Okaaaaay….someone’s going to lose a hand for this, though…and it better not be me, he thought as he picked up the dusty transceiver and began to speak over the airwaves.
WHAT THE HELL is this?” asked the CIA trained Israeli counter intelligence technician. He pushed harder on his headphones to drown out background noise. The command post, situated just behind the front lines, was a scene of anarchy. The noise was almost unbearable. Such is war.
He reached back and grabbed his superior officer while writing down the message he had just intercepted with his other hand. When the officer leaned over with a harried look on his face, he nearly fainted as he read the written message.
“Is this real, sir?”
“The signal came from a command post—that’s the right frequency…but I’ll be damned if I see why they didn’t encrypt this…” the officer said, clutching the fresh dispatch in his sweaty hand. “Damned crazy Arabs.”
“What do we do, sir? It’s obviously a fake.”
“Get this to Headquarters. Our job is not to ask why the Russians are siding with the Arabs and sending forces to aid them, or why they’re trying to make us think they are—we just get the info to our commanders. They’ll decide what to do. Now hurry!” ordered the officer. “With any luck the Americans will send more help our way…this is getting too big for us to handle alone.”
SARASOTA
Shopping Spree
ERIK SLOWLY GOT up off the bed just after dawn the second—or was it third?—day after the battle. Maybe it had been four days. He shook his head, it didn’t matter anymore. Time seemed to lose relevance. All that mattered was they get as much work done between the hours of sunrise and sunset. At night, bad things stirred and haunted the world.
He checked his bandages—Brin had wrapped and cleaned his wounds after the Battle of Colonial Gardens, as the remaining people in the surrounding neighborhoods had named it. Since the Battle, they had seen more and more people show up at the gate begging to be let in, seeking safety behind the big concrete walls of the complex. Some had checked out the ‘safe zones’ and determined that they were more like prisons than sanctuaries. Some were just frightened neighbors who wanted to be in a larger group. All had been turned away reluctantly, for fear of setting a precedent.
Erik flexed his torso to test the healing of his right side where he had received a nice scrape during the fighting. His right arm was still sore and stiff around the shoulder, where an ugly purple and yellow bruise was just starting to lighten. That was where the baseball bat had knocked him off his feet. Three or four inches higher and Erik had no doubt the man would have taken his head off.
Erik slowly dressed himself in the usual t-shirt and shorts, then strapped on his sword and ever present K-Bar. He grabbed a cup of water from the kitchen and stepped outside. With the new guard training programs, there were always ten armed men roving about to keep his mind at ease. Anyone with any weapon of any kind usually carried it on their person now. It was ammunition they were concerned about. The Battle had shed light on the situation they all faced more than any speech Erik had given in the past few days. Every day, their supplies of everything—food, water, ammunition—dwindled.
As he walked into the early morning sunshine and peered out across the pond towards the leasing office, he marveled at how much had been accomplished in the days since the Battle. It seemed that the fighting had awakened many people in the complex to the new reality they all faced. There were still the old die-hard peace freaks who remained steadfastly loyal to the ‘wait and see’ attitude, but there were a lot more people at least willing to consider the ideas and reforms Erik had pushed the week before.
Only now Lentz is pushing them and taking the credit…Erik thought to himself darkly. Not that credit for the idea mattered to him. He was just glad something was getting done. It was the thought that Lentz didn’t have any ideas of his own that worried Erik.
Maybe it’s time to take Brin and run.
“Morning, Duke,” one of the residents said with a cheerful smile as he hauled some odd bits of scrap wood from the abandoned construction materials by the south wall.
The title irritated Erik to no end. Lentz, knowing Erik’s educational background—as all good school administrators do—took it upon himself to bestow Erik the honorific title of Dux Bellorum the day after the Battle. War Leader, in Latin. A glorified general of sorts. Now the residents, especially those loyal to Erik since the beginning, took pride in calling him Duke—once Lentz pointed out to people that the word duke was derived from the Latin dux, or leader.
It seemed Erik was the only one that immediately questioned his being given the title. He had two reasons. First and foremost in his mind was the clause in the U.S. Constitution that prohibited American citizens from being granted titles, unlike the old-world Europeans. Second, and perhaps only a little less disturbing was, if Lentz could hand down a title, what did that make him? Imperator? Emperor?
“Hey, Duke, nice to see you up and about. How’s the side?” asked Lucy Clark, the complex’s Historian, one of the appointments made by Erik that Lentz had chosen to keep. She had her ever present messenger’s bag over one shoulder, full of notebooks and pens and pencils to record the daily activities of the apartment complex. Over her other shoulder was an old plastic grocery store bag that had a few boxes of nails and screws, all liberated from the abandoned construction supplies by the south wall.
“Morning, Lucy…how’s the Keeper of the Flame today?” asked Erik with a grin. You embarrass me, I embarrass you.
Lucy blushed. “Oh, I don’t think it’s all that important to deserve a title like you,” she said, hurrying on her way. “But there’s so much going on, it’s hard to keep up! See you later!”
