his desperate plea cancelled by the frenzy pushing against him.
The incensed mob pushed into the stiff line of police shields, which retreated several feet to give the protesters a chance to slow down. Bullhorns ordered the crowd to stop as dozens of additional police officers joined the newly formed line. J-Rock ran ahead of the group and turned to address the crowd. He was knocked into the advancing mob by one of the riot shields, where he was swallowed by the masses. No longer in control of the protesters, he furiously pushed his way toward Monique, who had been shoved into the police line.
Before J-Rock reached her, he was struck in the face with an expandable baton, which dropped him to his knees. He watched helplessly as a police officer slammed his shield into Perez, knocking her to the pavement, where another officer hit her over the head with his baton. J-Rock tried to crawl to her, but was swept to his feet by the people rushing toward the police.
When the police line broke moments later, several hundred infuriated protesters charged into Copley Park, hell-bent on tearing the finish line apart. In the process, they killed Monique’s baby and injured several protesters caught on the ground during the stampede. J-Rock never saw it happen. He was too busy fighting for his life by the time the crowd stopped.
Chapter 55
April 18, 2016
100 Beacon
Boston, Massachusetts
“Mommy, the protestors are back,” said Penny, poking her head into the room.
Susan left ahead of everyone to see what Penny was talking about. She and Donald had spent days trying to calm their daughters following the incident at the Chestnut Hill Mall. She found the girls standing in front of the bank of television screens, as “breaking news from Boston” filled her vision. Within moments, the rest of the room had joined them. Sarge raised the volume on the CNN-designated monitor.
“Moments ago, we received reports that several dozen people were hurt in a melee near the finish line of this year’s Boston Marathon. The information we received from our reporters on the ground in Boston indicate a peaceful protest of the Black Lives Matter group was in the vicinity of Copley Square when fighting broke out with Boston police.
“To provide our viewers some context, the Boston Marathon is a twenty-six-mile race that stretches through Boston to its finish line on Boylston Street in front of the Boston Public Library. Race contestants finish the race throughout the afternoon from noon until 3:00 p.m. Today at approximately 12:45, a large group of activists with the Black Lives Matter movement were raising awareness of the senseless killing of former Boston Transit worker Pumpsie Jones. Reports indicate the march was proceeding peacefully from Boston Commons for several blocks until the group approached Copley Square. We have video provided by our CNN affiliate in Boston—WCVB.”
Donald looked to Susan, who nodded her head.
“Girls, why don’t you come with me to see the beautiful paintings that Uncle Sarge received today,” said Susan.
“Mommy, are those the same protestors from the mall?” asked Penny.
“I don’t know, honey. Come with me, girls.”
Susan took the girls and hustled them out of the room.
“At approximately 12:45 p.m. today, all appeared to be normal at this year’s Boston Marathon event. Police have maintained a heightened alert level since the 2013 bombing,” said the reporter.
“What caused today’s disruption?” asked the CNN newscaster.
“According to reports, police in full riot gear began to advance upon the Black Lives Matter protestors and pushed them backwards up Boylston Street away from the finish line. We are told the protestors in the front were squeezed between the police skirmish line and the advancing protestors, causing a panic. From what we have been told, police in the skirmish line struck several of the protestors, resulting in an escalation between Boston PD and unarmed protestors. At that point, the situation spiraled out of control.”
“Have there been any injuries?” the newscaster asked.
“Reports are still coming in to the studio, but it appears there have been several dozen injuries, including a pregnant woman who was part of the protest group. There have been no reports of injuries to law enforcement personnel. Back to you, Don.”
“This is part of the news every day, isn’t it, Julia?” asked J.J. “It’s not just in Boston, it’s become a national epidemic of sorts.”
“These types of clashes are inevitable,” said Donald. “We saw it firsthand in the mall. When large mobs of people gather and try to force themselves into a place that is inappropriate, violence is likely to occur. There has to be a better way to get your point across without endangering others.”
“We’re collapsing from within, just like Lincoln wrote,” said Katie. “We are destroying ourselves.”
“After World War II, some declared the next one hundred years to be the American Century,” said Sarge. “That designation could, in fact, be a bad omen. History has shown that within a century of an empire’s peak, or shortly thereafter, things begin to deteriorate.
