Finding Hope Page 5

  “Wait here, I’ll be back in just a second,” Isaac said as he crossed the busy street.

  “Where ya going man? Your mom will be pissed if I come back without you,” Jason said still contemplating the disconnected people around him.

  “I just got to do something. Just give me a second,” Isaac said as he jogged to market on the corner.

  “Hey, I hope it’s OK. I don’t have any cash, but I got you something,” Isaac said as he handed the white bag to the young boy. “It’s just a couple muffins and a sandwich.”

  Noticing that Isaac was talking to her son, the begging mom rushed to his side. “What’s this?” she said annoyed and leery.

  “I just thought you guys may be hungry and wanted to help out,” Isaac explained becoming nervous. “It’s nothing, just a sandwich.”

  The mother softened by the gesture meekly replied, “Thank you.”

  As Isaac walked away he locked eyes with the young boy as he stuffed his mouth full of processed flour and refined sugar. Isaac knew his small gesture had made an impact.

  As Isaac walked into the lavish hotel room, his father was already back. The room was alive with activity. He could see in his father’s face that he had nailed the debate. Walking back and forth, he relived the event for the people in the room.

  “I can’t believe Senator Damphy thought he could get away with that comment about federalism. We all know how people feel about government. It’s too damn big. It’s about local leadership solving local problems not bloated government programs telling us what we need from thousands of miles away,” Mr. Howard said with fire in his eyes. “I really had him running when I pointed out the spending… ahhh the spending, and what it’s doing to our economy. Trillions of dollars in debt, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt made in China.”

  As Mr. Howard relived the debate, everyone was captivated by his animated gestures and inflecting voice. Mr. Howard continued, “And what’s the nonsense about immigration and illegals coming to this country for handouts. Preposterous! It’s like these people have no clue when it comes to global events. It’s widely known that in 2003 the oil field Cantarell peaked, and now those poor souls are fleeing Mexico just to survive. What else can they do when their country’s oil production goes from 2.1 million barrels a day to 400,000 in less than a decade? That creates real economic and social problems. If it wasn’t for our Federal Reserve and the US dollar, we would have been in the same situation back when our oil production peaked in the early 70s.” The onlookers sat glued to the charismatic statesman as Isaac hung on his every word.

  The campaign trailed burned on, as Isaac continued to be a teenager. Winter came and passed as the rain storms and flowering trees ushered in the renewal of spring. On occasion Isaac would join his father on the trail while other times he’d stay home and be a normal child. His father worked hard sharing his ideals with people across the country, always packing rooms and bringing crowds to their feet. As Mr. Howard became more popular on the national scene, special interest groups began to take notice.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Howard. Thanks for taking time from your busy schedule to meet with me today,” the man in the perfectly tailored suit said to Mr. Howard. “I’m looking forward to discussing the issues facing our country today.”

  Isaac sat quietly in the attached room of the hotel suite watching an old Three Stooges episode.

  “My name is Pastor Dranias, but you can call me Sariel,” the well groomed man continued.

  “Nice to meet you Sariel, that’s an interesting name. Is it Aramaic?” Mr. Howard replied as he sat down next to the athletic man of God.

  “I believe it’s Greek in origin. Both my parents grew up in Mykonos but moved to the states when they were teenagers,” Sariel replied as he pulled out his fine leather planner.

  “Well, what can I do for you today?” Mr. Howard asked admiring Sariel’s beautiful Crockett & Jones dress shoes.

  “I represent an association of believers who are working to restore morality and godliness to this great country,” Sariel explained as he fidgeted in his chair.

  “Yes, the Center for Moral Reform. I’ve heard of your group. You guys do great work with community outreach,” Mr. Howard admitted as he relaxed and sat back in his chair. “I agree with what you guys are doing, but feel the approach is misguided. Morality and religious choice should be left up to the individual to decide. Haven’t you guys been very active in lobbying congress to enact legislation?”