Erik grinned. Someday, if we survive this, she’s going to have a hell of a book to write. He took a sip from his water and strolled up to the main gate, suffering through more ‘Duke’ greetings than he cared to hear.
He had to admit, the people around the complex certainly had come out of their slump. Before the Battle, things were gloomy and getting worse with every foreign news media report they heard over Erik’s radio.
The people of the complex had been depressed, and Erik and Ted had to damn near resort to using whips and chains to get any work accomplished at improving the conditions and defenses of the complex. But, since the Battle, everyone had been busting ass to get things done and what’s more they were in a good mood about it. Erik figured coming so close to being killed by a ravenous gang of street thugs might have an effect on people. After all, if the gang had broken through the eight or nine defenders before Hoss and the cavalry had arrived…
That was another bright point. Hoss and his crew had been unanimously accepted into the complex with open arms after coming to the rescue of the residents during the Battle. Erik explained to Lentz what had happened—his plan for sending Hoss and his bikers around the flank of the gang and Lentz had in turn told the people that the bikers had come back of their own volition to help save the good people of Colonial Gardens. That had become the only sticking point Erik had with Lentz. He did not like the idea of the new leader lying to the apartment residents. In part, Erik felt that he was awarded the title and fancy ceremony as a way of giving Erik credit for something the people thought the bikers did on their own. It was confusing but Erik resolved to sort it out soon. He hated politics.
Erik spotted Alfonse up on the roof of Building 1, the big three story building just to the north of the leasing office, where Ted and his snipers had perched during the battle. Alfonse was installing the battery of solar panels ‘liberated’ from the local Radio Shack the day before. He was running wires down through windows on the third floor, where his workshop was situated. That was a move that Erik had actually agreed with—moving Alfonse and his critical electronics skills to the most secure spot in the complex, the third floor of one of the big buildings.
Erik was becoming aware that it was getting harder and harder t
o find a store that had not been raided. Those that the complex sent out to find food and water were coming back with stories and rumors. More and more reports from visitors and neighbors were talking about groups of cars driving around town looting. The people in those cars were armed. Erik shook his head, And it’s only been a few weeks since the lights went out. How quickly things fall apart…
Erik had suggested that Lentz use the inner most three story building as a ‘Keep’, where the non-guard residents might hole up during a siege for safety. They had worked out a rudimentary room assignment for all the families and people and it had appeared that the large building, designed to hold 200, would easily hold the 60 or so people, including bikers, who still lived at Colonial Gardens.
The Bikers had been given one of the last completed buildings on the south side, complete with car-ports for their bikes and a small covered garage to use as a workshop. For the time being, the complex had more than enough space for people to live. After all, at peak occupancy, it was designed to hold close to five hundred residents.
Erik turned and surveyed the entire complex from the pool deck. It’s almost too damn big. There’s only about sixty of us, now that Hoss and his crew are here. We need more people, it’s just too big for twenty guards to patrol on a daily basis. Erik filed that thought away to bring up at the daily Council Meeting that afternoon. He thought about asking the National Guardsmen who stopped by every few days to warn people about going to a safe zone if maybe they wanted to move in.
We need more men, more food, more water, more guns, more ammunition, more time…more everything.
Erik heard a commotion from the other side of the leasing office and watched as a group of eight people, four men, four women came trotting around the building in shaky formation, all trying hard to run in step with each other. Just to the left of the group, at the front and running faster than they were, but backwards, was Ted.
“Move, move, move…keep up the pace—Good, Johnson! I’ll make Marines out of you assholes yet!” Ted bellowed in their red faces as they tromped past on their daily PT drill. Erik didn’t know how Ted managed to train two different groups of guards, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, every day without killing himself.
“There’s the Duke! Guards, salute!” roared Ted. Very nearly in unison, with only a few stragglers, the guards in training snapped hands to foreheads as they ran by, saluting Erik. Not knowing what else to do, Erik gave a surprised salute back.
Day before the Battle those people were the same ones lounging around the pool finding excuses for not doing the work I asked them to do…and only one of them actually fought in the Battle. It’s amazing…Erik thought as he watched them go by, Ted yelling obscenities at them.
Drawn by the sound of hammering, Erik strolled around the side of the leasing office to inspect the damaged gate, site of the recent battle. Where once a strong wrought iron gate had stood, now two cars left behind by some residents who fled the day after the power went out blocked the entrance to Colonial Gardens. The night of the Battle, those same cars were used to prop the gate up after the fighting. Now the gate was back in place, with layers of thick beams of wood on both sides for added support. There were even a few slots left open in between the big wooden beams for guns to poke through and shoot someone on the other side. Erik’s first thought was that people on the other side could just as well stick a gun in there as well and shoot the defenders. He’d have to talk to Lentz about that.
After the obligatory round of ‘Morning, Duke!’ greetings, Erik climbed up on the cars to inspect the work that four men and a biker were doing. They were in the process of installing a crude platform about halfway up the gate to allow guards to stand there and see over the gate or shoot down at people standing before the gate.
“Damn, you’re making this place look like a castle more and more every day,” said Erik, admiring their work. After the Battle, the construction materials along the south wall were finally considered by many to be the treasure that Erik and a few others knew it to be from day one.
