Henry smiled, as if he had just heard a good joke. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who got caught with his pants down.” Erik flushed.
Ted was about to say something when his cell phone rang. “Pardon me, guys,” he said, ducking out of the group and moving away to talk. The others carried on the idle chit chat for a few minutes until Ted came back. His face looked grim in the flickering torchlight.
“What’s up?” asked Erik, innocently enough.
“That was the shift chief at the station. He says they got reports from the State Troopers that the riot in Jacksonville is getting out of hand.”
“Didn’t know there was a riot in Jacksonville,” said Alfonse quietly.
“They just called in the National Guard, man,” added Ted, face taut with stress.
“That didn’t take long…” said Stan darkly.
“Well…news came out that some damn terrorist group called the Jihad Fist or something like that has claimed responsibility for the power grid attacks. Said something about a Holy Firestorm…” continued Ted.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” asked Erik. Realization broke across his face like the rising sun at dawn. “Wait—the fires out west. I bet you anything those assholes started all the wildfires.”
“I don’t know—I wouldn’t put it past them. But that’s for the western states to worry about right now. Sonsabitches hit us again.” Ted put the cell phone back on his belt and crossed his well muscled arms. He kept a wary eye on his wife and children by the pool. An anchor-and-globe tattoo adorned his left forearm. He was a head shorter than Erik, but thicker—more like a fireplug than a tree. “My buddy said something about Black Panthers starting the riot in Jacksonville.”
Alfonse laughed nervously. “Black Panthers? Gimme a break…”
Ted shrugged. “That’s what I said—I thought those guys were only around in the ‘60s…”
“Ted,” Alfonse said, “Any Black Panthers around today must be in their seventies or wheelchairs or…Wait, I can see it now: some old black-ass comes up to a shop in his motorized wheel chair and has his grandkid throw a brick through the window to get back at ‘Whitey’…” the others shared a laugh.
“Well, regardless, that’s what the man said. Although I don’t think we have to worry about that around here…” Ted said as he looked around. The apartment complex was just on the southwest outskirts of Sarasota. The apartment complex sat less than a mile from I-75, the main artery along the west coast of Florida.
“What, rioting started by blacks or old farts?” asked Henry with a smirk. He didn’t see the dangerous look from Alfonse. “Nothing ever happens around here—we’re a vacation spot…boaters come here…they’re not that wild.”
“Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be part of the Jihad Fist, or whatever the hell they call themselves, tonight…” said Stan.
“Damn straight. Now that the government has announced terrorists took out the power grid and the terrorists claimed responsibility, every redneck with a huntin’ rifle and a six-pack of beer’ll be lookin’ for something to shoot,” agreed Ted.
When the murmurs and chuckles of agreement died down, Erik asked, “So, who thinks this is the big one?”
“Big one, what?” asked Stan.
“You know, the big hit that the terrorists have been promising for so many years. The Great Satan gonna get his ass kicked, all that jazz.”
“I don’t know…I mean it seems pretty serious to me, but hell, so far they’ve just knocked the power out. Few riots in some cities. Not so much of a big deal if you ask me. The riots’ll burn out in a day or so…they always do. The power’ll be back sooner or later,” said Stan optimistically. “It always is.”
“Yeah, but what about those planes that were shot down—“
“That’s unconfirmed, man. Could be anything,” said Ted.
“Well, I’ll damn sure confirm the one that went down outside Tampa. I saw the smoke, man. Nasty,” spat Alfonse.
“Right. Just happened to be a few missiles shot off at the same time power went out. Right,” muttered Erik.
“Those missiles are unconfirmed too,” pointed out Ted.
“And the wildfires?” asked Stan. “I think Erik’s on to something. This is like some big orchestrated…war or something!”
“Now come on,” countered Ted. “Look, right now the only thing we know for sure—the only thing that affects us is a plane crashed in Tampa and the power is out.”
