William Johnstone - Phoenix Rising

There is little news out of Germany or Spain, we know only that they, too, had nuclear bombs explode in their countries. France reports an expected death total of one and one half million. So far there has been no news of any sort from Israel—indeed, we do not know if the country yet exists.

Caliph Rafeek Syed has announced the formation of the Greater Islamic Caliphate of Allah, composed of the former nations of Iraq, Iran, Syria, Libya, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, and Yazikistan. That association, if true, would constitute a greater power than all of Europe, and what is left of the New World Collective.

We now know that every bomb that exploded in Europe, as well as the three that exploded in the New World Collective, were delivered on board ships. The Greater Islamic Caliphate of Allah has taken credit for the blasts, and has declared that the suicide bombers, as well as the unsuspecting crewmen of all three ships, are martyrs and now in paradise.

Supreme Leader Ohmshidi is no longer in New World City, but continues to make pronouncements from undisclosed locations. In his latest broadcast, he announced the dissolution of Congress and the Supreme Court, though such action is meaningless at the present, since the United States, or the New World Collective as the country is now known, has ceased to exist as a nation.

In addition to the loss of life and extreme damage wrought by the three atomic bombs, the rest of the former United States is in far more dire straits than any of the European Union countries. For all intent and purposes, the U.S. no longer has a functioning government. It has no viable currency, which doesn’t matter as there is no longer a commercial enterprise in operation within the borders of what was once the United States. All transportation has come to a halt and the supply of food is becoming very critical in all areas of the country. Electricity and running water have been terminated, as has all telephone service. There are no broadcast facilities in operation, not even at the local level, though we have picked up some shortwave transmissions, including those of one-time right-wing television host, George Gregoire. There are no policemen on duty anywhere in the entire nation, nor is there martial law. There can be no martial law because there is no military.

At a NATO meeting yesterday, it was decided that those nations who have not suffered a nuclear attack would make an attempt to send food and supplies to the stricken nations as soon as possible. There was also some discussion as to whether NATO should send a contingent of military to the NWC to help in restoring and maintaining order in the affected nations, though no action was taken.

Prime Minister Corey Wellington said yesterday that while he is confident that the United Kingdom will survive the single nuclear bomb blast that occurred on British soil, he fears that the nuclear explosions in the United States, on top of what the nation was already experiencing there, will make recovery impossible. He is personally saddened by the terrible conditions of what was “once the preeminent superpower of the world.”

“The United States was always the leader in, and set the standard for, aid to countries in need,” the prime minister said. “How sad it is that such a powerful and benevolent nation could have been brought to its knees by an inept and ultimately destructive president. We cannot, and we will not turn our back on our American cousins.”

This is BBC and this has been the news.

“Damn,” Clay said. “It looks now like the whole world is going to hell in a handbasket.”

“What happened has happened,” Jake said. “But we can’t look back now. We have to keep our eyes on what is in front of us. We have to survive.”

“Survive, then what?” Karin said. “What do we do then? Do we just live out the rest of our lives in isolation?”

“You heard Gregoire. There will be others like us,” Jake said. “We will establish contact with them.”

“And once we establish contact, then what?”

“We’re not ready yet to decide then what,” Jake said. “As I said, our first duty is to survive. And we do that by facing one challenge at a time, one day at a time.”

The Dunes, Fort Morgan—Saturday, August 4

James Laney stood on the roof of The Indies, a seven-story condo built ten years earlier for people who wanted a vacation beach home for themselves, and also for those who wanted investment rental property.

Not one unit was occupied now, as many had been taken over by the bank in foreclosures. Even those units that were owned outright stood empty now because there was no fuel available for the owners to come down, nor incentive to do so, since there was neither electricity nor running water.

A few minutes earlier James had climbed the stairs to the top of The Indies in order to have a better view of the Gulf and, more importantly, the sky over the Gulf.

“We’ve got a hurricane comin’,” he had announced that morning to Jerry Cornett and Bob Varney. “I can feel it in my ankles and in my knees.”

Since James had accurately forecasted both Hurricanes Ivan and Katrina, Jerry and Bob took him seriously. They were sitting at a table on the deck behind James’s house when he came back.

“Did you see anything?” Jerry asked.

“No,” James said. “But I know damn well one is out there.”

“What are we going to do?” Bob asked.

“What can we do? If we combined what fuel we have left and all crowded into the same car, it would not be enough to get us away from the storm,” James said. “And even if we did we wouldn’t have enough fuel to come back here. We don’t have any choice. We are going to ride it out.”

“I thought we said that, after Katrina, we weren’t going to ride another one out,” Bob said.

“Yeah, we did say that,” James agreed. “But I don’t think we have a choice now.”

“James is right,” Jerry said. “We don’t have any choice.”

“Jerry, your house is right down on the front line,” James said. “You and Gaye might be better off coming here to stay with Cille and me.”

“Yeah, I think we will. What about you, Bob?”

“We’re a little farther back from the beach than James, even,” Bob said. “We’ll ride it out there, then come back over here after it passes.”

Because there was no functioning TV or radio, Bob and the others of the little group had no news on the hurricane with regard to either its strength, or its name. They took it upon themselves to name the storm, calling it Hurricane Ohmshidi, declaring that no matter how strong it was, it couldn’t possibly do more damage than the president had already done.

Bob convinced Ellen that they, and Charley, should ride out the storm in their minivan. “It presents less of a surface to the wind,” he explained. “Besides, if you can drive a car at a hundred miles an hour on the highway, it seems reasonable to assume that the car can withstand one-hundred-mile-per-hour winds.”

The wind started increasing in strength at about six o’clock that evening, getting progressively stronger until midnight. Bob, Ellen, and Charley were in their Toyota Sienna, looking through the windshield onto the street in front of their house. The wind was howling like the engines of a jet airliner sitting on the end of the runway just starting its takeoff run, and the minivan was buffeted about like an airplane flying through rough air.

The rain that pelted the windshield made it very difficult to see, because each drop of rain was filled with sand that had blown up from the beach. When they could see, they saw roofs from houses, balconies, outside steps, and large pieces of wood tumbling by in front of them. Bob had parked under his house, so the van had some protection from the tumbling debris by the large doubly braced stilts upon which his house set.