Crowns and Cabals Page 3

  Clusters of people occasionally walked up and down the street. After seeing mob action at Walmart, I feared the worst. The looting would soon spread from big box stores to private residences. My light was on and I armed myself with a large knife and my pepper spray, regretting the anti-gun stance that I once held.

  I flipped through a magazine and tried to take my mind away from the growing danger. Aysa, my parents, and several old friends might have been the lucky ones. Giving up on the magazine, I moved around the house and peered through every window.

  The house was so quiet, I could hear Raphael softly snore from the upstairs guest suite. How the hell could he sleep after what had just happened? It must have been the booze. Had everyone lost their fucking minds? I saw a man shoot another man over a king size bag of Doritos. A woman stuck another woman with a knife for a shopping cart.

  Raphael emptied his backpack on the dining room table before he went to bed. The refrigerated items were put away, but the rest of his stash was dumped in a pile. I immediately spotted the Maker’s Mark and helped myself to a large glass. The booze had little effect, but at least my hands quit shaking. The hours passed by like molasses. Finally, a few rays of sun peeked through the clouds. I felt more at ease. I put a pot of coffee on and headed for the shower.

  Raphael surprised me with breakfast-frozen waffles. “Sorry, Jax, we forgot to rip off some syrup. You didn’t sleep, did you?” I shook my head. “We need a gun. Did I ever tell you about my inheritance?” I shook my head again. “Well, my grandfather left me a farm in Oklahoma. Neither of us lived there. The place was a reaction to an in case situation.”

  “In case of what? Nuclear devastation, end of the world, or New World Order?” I asked with an edge of ironic sarcasm.

  “He knew. When Tremaine got elected. That’s when he knew. Parts of the country went with socialism. And then we rid ourselves of our borders and our border security. That’s the exact minute he knew. George looked for a rural area. The more rural, the better. He found a farm and hid some guns and who knows what else. That doesn’t do us any good now, but I wanted you to know about it. Listen, I’ve got a lot of work to do today, and tomorrow, and for a while. Things will get uglier by the minute.”

  “Raph, people were combing the neighborhood yesterday. If we both aren’t home…”

  “They will break in and take what little you have. Yes, I know. I planned on doing some remodeling while you’re at work. Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your beautiful townhome. Just some security measures. The dry food will be hidden. Do you have any expensive jewelry? Gold?”

  I nodded and ran to my bedroom. “Here. It’s maybe four, five ounces? It’s something. Here are few rings, necklaces, earrings and bracelets. A couple of pendants. This necklace is silver, but the stones are real. Emeralds. I especially hate to part with this bracelet. Aysa gave it to me when I graduated from MIT. It’s Italian gold and heavy.” Every time I wore it, I thought of her.

  “Don’t cry. She would want you to use it for our survival. Jax, are you going to work today?”

  “Yes, I must. We have so much to do.”

  “Right. Now that the VP sang ‘Kumbaya’ last night to the world, you will spend the day unblocking everything? How nice of Fogle to spare us from the horror. Speaking of Fogle, don’t you think it’s odd that nothing happened to Fogle or its immediate radius? According to the VP’s map, most major cities by the Atlantic coast were hit. Not a scratch on Massachusetts. Were Fogle’s other locations hit?”

  Raphael’s question concerned me. I wished I had a new map of what was left of the world. Fogle had twenty-three outposts, seven of them in the United States. If none of them were hit, I couldn’t bear to think of what that would mean.

  Intentionally changing the subject, I said, “Appreciate the conspiracy theory, but Fogle claims they were asked to do this. Cut communications supposedly will soften violence. Going by what I saw last night, maybe they know what they are doing.”

  “Wake up. You’re smarter than that.”

  “The fact is this-we don’t know. I already told you what happened to a few of the Fogle whistle blowers. Yes, Fogle was involved in censoring the war, but calling the shots? Taking sides in an Iran-Israeli dispute? They don’t practice politics in any of that…”

  “If in fact the Iranians and the Israelis were the initial cause of this,” Raphael interrupted.