  “We have. Our approach is to intentionally guide the outcomes of national conversations regarding morality. We feel there are key areas where legislation is appropriate,” Sariel explained as he pulled out assorted pamphlets and brochures on the CMR’s current activities.

  “I agree with your intentions and even believe in many of the causes you guy are fighting for, but I believe this isn’t the role of government. These matters are best left to the state without involvement from the federal planners. It’s really about choice. And what says liberty more than freedom to choose what’s best for you and your family . . . as long as it’s not infringing on someone else’s rights.” Mr. Howard challenged.

  Isaac noticed the disagreement from the other room. He understood his father’s position on personal liberty and became interested in the conversation.

  “Do you mind if I sit in and listen to your conversation? There’s never anything interesting on TV,” Isaac asked trying to sound as mature as possible.

  Isaac studied the impeccably dressed man. His thick, black hair lay perfectly across his olive toned skin which enhanced the man’s subtle expressions. Being well over six feet tall, Sariel stood statuesque among the others in the room. His body and proportions were nearly artistic in nature. Isaac couldn’t help, but notice the only physical flaw Sariel possessed. He had a small birth mark just below his perfectly sculpted jaw bone that looked like a small dove. Isaac was fascinated by the uncanny resemblance. Isaac sat down nearby as the conversation continued.

  “I understand your view Mr. Howard, I do. We just think that the moral compass of this country is in dire need of reform. Unfortunately things have slid so far askew, and our kids can’t even tell what’s right and wrong anymore,” Sariel explained. “Look at the inner cities. Birth rates and poverty are epidemic. In rural areas, drugs plague our school yards. Our children are searching for hope, and we have nothing to offer them.”

  Isaac completely agreed with Sariel’s description of the country’s culture and was convinced his father would too.

  “I completely agree. The country’s a mess, but I feel this is due to the disconnection we’ve encouraged from Washington. We’ve enabled poverty through subsidy. We’ve removed the parent from the home through harmful economic policy. We’ve damaged our children’s hope through a corrupt and centralized department of education. These things need to be remedied by returning decisions to the local level, re-engaging parents, and empowering civic leaders. It will never be fixed though more federal programs,” Mr. Howard said as he focused on Sariel. “Don’t you agree?”

  Sariel fumbled for words, not expecting the conversation to take such a sudden turn. “I hear what you’re saying. I guess we just feel other methods are needed at this time in history,” Sariel conceded.

  “I’ll be here in Colorado for another week, but after that I’m back in Washington,” Mr. Howard said. “Feel free to schedule more time if you’d like. I love good discussions about faith.”

  Mr. Howard stood and shook Sariel’s hand. “Call my secretary, we’ll do lunch sometime next month,” Mr. Howard offered knowing that lunch would never get scheduled.

  As his father got back to work responding to letters from his supporters, Isaac began to feel antsy. “Dad, I’m going to go down to Jason’s room for a while. I’ll maybe get some dinner with him later if that’s OK,” Isaac said confidently. “I’d like to try that Mexican place on the corner.”

  “Sounds good Isaac, but call me and let me know when you’re heading to
dinner. If I can get through all this stuff I’ll join you,” Mr. Howard said as he shuffled through his sea of paperwork.

  After several hours of teenage conversation, Isaac called back up to the room. “Dad, we’re heading to get tacos, you in?” Isaac asked as he skillfully blocked a dirty sock Jason threw his way.

  “I’m sorry Isaac, I need to stay focused on stuff happening right now. In fact, why don’t you come back? We may need to fly back home tonight,” Mr. Howard said as his voice cracked.

  Isaac left Jason’s room puzzled and walked to the elevator to return to the sixteenth floor where his father was. As he entered the elevator, he noticed two men who worked with his father. Both men were oblivious to his presence as they focused on their mobile phones. Isaac could see something was wrong from the paleness of their skin and absence of expression. When Isaac entered his father’s room, the tension and activity buzzing around him was thick.