“Arguably, we are looking at the early stages of collapse. Economically, as a nation, we are declining as a world power. Our credit rating has suffered, and the dollar is systematically being replaced as the world’s reserve currency. Militarily, we are being surpassed in technology and strength. A new Cold War was ushered in several years ago, and we have been remiss to react. Rogue nations have th
e ability to bring us to our knees by cyberattack or EMP without notice.”
“Even if none of those events occur, society is coming apart at the seams,” said Abbie. “We are more polarized than at any time in our history. Political rhetoric aside, I don’t have a clue as to how to bring us together as a nation at this point.”
“As a society, politicians and the media have divided us by class and race. Some would argue our societies values and morals have never been lower,” added Donald. “I didn’t mean for that to include you, Abbie. We all know you’re fighting the good fight.”
“I know, Donald,” said Abbie.
“Well, I don’t plan on going down with the ship,” said Steven. “We have a good plan to ride out the storm. We may not be able to fight a war against the Russians, but we can make sure we stay alive until things are sorted out. Right?”
“Absolutely,” said Donald.
Susan returned from Sarge’s study, snapping the group out of its morose mood.
“I’ve got the girls settled in, if it’s okay, Sarge?” asked Susan.
“Whatever makes them comfortable,” replied Sarge.
“They’ll probably draw for a while and then fall asleep on your sofa. I made some food for everyone. Why don’t we grab something to eat before we get started?” asked Susan. “We can’t save the world or ourselves on an empty stomach.”
Chapter 56
April 18, 2016
100 Beacon
Boston, Massachusetts
Donald had long ago earned the unofficial title of “Director of Procurement” for the group. Since returning from prison, he had committed his life to the concept of preparedness. Shortly after his return from FMC Devens, Donald was called to a meeting with John Morgan at 73 Tremont. At the meeting, he met Steven and Sarge. Morgan surprised Donald with his first words: Gentlemen, we need to be prepared for a collapse event. Donald recalled looking around the room to measure the reaction of the Sargents, who appeared unfazed. The four men spent several hours discussing the various threats they faced, and the preparedness steps necessary to survive each collapse event.
At the end of the day, Donald was tasked with putting together a comprehensive preparedness plan. He suggested that a like-minded team needed to be assembled—a group of connected, capable and, most importantly, loyal associates.
Over those next few months, Steven introduced Katie and Brad to Donald. In addition to their military training, both of them occupied positions of power and influence within the government. Donald introduced J.J. to the group, where he was warmly welcomed for his medical expertise and military perspective. Sarge suggested Julia join the group because of her international political contacts, and her dedication to unbiased media.
Donald stressed the importance of awareness related to global affairs, and the potential they might have to precipitate a collapse event. The contacts Julia, Brad and Katie had cultivated were invaluable to the assessment of a potential collapse. J.J. was in charge of survival medicine. Donald and Susan took on the roles of gathering information, organizing the basic necessities and planning for the collapse. Steven handled the security and tactics aspect of the group readiness training, while Sarge coordinated the group as their leader.
The final member of the group had been the most obvious, but unexpected addition. During one of Donald’s periodic meetings at 73 Tremont, Morgan informed him that Abbie would be the ninth member. Donald immediately recognized the significance of her presence among them. Morgan would spare no expense funding the plans Donald was required to develop—for the Nine and the Boston Brahmin.
“So we all agree the world is going to shit,” said Steven. “Let’s see how we’re going to survive it.”
“Very well. Let’s start on the ninth floor, which includes the residences,” said Donald.
“Here?” asked Abbie.
“For some of you, this will be new,” said Donald. “We’ve made a few changes in the last six months.”
Donald led them to the private stairwell connecting the three floors occupied by the Sargents—the eighth floor and the two penthouse floors above it totaled twelve thousand square feet. When Morgan commented about sparing no expense, 100 Beacon was the first indication that he’d meant it. The top floor, known as Penthouse I, consisted of Sarge’s master suite, the guest room suite occupied by Steven, a study and the Great Hall. Penthouse II, located on the ninth floor, had a similar floor plan except there were more bedrooms. A centrally located great room included a media wall similar to Sarge’s, next to a series of desks and computer stations.
“The floor plan is similar to upstairs,” said Donald. “The master suite is capable of housing Susan and I, with the girls. J.J. and Brad share a bedroom, as do Abbie and Katie. There is also a fourth bedroom which holds eight bunks—for trusted guests.