“Leaving the plane aside, look at how much we depend on power!” cried Alfonse. “Without power, you can’t pump water at the water plant…you can’t pump gas at gas stations,” he nodded towards Henry who just folded his arms again. “That means no drinking water, no toilets, no showers, no cooking…”
“No restaurants after whatever food they have on hand is out,” muttered Stan.
“Yeah, and no gas when you run out. Now, when that gets out, and people figure out that the cops will run out of gas at some point…all it takes is one rock through a window, man. If someone starts a fire, if there’s no power to pump the water, the fireme can’t do squat.”
Ted frowned, considering Alfonse’s statement. “I hate to say it, but you’re right. I mean, the Department only has about ten deputies. The city cops got around thirty or forty, more squad cars and a chopper. But between here and Bradenton, there’s 50,000 people.”
“Most of them over 50,” retorted Henry caustically. “Not so much of a threat there.” Erik looked at Henry and came to the conclusion that if it turned into every man for himself, he figured Henry would be one of the first ones to throw the brick.
“Yeah, but I can easily see Alfonse’s point,” continued Erik.
The tall black man smiled. His teeth stood out against his poorly lit face. “Erik, call me A.J. I always hated that name, Alfonse.”
“Okay, A.J. it is.” Erik grinned. “He’s right, though. It took the power companies almost a week to get everyone back on line last summer. And that was only because they could draw on resources and power from outside the affected area. Now, it’s starting to look like the whole country is down.”
“Yeah, but not everyone is without power. I bet there’s pockets out there that still have juice,” said Stan, scratching his head under his baseball cap. He checked his watch.
“Well, whatever. What we gonna do about food when the power stays off for a week or two? If it’s off everywhere, how will the food get delivered to the grocery stores? Remember Katrina hitting ‘Nawlins? It only took a few days for that city to have a complete melt-down. Eventually people will run out of cash…the banks are closed, so how do we get money to pay for food that isn’t there?” asked Erik.
“This is gonna get hairy pretty quick,” mused Ted. He instinctively looked towards his wife and family. “Wish I had a house, plot of land and a garden.”
“What about our families?” asked Stan, looking over to the pool where his wife was splashing with some kids.
Alfonse looked with a worried face towards his wife. She was bulging under her maternity swimsuit. Just enough to let everyone know she was pregnant, but still a woman. Not yet to the point where she just wanted to give birth and get back her body. “I can’t think about what will happen in a month or two if the power isn’t on and Charone goes into labor. God, what if she goes early?”
“Tonight, how ‘bout we just let the kids have fun. We can worry about the rest of the world and the future, tomorrow,” said Ted.
With the mood among the men growing more somber, they said goodbyes and started to break up. Henry informed his daughter he was going home and told her to come back when she was ready.
Alfonse got into the pool and he and Charone stayed in the deep end. They wrapped arms around each other and were lost to the world, whispering and nuzzling.
Stan gathered up his wife and daughter and headed home to put the little one to bed, claiming to have endured enough excitement for one day.
Erik and Ted join
ed Brin and Susan in the hot tub, connected but elevated above the pool by a few feet, for a quick dip to cool off. The hot tub, just recently finished and actually ready to use only that week, was now just as lukewarm as the unheated pool. Without power to heat the hot tub or run the water jets, it was nothing but a wading pool for the adults. Still, it was water, it was cool, refreshing, and it had seats.
The foursome watched Ted and Susan’s brood play Marco-Polo in the shallow end of the pool for a while before anyone spoke. Susan and Brin and the other ladies had gotten acquainted while the men talked.
“So, looks like we’re the only ones from our building that stayed behind, huh?” asked Ted.
“I was telling Brin that I saw the folks next to us—“ began Susan.
“You know…the people opposite the hall from us and next door to Ted and Susan…” said Brin, for Erik’s sake.
“Right…the Wrents, I think…I just met them a few times. They seemed nice…but kind of trashy, you know?” said Susan with a ‘but-you-didn’t-hear-that from-me’ look.
