Free Alea Jacta Est: A Novel of the Fall of America (Future History of America Book 1) by Marcus Richardson Page A

friends across the country could be relied upon to
help us.  I prayed every day for the last three years for this night.  Allah
has not let us down!”
    “So, the
Great Satan has been surrounded and attacked from all sides, from without and
within!” laughed Saldid.  “Today is a great day, my friend!”  He slapped the
steering wheel in mirth.
    Hakim
offered praise to Allah and threw another flare out the window.  He looked over
the seat into the rear of the car.  The stash of flares was down to a mere
dozen or so.  “We will be out of flares soon, Saldid.”
    Saldid
drove in silence for a few seconds, savoring the taste of victory.  There were
a lot fewer cars on the road now.  People sought shelter in the comforting
walls of their homes.  The scenery outside the car was a blurred
yellowish-reddish color.  Dots of green in the distance denoted cacti that
roasted in the heat of the desert afternoon.  
    “Do we
begin the slaughter soon?” asked the Syrian born driver quietly.  Hakim saw his
friend feel the grip of the pistol pressed against Saldid’s right leg.
    “That we
do, my brother, that we do,” replied Hakim.  He ignited another flare, used it
to light his cigarette, then threw the sparkler out the window.

SARASOTA
The Uncertain Home Front
     
     
    THE FIRST NIGHT without
power was destined to be nerve-racking for most of the nation, Erik figured. 
The radio had spewed news all afternoon of the much-feared looting and
rioting.  By sunset, it was mostly confined to Detroit, Chicago, Los Angeles
and New York.  Curiously, Atlanta was in the grips of a race riot which was in
the process of eviscerating the inner city.   Power had only been off for an
afternoon, there was still water and food to be had.  It made no sense to the
reporters, the authorities or Erik.  What it did do was tickle the back of his
brain.  Something was not quite right.
    There was a
lot of speculation flying around that race was the motivation for the unrest in
most cities around the nation suffering from riots and violence.  In Seattle,
though, eco-terrorists had ransacked the downtown district and began a
systematic campaign of destruction in the name of Mother Earth.
    Despite the
blossoming rioting and chaos in the inner cities, most people across the nation
chose to react like they would during any power outage—try to get home and stay
out of trouble. 
    Erik rubbed
his chin in thought.  It was as if the rest of the inhabitants of the major
cities just wanted to watch and wait while the hearts of the cities burned for
no good reason.  So far most of the violence was localized, in the sections of
the major cities that most people tried to steer clear of anyway.  But it was
spreading to business districts, fast. 
    Florida was
no exception.  The major inner-cities were turning into war zones if the local
radio hosts could be believed.  Miami, a city that never needed an official
reason to party, was acting as if it were New Years Eve on crack.  
Jacksonville, though, was in the grips of the infant stages of what appeared to
be a  race riot.  Early word was, the violence was led and coordinated by a
group called the Brotherhood.  No one really knew what they were all about, but
they meant trouble.  Somehow they were tied to Islam, but no one on the radio
knew if they were foreign terrorists or, as suspected, Americans.
    Erik looked
at the map in his hands.  Tampa was in flames.  From the radio reports, he was
able to put pencil marks on the map to denote where the violence was
concentrated.  It straddled the border between “wrong side of the tracks” and
the lucrative business/entertainment district that nuzzled the glassy waters of
Tampa Bay.  But why?  Ybor City, a haven for transplanted Cuban refugees, had
deep connections with Catholicism, not Islam. 
    Erik put
down the map as the twilight faded and he could no longer read.  He pondered
the demographics of the Gulf Coast.  It was common