  I drove to work in the cloudy, gray, hazy sky, worrying what modifications Raphael would make to my beautiful townhome in my upscale Boston suburb. That was the least of my problems, yet I clung on to it like a security blanket.

  The darkness of the morning only added to my mood. I spent the bulk of the work day in meetings. Fogle was one of the few corporations, if not the only one, that remained intact. Was that a coincidence? Raphael wouldn’t think so, but it was possible. Their business model placed corporate branches within the city suburbs, preferring them over the high cost of the actual cities. At least that is what they reminded us throughout the day, probably as a means of regaining trust among the workforce. No one vocalized his or her doubts, but facial expressions suggested otherwise. The thick feeling of disbelief filled the air each time we listened to once respected corporate heads of the company.

  Fogle’s director of operations conducted the last meeting of the day. His introduction focused on safety both within and outside of work. As many of us witnessed, the streets were a powder keg about to ignite. Our well-being was vital to Fogle and the world’s future more than ever. The director’s speech used terms of love and family. Sadly, most of us didn’t have anyone left but our Fogle colleagues. He had a way of comforting us and building us up at the same time. We were the chosen ones left to restore law and order back into the world.

  The next part of the presentation was given by an armed soldier wearing camouflage. There were no embroidered letters, flag, or pin indicating his belonging to the United States military. Instead, I noticed a small patch of a laurel wreath and a globe sewn on the brim of his hat. The other soldiers wore the same symbol on their hats. I thought of the United Nations. All of the soldiers spoke English with American dialects. Strange.

  The head soldier introduced himself as Sergeant Luker and took great pride in telling us that they brought supplies. He then ordered other soldiers to wheel in boxes. They passed out survival kits packed with MREs, bottled water, vitamin tablets, flares, tear gas bombs, more Tasers, pepper spray, and hunting knives. Unfortunately no guns. Every item in the kit was explained.

  Just as I thought we were through, soldiers brought in more boxes. Gift baskets of padlock kits, security cameras, and easy-to-install alarms circulated throughout the room.

  Finally, the head soldier who was also a martial art expert put us in small groups and had us practice several defensive moves. We could not leave until each skill was mastered. He acted as our Sensei and promised to train us at the end of each work day. What would Raphael say about all of this? His conspiracy theory sounded more rational than it did in the morning.

  My drive home looked like the same time of day as my drive to work. The sky remained gray, dark, and hazy. My eyes followed the few rays of light up to a small yellow ball that could barely be seen. How long would this go on for?

  As I pulled onto my street, I already noticed some changes. Raphael was a very busy boy while I was at work. My front door of iron and glass was replaced with a solid steel door. My windows were covered with metal burglar bars. Sheets of wood barricaded the glass.

  My home was now a fortress. Although it looked more like public housing within the most dangerous part of a city, I sighed in relief. The changes offered some peace. I checked out the rest of my street block. My home was the only home ready for what the night would bring.

  Chapter Six

  Raphael

  I drove a battery-operated Toyota. Although there were a few gasoline-operated cars on the road, battery cars were the only cars in production since the early thirties. Most people lived in
either the city or suburbs and didn’t have a car. Both Jaxie and I were very fortunate to have our own transportation, but then we were part of the one percent who hadn’t noticed much of the world’s changes.

  I remembered to plug my car into Jaxie’s garage. Now I was ready. The minute she left for work, I drove off to the sporting goods store. With a little luck, the rest of the town was still brawling it out at Walmart. Guns were now a necessity. I never applied for a license-to-carry, and the remaining part of the world was probably not equipped to run a background check. But money talks and bullshit walks, at least I hoped that’s how the person behind the gun counter would see it. Maybe Jaxie’s gold would be enough.

  The line to get into the store was no longer than a weekend morning of shoppers waiting for the doors to open. Residents weren’t thinking this far ahead yet. This might be the only chance left before the takeover gained momentum. My grandfather talked about this moment since I was a child. I was too busy ass-kissing my network’s execs to heed his warning.