“Anyway, I saw them head out in two different cars. Said they were going to dinner.” Susan shrugged.
Erik spoke up, “So, how are you all set for food?”
“We got about a week or so worth of the normal stuff,” said Susan, watching her children.
“I got about a month’s worth of old MRE’s left over from when I was in the Corps,” added Ted quietly with a smile. “Course, it’ll be cut down pretty quick with all those mouths to feed. What about you two?”
“Well, Erik is sort of one of those survivalists…” said Brin off hand. “But I’m more thankful by the minute that he is.”
Erik winced. That term was synonymous with trouble-maker any more, thanks to the liberal media. He also didn’t want that knowledge getting out, for security reasons. If people were hungry and knew he and Brin had food…
“Survivalist, eh?” said Ted, a grin forming on his face. “I have a feeling that won’t be such a bad thing to be anymore…”
“I like to think of myself as being prepared. At any rate, we got enough food for a few weeks or so I guess,” admitted Erik. “Beyond that…” he shrugged. He didn’t want to tell everything all at once. He and Brin were closer to being set for well over a month or more by now. Even Brin didn’t know how much non-perishable food he had squirreled away in every nook and cranny in their apartment.
Susan caught one of the kids yawning. “Uh oh…that’s it. Looks like the troopers are getting tired.” She flashed a warm smile to Brin and Erik. “It was nice chatting with you two. I think we’re gonna get going and put the little ones to bed.”
The four adults said goodnight and as Ted and Susan rounded up their herd, Erik and Brin slipped away to their apartment. After shutting and locking the door, Erik turned and tried to find his wife in the stifling darkness. After a long kiss, Brin giggled, “It’s only 11 o’clock…no work tomorrow…no nothing tomorrow. No TV tonight…what are we gonna do?”
Erik grinned lewdly in the dark. “Oh, I think we can come up with something…”
The rest of the world can go to hell tonight…he thought. I’ve got other things to do.
WASHINGTON
The Day After
ARE YOU SURE? I mean, really sure? This is life or death we’re talking about, Neil…” Hank Suthby, the Secretary of Homeland Security, growled into the phone. “I know you’re serious, but you have to realize how serious this is to me. He’s going to have kittens! Alright—keep me informed. I owe you. Yeah, I know.” The middle aged man hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair with a tired sigh.
“My back is killing me,” he grunted to the desk. Looking up at his right hand man, he asked, “That coffee fresh?”
Daniel Jones, DHS Deputy Undersecretary, tried to focus on the maps spread out on the table in front of him. He had only gotten a few hours fitful, nightmare filled sleep after the confusing events of the day before.
“I think…” he muttered and took a tentative sip. “Ugh. Maybe not.” He rubbed the sleep from his tired eyes and put down his third cup of stale coffee. "Who was that?"
“Governor of Georgia." The SecDHS picked up the pot and sniffed. "Never mind. I’ll have water,” he said. Suthby got out of his thick executive chair and bustled behind Daniel at the cabinet.
“You seem full of piss and vinegar this morning, Hank,” commented Daniel over his shoulder.
The Secretary winced at the familiarity shown by subordinate. That was a consequence of lack of sleep he supposed. Have to get that taken care of before it goes too far, he thought. Satisfied with his glass of water, Hank turned around and watched his lieutenant over the rim of the tumbler. Daniel shrugged and took a swig from his coffee before turning back to the maps.
Someone opened the office door to deposit another report on the Secretary’s desk, then stepped out. The noise from the outer office poured in like a rogue wave. Hank could see staffers running all over the outer office, carrying papers or coffee, talking with each other and shouting incident reports from the field.
“—going to lose Atlanta!”
“That’s what I said.”
“That’s imposs—“
The office door clicked shut and the sounds vanished. Suthby moved back to his desk and marveled at the soundproofing the previous Secretary had installed. Bet the carbon footprint is a doozy, though, he thought with a grin.