  “Isaac, pack your stuff. We need to head back to Washington tonight,” Matt, his father assistant, said as he answered his phone. “Paul Howard campaign, can you hold? Isaac I have to take this call, but go ahead and pack your things. Your dad will explain.”

  Isaac walked into the bedroom to find his dad talking on the phone with concern dripping across his brow. “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight,” Mr. Howard said to the person on the phone once he saw his teenage son.

  “Dad, what’s the deal? We really heading back tonight?” Isaac asked with a confused look on his face.

  “Yeah, some things have come up, and I need to be in Washington. The global markets are in a tail spin and nobody really knows why. Just get packed. We’ll talk more on the plane,” Mr. Howard said forcing a smile for his only son.

  Earlier that evening the unthinkable occurred. OPEC announced the formation of an oil bourse pegged to a basket of currencies that no longer included the US dollar. This triggered a global panic as countries fled US currencies. Then ninety minutes later, China announced the sale of their US treasury holdings. In an instant, trillions of US dollars hit the market causing the beginning of the collapse for the dollar. Market analysts and pundits hit the air waves trying to calm the markets already in flames.

  Contagion swept across the globe for the next several days as the United States shuttered from the effects. Within weeks the impact was being felt. Food prices skyrocketed as prices for imported goods doubled, in some cases tripled, what they were just weeks before. Gasoline spiked to nine dollars a gallon while motorist fought each other for the limited supply. The country wobbled as markets across the globe suffered severe financial losses. Over two hundred years of American exceptionalism was becoming unglued in the span of a few short weeks.

  Back in Washington, Isaac and his parents spent night after night watching the terror unfold as congress scrambled to develop a strategy. Jobs no longer mattered to a country locked in a collapsing currency and hyperinflation. Civil unrest burned through the streets as families’ struggled to eat. Transportation of goods disintegrated while grocery store shelves went bare. The gap between the wealthy and poor lost all importance.

  “I still don’t understand how this happened so quickly,” Isaac said at a loss. “Didn’t we have a back-up plan?”

  Mr. Howard sat with his head hung low. “I’ve been talking about this disconnection from reality for years now. I can’t believe it’s here,” Isaac’s dad said. “We’ve been pushing the limits for decades now. Spending with more spending. It never stops. It was just a matter of time before the world grew weary of our debt. Where’s the Federal Reserve now? Completely in ashes, their board members now sitting in Singapore.”

  Days passed by in a blur as people stopped going to work. The price of gas continued to climb as people moved closer to loved ones. One crisp autumn day, the President addressed the nation.

  “My fellow countrymen. Two weeks ago the United States membership to the United Nations was revoked. It’s our duty to assure our partners across the globe that there remains leadership and dedication to solve these difficult challenges. Tonight congress and my administration have authorized a coalition of force to secure global oil supplies. Great Britain, Germany, France, Canada, and Mexico have all committed their support to the cause. We act unified, not to control access to global oil, but to simply return stability to global markets. We must act together in our efforts. The future of our planet is at stake. Thanks, and God bless us.”

  Over the next several weeks, coalition forces moved into the waters off the coast of Venezuela, the Strait of Hormuz, and the areas around the Black and Caspian Seas. The United Nations authorized several resolutions condemning the coalition of force, but the piracy of global oil continued for weeks. Then one fateful night in October it happened. As night fell and the sky above the Caspian Sea became alive with starlight, a lone Russian submarine sunk an American frigate.

  This single action began a chain of events that changed the course of mankind. Congress, outraged by the act of war, authorized military strikes along the borders of Ukraine and Azerbaijan crippling the Russian naval access to both the Black and Caspian Sea. Global leaders were enraged with the military escalation and further condemned the policies set forth by the United States and their partners. Diplomacy broke down as nationalism in the Middle East was set ablaze. Anti-Western protest broke out all across the region. Japan, China and India joined forces with Iran, Saudi Arabia and Egypt outraged by the attacks on the Russian border.