“You got it, man,” grumbled the biker, his flashy sunglasses twinkling in the light. His large frame and bushy beard contrasted with the smaller more groomed men from the complex. “We figure we got enough of this shit,” he said, motioning with a hammer to the planks they were using for the platform, “To almost ring the whole place. We’re gonna have to raid a lumber shop to finish, though…” he said.
“Yeah, we’re sending a team out this afternoon to check out the hardware stores and the Home Depot up by I-75 to see what’s left. If there’s enough stock layin’ around we’ll go ‘liberate’ it tomorrow,” said another of the impromptu carpenters.
Erik grinned. “You guys are doing a helluva job here. Keep up the good work.”
“You got it, your grace,” the biker said with a wide grin. He knew the title irked their new-found battle chief.
Erik climbed back down to the ground, grimacing in pain as he over stretched his bruised shoulder. He looked at the gate and thought for a second that it would be nice to build a second gate—like a true castle, with walls to connect the two. That way, instead of repairing the gate after each fight—he presumed there would be more as people became more desperate—the residents could open the first gate, let the attackers flood in and be stopped by the second gate, then close the first and lock them in. At which point, just like in the Middle Ages, the defenders could climb up the walls and on the second gate, able to strike and kill the attackers from three sides and above. A kill box. Nice. Something else to talk to Lentz about, if he’s really serious about putting me in charge of defenses. I’m sure Ted will love the idea.
As he toured the complex, Erik could see on just about every porch or balcony the rain collection devices people had set up to collect their own water for flushing toilets or drinking. Most were half full. It had rained the day before in the morning, but there had been no rain since. He looked up at the cloudless sky. Obviously, collecting rain water was not going to be a long-term solution to getting drinking water. It might not even be a long term solution for flushing toilets. Erik filed away a thought about fixing the sewage problem.
He walked down to the edge of the pond and looked into the water, hoping to spot a fish. They had cranes and turtles aplenty and luckily no snakes or alligators—though, on second thought, he realized that snakes and ‘gators would make for tasty meals if food got scarce. But what about the water?
No, we’re going to have to find water elsewhere or dig a well. Erik thought for a second. Of course! A well…the water table in Florida is only what...five feet down or so? Or is it three feet? Something like that…that’s why there’s no basements in Florida. Erik found Lentz and told him of his idea to dig a well. Lentz liked it and passed the job on to Noreen, the Building 2 rep. She jumped at the chance to give back something after the fight and took the details down from Erik before rushing off to start the well. They were concerned that the water might be brackish, but left that issue for when the well was dug.
A few minutes later, Erik was visiting with Old Bernie, the complex Procurement Chief. Bernie explained to Erik how he had set up teams of five men, volunteers all, to scout the area looking for items the complex needed—food, water, building materials, and weapons.
“They can take whatever cars we got sittin’ around here and if they need gas, they just siphon it out of an abandoned car on the road somewhere. Ain’t no one gonna complain. If they do, that’s why we got three of ‘em packin’ shotguns.”
Erik frowned. “I don’t like the idea of that so much of our arsenal is out roaming around in the hands of men who aren’t all that trained.”
“Well, they’ve been training for days now, since all that fightin’.”
“Yeah, but it still makes me nervous. What happens if we’re attacked again and there’s a roving party out. We’re down three shotguns—that’s a lot of firepower to be missing, Bernie.”
“Well,” Bernie said, picking
up a clipboard with the raiding schedule posted. He scanned the sheet. “There’s a group headin’ out today at noon. Was gonna send ‘em over to the big Publix Distribution center south of town. Figured no one would have bothered that too much. Don’t look like a grocery store to most folks. We could send ‘em over to all the gun stores in town instead…”
Erik shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t waste my time with that. From what we’ve heard through rumors from people heading out of town, the gun shops have already been looted. That’s probably where the people downtown got their firepower. Last I heard they were still tearing things up by the Marina.” Erik thought for a second. “No, I’d send the raiders off to pawn shops—“
“Won’t get very many new guns that way, son.”
“No, but used guns should do just fine. What about that Sports Giant store up by I-75? Didn’t they sell guns? Or Wally World?”
“Them places prob’ly done been cleaned out. That’s where I woulda started,” grunted Bernie, looking up at Erik.
“Well, we’re in a pickle. If we had gone after the weapons like I wanted back before the Battle…”
“Woulda, shoulda, coulda, son…it ain’t the best of times to be cryin’ over spilt milk. Now what we gonna do?”
“We can’t take the raiders off the food run. That’s top priority right now. I talked with Stan yesterday and he said that we’re down to about three days worth left, because of the added mouths of the bikers. We need food and we need it now. Lentz is going to want to put us on rationed meals otherwise,” Erik said, grumbling inwardly because he and Brin had plenty of food. He vowed there’d be no conscriptions of individual food reserves. Every family would be provided for, but no one would be forced to hand over what they had prepared before the lights went out. That would be reinforcing and rewarding foolish short-sightedness.
Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) Page 39