  I briskly walked to the back of the store where the guns were sold. An older man with a scruffy white beard, flannel shirt, and jeans greeted me at the counter. “We’re no longer taking cash, U.S. dollars cash that is. Credit card machine is all haywire. Can’t sell you anything at this point.”

  I figured as much. The vice president failed to mention this in his piss-poor speech, but currency was part of nationalism and according to him, nationalism would no longer be tolerated. “Since when?” I asked, just to see if he knew more than I did as far as the retail world went.

  “Since today. Corporate HQ was destroyed. Half of our stores are gone. The store’s general manager has all of us packing up the inventory to avoid potential looters. We’ll probably be closed by the end of the work day. The only reason our doors are open is to barter.”

  “Gold and silver work?” The man nodded. My grandfather predicted bartering would be the new economy. “Great. Don’t have an ID though, no license. Just looking for protection.”

  “This one is pretty easy to operate. It’s a glock. You just fill up the magazine, click in, you’re ready to go.” He loaded the gun with bullets and then took them out. “As of today, I don’t really give a shit about ID. So you’re in luck. How much gold you got?”

  I fished out everything except Jaxie’s favorite bracelet. “Here. These gemstones are real too. All of this is probably worth ten thousand dollars. I want plenty of ammo with that gun.”

  “You got a deal. Just let me check it.” The old man got out some kind of kit. He scratched each piece and then dabbed the scratch mark with a chemical. A few minutes later, he said, “Okay then.”

  He quickly bagged up my purchase. As I headed out of the store, the parking lot was almost full. People were everywhere. I am cutting this too close.

  Home Depot was the next stop. The chaos of the store resembled Walmart from the night before. There was no sense in using up the bracelet for barter, so I loaded the glock and went inside. No one messed with me as I piled supplies onto a couple of flatbeds.

  With bungie cords, I affixed several sheets of plywood to the car. Parts of it hung out the hatchback and windows. On the drive home, I watched military tanks, trucks, and jeeps roll into the parking lot of a chain grocery store. I pulled over to take in the convoy. In front of the store, was an angry mob of at least a dozen people tipping over a police car. It wasn’t even lunch time. I thought of running into the store for more food, but had too much in the car. I needed to leave.

  As I drove onto Jaxie’s once quiet street, I saw partnered soldiers going door to door. Two of them were knocking on Jaxie’s door. I drove by and then onto the main road. As I circled the neighborhood over and over, waiting for the soldiers to leave, I played with the radio and found a news channel.

  The radio host’s voice shrilled with fear. The vice president in unison with other world leaders installed martial law into unaffected areas with high population.

  “Fuck!” I yelled to myself.

  This ad hoc group of twenty-eight leaders including Americans VP Al-Bassam, Fogle CEO Maximillian Steele, Harry Ronchild, and Doctor Stephen Laurie voted to swiftly end all use of national currency. Americans can trade in their U.S. dollars at various banks for global units installed on some kind of card or even get a microchip installed on their forearm for more convenience. Hmmm. Listeners, do you think this will be an even trade? Callers welcome.

  I was tempted to call, but continued to drive and listen. Within seconds, the radio host had someone on the line.

  I’m Sue from the Boston area. Do you think we will recoup our investments? Our savings? Retirement funds? And if we are heading towards a global unit of currency, then how do countries with weak currency figure in? Do they drag us down? Do we ultimately pay for the weak economies throughout the world?

  Excellent questions, Sue. Thanks for calling in. Geez, the board lit up with calls. Money always does strike a nerve, no matter what the situation. Obviously, I do not know the answers to any of your thought provoking questions. First of all, we Americans supposedly voted for change years ago. And what did we get? Socialism. What will we get? Sounds like more socialism. You’re right to be worried. This sure does sound like redistribution of wealth, but now it’s on a global scale. I guess we won’t know how screwed we all are until we try to buy something with our ‘units’, right? As far as our investments or specifically our stock investments are concerned, the New York Stock Exchange is conveniently gone. Many of the Fortune 500 companies have been wiped off the map. Next caller please.