  As elections were suspended in the United States, rumors of war spread like wild fire. Next, a fleet of French and British ships were attacked in the Strait of Hormuz by Iranian and Chinese war ships. As the sky burned blood red, two thousand nine hundred and seventy-seven people died over the oil needed to fuel mankind’s disconnected existence. Over the next several weeks, troops marched, missiles flew, and people died. The United Nations was helpless as the planet bled.

  The awkward double axle of the tractor-trailer crunched and hissed as it stopped at the US border. Money passed hands as the diesel engine came alive, and the freshly painted logo of “Al’s Chicken” roasted on the side of the trailer. The heat of Arizona splashed on the smoldering asphalt as the tires pressed deep into the soft pavement. A similar scene played out across the defiant country as the steel trucks sped down the highway to their strategic destinations. Six trucks in total were authorized by resolution to carry their payload to different cities. Each city was destined for two tractor-trailers to ensure the mission could remain successful if one of the trucks were detained. Nevada, South Dakota, and Kentucky were the targets of choice for the crippling blow. As the predetermined time was reached, each truck delivered their cargo into the sky.

  The United Nations had developed a resolution so deeply cloaked in secrecy that only the leaders of Russia, China, India, and Brazil were briefed. There’d been much discussion among the highest levels of the global elite regarding how to stem the effects of the Western collapse. The strategy had to end the coalition of force, protect oil supplies, and avoid an all-out world war. The way events had been escalating, nuclear warfare was a pressing danger feared by all countries across the globe. The most important aspect of the plan was to avoid American retaliation. This could only be accomplished by launching the weapons from within the powerful country. To restore global peace, America’s need for oil had to be eliminated.

  At exactly 1:02 pm, on a cloudy Wednesday afternoon, the rockets climbed high into the atmosphere as the country below struggled to survive. High above North America, the warheads triggered their nuclear arsenal, unleashing a powerful electromagnetic pulse which blanketed the country. In just a few nanoseconds, the great and powerful United States was returned to the Stone Age.

  Isaac sat in his living room, deeply focused on the horrible images that played across his television set. War raged on as the United States was again proving its strength and determination. As the news broadcast went to commercial, Isaac stood to get a glass of water. Before he could leave the room
, colorful images caught his attention as they splashed across the television screen.

  “Hot, cheeezy, pizza,” the low sexual voice proclaimed. “Four toppings of your choice, just $18.99.” The screen was plastered with melting mozzarella cheese and rich zesty tomato sauce which oozed out along the buttery garlic crust. The TV voice commanded, “Call now and get a free order of Cinnabread with each…”

  At that instant, the television set went black as terrible pops and zaps shattered glass all around his home. Fire danced out from behind his television, as the screen warped and quivered, melting from the high heat.

  “Mom! Fire!” Isaac screamed as he ran into the kitchen. Isaac found his mom standing and staring out the window. Turning to look out the window, he found himself wondering how the fire in the living room had somehow spread to the telephone poles outside.

  Cars were stopped dead in their tracks as white puffs of smoke crept out from beneath their hoods. Isaac stood confused by what he was seeing. He took his mother by the hand and walked out into the front yard. They both remained silent as they watched the afternoon sky. Cascading waves of metallic rainbows swirled around the ionosphere powered by heat and fire. Among the display of color, sheet lightning crackled across the heavens as it became hell on earth.

  Chapter 5

  New Providence

  The breeze caressed the stiff cotton hanging along the backyard line. Sunlight blurred the images that played among the laundry. As the cottonwood tree shed its summer rain, the smell of grass was thick consuming every sense. A steel bird flew along the horizon leaving pillows of white against the sea of blue. A child laughing: jumping, falling, giggling, head buried deep among the green blades – rolling together. The ocean: misty, sandy, salty – soaking in warmth. The two half sleeping – skin touching. Distant memories collect mosaic patterns of soft sadness – unrealized joy. Faces, clouded by regret, colors spin, reaching, hand in hand… a child.