“We’ve done a lot of work in here since we got together last summer,” said Donald. “We have always stressed the importance of having information at our disposal in order to make informed decisions. Katie, this is our situation room.”
Katie walked around and turned on some of the computer monitors. Julia activated the televisions, which were tuned to the same news networks as the screens upstairs.
“How are you going to keep it powered in the event of an outage?” asked Brad. “If we get nuked with an EMP, the grid will be fried.”
“Even a cyberattack could take us offline for a long time,” said Sarge. “Donald has thought about these issues.”
“I have,” started Donald. “None of the electronics on our three floors are tied to the grid. We have installed standby generators on the roof to service all of our needs. We have disconnected solar panels, which can be easily connected after an EMP, along with shielded and transient protected auxiliary solar equipment. The equipment takes up much of the roof, as you will see later. Most residential users tie their solar array to the electric grid in order to defray costs by selling excess power to the local utility. We have remained independent of the power grid in order to avoid voltage spikes and EMP-induced surges.”
“What about solar storms?” asked Katie. “They have the same effect as nukes.”
“That’s true,” said Donald. “The good news is that we’ll have advance warning. All of us have space weather apps installed on our computers and smartphones. We will have at least twenty-four to forty-eight hours advanced notice of an incoming coronal mass ejection. The biggest potential disruption to the grid comes in the form of voltage spikes. Again, we operate independently from the NStar grid, so we won’t be affected.”
“We also take precautions and have backups,” said Susan. “Everything is fully operational today for you guys to review. Tomorrow, Donald and I will disconnect everything and store the electronics in Faraday cages on the eighth floor below us. This will include all electronics and their backup components, like modules, circuit boards and batteries.”
“What good will the televisions or computers be if we get nuked?” asked Brad. “The news networks won’t be functioning.”
“That’s true, but you may have international alternatives,” said Donald. “Also stored downstairs in Faraday cages is a complete HughesNet Gen 5 satellite Internet system and a DirecTV satellite television package. After we determine the threat to be over, we can quickly replace the fried units on the roof with the shielded backups. We’ll have full access to the web and media in just an hour.”
“Communications also,” added Susan. “We have provided you BaoFeng portable radios and satellite telephones in the Faraday cages at your homes, with corresponding backups here. We also have a base unit stored here. You have to keep that equipment in the cages. After a collapse event, as you military guys know, comms will be critical.”
“What we have on this floor is unique to civilians and probably similar to the hardened facilities within the government,” said Sarge. “Kudos to Donald and Susan for working tirelessly to put this part of the plan into effect. We have also thought of something else
, which in a way led Julia to win a Marconi Award. Julia, would you like to fill in the blanks?”
“We have all discussed at length the scenarios and threats,” said Julia. “Our advanced preparations also include the possibility we may have to help rebuild our country. After the initial chaos passes, people will be starved for information. In addition, during a rebuilding process, whether localized or on a national level, there must be a way to disseminate information. Before you can create a connection with people, you must have a mechanism to share and exchange ideas. To rebuild our nation, you would have to be able to identify compatible qualities and find common ground with people throughout the country. I believe our country would not have been founded had it not been for the printing press. What we have here is the ability to gather facts and then distribute the information throughout the world by Internet, ham radio and even paper. Everything we need is secured in this building. I call it the Digital Carrier Pigeon.”
“This is incredible Julia,” interjected Abbie. “Very impressive.”
“Someone likes to read,” said Katie, noting the bookshelves that lined the hallways and nearly every available inch of wall space.
“I hate to be cliché,” said Sarge. “But it is appropriate here—knowledge is power. Ironically, in today’s wired world, life without electrical power would be life without knowledge. Think about it. Do you know anyone who owns an encyclopedia set? How about a dictionary? When was the last time you read a book—a real book?”
“That’s old school, Sarge, just like you.” Steven laughed.
“Yeah, I know, I’m a throwback,” said Sarge. “What you see around you is knowledge. We have gathered the most recent encyclopedia, common reference books and most importantly—manuals. DIY electrical, plumbing, carpentry and repair books complete with photographs are on these shelves. Survival and preparedness guides covering a vast array of topics are here. Important works of fiction are here, and old volumes are in my study.”