One of the maps in front of him on the big oak desk displayed the estimated power outages, each represented by a large X drawn at the location of the terrorist attacks. “Damn…” he muttered to himself. “It only took a handful of attacks to shut down the entire grid.”
“Those bastards are quick learners, I'll give 'em that,” conceded Daniel absently as he flipped a map and read some details on the back. They had been through all this three times this morning, but Hank wanted to do it again in case they missed something. A pattern, a clue. Something.
“Yeah, and we’re not, Godammit,” Suthby said irritably.
He imagined what it must have looked like to see the terrorists drive up in cars and trucks and SUVs fully loaded with homemade explosives. There had been wave after wave of them, blowing themselves up in explosions of hate. They had sacrificed themselves in order to leave a bigger hole for the next car to burst through deeper into the power plants.
He knew the first responders had reported that it looked like something out of Hollywood. Burned cars, wreckage, bodies everywhere, smoke and fire; Hell on earth. And it happened at more than a dozen different locations across the country, all within thirty minutes of each other. It took dozens of the terrorists to breach each facility, but they had done it. Hundreds of men and a handful of women. He shook his head at the very idea. Throwing an entire life away to make a hole. It was madness.
“Okay, one more time,” Suthby ordered.
Daniel sighed and traced the events with his finger on the map. “When the power stations were attacked, the damage sent out chain reactions that crippled power stations further down the line, until the tidal wave of backed up energy grew to the point that even the nuclear power plants had to shut down.”
“But, they’re mostly undamaged. Just off-line.”
“Right,” said Daniel. “But…with all the transformers blown across most of the country, the transmission lines for the nuke plants are shot. They may work, but they’re worthless to anyone until we get the transformers and relay stations back up and running.”
“And we don’t have a stockpile of transformers laying around,” muttered Suthby at the stupidity of the situation.
“Right. We’ve got a few hundred, maybe a thousand. But we’re talking…at a few thousand just in D.C. alone. Across the country?" He leaned over the map and sighed again. "The manufacturing capacity is just not there. Not here, not anywhere. It’s going to take years of round the clock work to get us back to where we were yesterday morning,” Daniel said, a defeated look on his face.
“They
knew exactly what they were doing. This is like a surgical strike.” Suthby examined the map again, lost in thought. The results were evident to anyone who looked out a window just about anywhere in the nation last night. No lights, except by fire or battery or emergency generator. The nation was largely in the dark and might well be for years.
“It’s 1850 again,” muttered Daniel as he read a report. He rubbed his eyes again and sighed.
“And we’re 100% on this?” asked Suthby. Everything depended on what his lieutenant was about to say. Everything.
“Yeah,” replied Daniel for the fourth time. “These numbers, the transformer stats, the relay stations, all of it,” he said and tossed the report on the pile. He waved a hand to encompass the untidy pile they had been reviewing all morning since dawn. “It’s all confirmed. We’re fucked. Maybe for a generation.”
Suthby could feel his heart begin to race. It was all falling in to place. Maybe a little faster than he wanted…”And who knows about this?”
“Well,” said Daniel with a shrug. “Far as I know, no one else has bothered to look at this. Everyone is worried about the borders and the race riots.” He sighed, a deep, shuddering sound. “If you can believe that.” He motioned towards the large window behind his boss.
Suthby spun in his chair to hide a smile. His gaze rested on the large panel window that showed a view over downtown Washington, D.C. In the distance over the darkened buildings, the sky glowed with an angry orange light. The District was engulfed in flames.
“I believe it,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure how the terrorists had done it, coordinating everything. However they did it, it was a masterful stroke. Knock out the power, engulf the largest cities in violence and flames, and watch it all come tumbling down. Best case scenario, America gets back on her feet in 30 years. Worst case scenario, we're down for the count and we never threaten anyone again. The Balkanization of America.
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 8