  I drowned out the radio show for a few minutes as I watched the militia drive out of Jaxie’s townhome complex. Soon they would be back. I pulled into the garage and privately unloaded my goods. An older woman with short white hair and watery hazel eyes rang the doorbell and stood outside on the porch.

  “Yes?” I asked through the crack of the door.

  “I’m Wendy Grossman, Jaxie’s next door neighbor. She and I are neighborly. I consider her a friend. You don’t have to worry about me…”

  “No? You look pretty dangerous,” I said, trying to lighten up her nervous mood. Her hands kept on shaking.

  “Well, maybe when I was young. But I saw you come in. And since you’re with Jaxie, well, you’re not with them. Do you know why those men were here?”

  “No.”

  “They were collecting guns. Somehow they had a list of every registered gun owner. I had to give up my Browning. Now I don’t feel as safe. Does Jaxie have a gun? They came to her house. She will need to make up some kind of story, hide it…”

  The woman’s deeply lined hazel eyes flashed fear as she spoke. I interrupted her. “Listen, Wendy Grossman, my name is Raphael King by the way, Jaxie doesn’t have a gun nor is she registered. Sounds like they are going to everyone’s house, even those not on the list. I left my gun and my license in my nightstand drawer which recently disintegrated with the rest of New York City. If those soldiers come back, they are wasting their time.”

  “Good, good. However, they will be back. They said they were ordered to patrol this side of town. They call themselves Peacekeepers because they want to keep the peace. I’m really not so sure about that and wanted to warn you.”

  Wendy Grossman the neighbor left. I like her immediately. Something about her mannerisms made me think she wasn’t as helpless as her advanced age might suggest. My grandfather would have fallen in love on the spot. She wasn’t going to lie down and play victim.

  Wendy lost her gun because the United States had a record that she registered for it. So by following the law, the law was able to follow her. Again, my grandfather’s omens haunted my thoughts. Wendy and her Browning could have come in handy with the looters prowling the streets. She and I both could have worked out our own neighborhood security. I wanted to tell her that I just bought a gun, but held my tongue until I had a chance to talk to Jaxie.

  I barricaded and barred up the windows, installed several kinds of locks
on the front and back doors, and put security cameras around the property. Jaxie’s upscale colonial townhome now looked like a ghetto convenient store. If her neighbors were smart, they would do the same. Jaxie already saw some people looking to steal. Tonight would bring more.

  Once Jaxie came home, she was thrilled to see my improvements. I showed her how to work the gun. I let her know about the soldiers who made their rounds in confiscating everyone’s weapons.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that I met Wendy Grossman today. The Peacekeepers took her gun. Think she’s got a spare?”

  “I love her. Wouldn’t be surprised. She’s one spunky old lady. Funny how no one knows where the money in everyone’s bank account is, but they can find a gun registry. Hmmmmm. I was always scared of guns. At least you got one for us,” Jaxie said as I made her practice loading the magazine.

  “Guns have always been a problem, but mainly for the government. My grandfather made sure I knew how to work a gun. These soldiers want us to be at their mercy, sitting ducks. You didn’t sleep last night. Go to bed. I’m on patrol. I made a few peepholes in the doors and walls, then installed security cameras around your house. We’ll be safe. Oh, here’s your bracelet. Didn’t need it after all, at least not yet.”

  Jaxie happily yawned and trudged to her room. I sat on the couch and surveilled the neighborhood through one of my newly made peepholes. A few hours later, a pack of looters, maybe the same ones from the night before, showed up around one o’clock in the morning. I counted eighteen people. Their dark clothes and hats made it impossible to identify their race or gender. By the agile way they moved, I guessed them all to be young, maybe late teens.

  Three townhouse buildings south of Jaxie’s place seemed to be their first target. I saw two of the looters dart off to the side of the building. Another three of them took baseball bats from their backpacks and headed for the front door. The others surrounded the unit, except for one. The remaining looter sat out on the street as a lookout. I heard the crash of glass from the distance and clutched onto my Glock.