2084: When God Blessed America Again!

By Trafford Publishing

2084When God Blessed America Again is a gripping story of a man and a woman who grew up under the iron fist of Islamic law in the United States of Islam, formerly known as the United States of America. By sheer force of will and population redistribution, the Islamic faith has now become the controlling force that dominates approximately 80 percent of the worlds populations.
James and Gwen, the two main characters, are raised in separate parts of the country. Each suffer through horrible family events brought on by the oppressive society, and each has sworn revenge!
By totally separate circumstances, they find themselves in Alaska, one of the few areas of the globe that a person can live in relative freedom. They eventually find each other in the wilderness along with a group of people who also cherish the idea of freedom. 2084 is filled with intrigue, war, and romance. Not a book for the weak of heart!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466968042

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Looking Back

It was nearing sundown as I stood outside the building where I shared one of the rooms with a guy named Ned who for months had barely spoken to me. When he did speak, it was usually a quick yes or no. Most of the time he would just grunt a sound that was barely audible to the human ear. I had given up trying to move our relationship forward realizing that Ned wanted to be left alone. That was fine with me!

The barracks style building was a 200ft by 100ft two story structure painted a navy grey with white trim. The building was in a row of 25 that were exactly alike, each one only distinguishable by black numbers above the main entry doors, numbering from 1000 through 1025.

They fit in perfectly with the drab landscape that surrounded the encampment. Vegetation was sparse around the buildings, consisting of a few bushes and prairie grasses that found suitable soil amongst the numerous rocks and hard clay that made up most of the terrain. Outside of the fenced-in encampment was a very dense pine forest forming a visibly impenetrable wall.

The beautiful snowcapped Rocky Mountain peaks visible above the pines made a majestic sight. Upon arrival at the camp the mountain peaks captured your attention, eventually becoming customary to one’s eyes, until no attention was consciously paid.

I drew in some smoke from my cigarette, exhaled it along with my breath that turned to smoky water vapor in the cold Alaskan air. I watched as the swirling winds dissipated the cloud almost immediately.

My name is James Thompson. I am a NON, which means I’m one of a few million people on the planet who have not embraced the Islamic Philosophy.

I have been in Camp Clinton, a living area for the Alaskan oil pipeline workers for six months. The year is 2084.

As I leaned against the corner of the building I began to recall the long journey that brought me to Alaska! At times like this I wonder about the sacrifices I have made in order to gain what I considered to be freedom. Had I walked away from a relatively comfortable life as part of the Society that ruled most of the world and controlled most of the inhabitant’s thoughts and actions to come to this God forsaken place for the sake of Freedom? My answer always comes back,—yes I did!

I had some time before my next shift at the pumping station, so my mind began to wander back to my journey. I began to recall how I grew up in the Society, followed by how I was re-educated to the enlightenment. Finally, how I had made my escape!

Growing up through the mid part of the century in Illinois was what I considered normal. I had two loving parents and a sister who was two year’s my senior.

We lived in a housing development on the outskirts of Chicago, reserved for people who worked at a huge bakery.

My father and mother would go to work at 6PM and return at 6AM every morning. My sister and I would be cared for by our live-in Nanny named Bachna. Bachna would get us up for school, feed us, make sure we were clean and then walk us to the local public educational institution.

Each day was the same as the day before. We would arrive at school and begin the daily routine. The first class of the morning was history. We were taught how the Evil Satan had tried to control the entire world throughout the 20th century, eventually to be over-come by the Good Savior sent to us from the Middle East.

How corruption and greed was the Satan’s way of life. How, against the True Gods teachings, homosexual relations were allowed, pornography was promoted and women were depicted as sexual objects whose sole purpose was to please men’s lusty appetites.

The second period of the day was Prayer. We would position ourselves on the floor in a submissive posture and recite the prayers we had been forced to memorize. We were told that this would cleanse our souls, bringing us closer to the True God. Hundreds of children were in the prayer position at any given time.

My friend Samuel would try to get next to me. He and I would mumble the Prayers, but mostly we would quietly whisper to each other about how much Crap this was.

We needed to be very careful because there was an adult walking around the huge room with two yard sticks taped together thus creating a very sturdy 3 ft stick. If for one moment he thought that you were not fulfilling your prayer obligations he would whack you across your behind that was poised perfectly to receive the punishment.

Every now and again the sound of discipline would ring out followed by a cry of pain. No one would look up for fear that the next reprisal would be inflicted on them. Many of the children would begin saying their prayers louder to show that they were obedient Believers.

By elevating the volume of their voices they thought that they would demonstrate their devotion, therefore deflecting any punishment away from them onto someone else. Many times it didn’t work because they would say the prayer wrong and receive the sweet kiss of the stick themselves.

Samuel and I were very good at our mumbling. We were never struck by the stick. We took great pride in our devious behavior.

The rest of the school day was much the same. Mixed in with the reading of the Holy Book were language classes. It was always English. Our teachers taught us in English. We had heard the other language spoken but could not understand very many words. Although they were our teachers, our Nanny’s and the Religious Police, they always spoke to us in English.

When they talked to each other, they spoke Arabic. It took me a long time to figure out why that was. I had asked Nanny Bachna to teach me some of her words, so that I could speak to her in her own tongue. She smiled at me and told me not to worry about learning their language. I was fine with my own. After-all, could I not speak to my friends and parents or the clerk at the 7 Eleven Store? Would I not be able to communicate with my superiors when I took my predestined place at the Bakery some day? There was no need to burden myself trying to learn another language.

It wasn’t until many years later that I learned why we were never taught the other language. There is a very significant advantage for people who can converse with comrades openly knowing that others around cannot understand what is said. Yet, at the same time being able to understand what the onlookers are saying. If you can understand them but they cannot understand you, unless you want them to, you have a tremendous advantage.

The bi-lingual individuals can eaves-drop on you but you cannot eaves-drop on them. They can have private conversations in your presence but you can never do the same.

It is an obvious advantage and the Believers used it with tremendous skill. At first pretending not to understand when it suited their purpose, and later, using it to communicate with each other secretly even if we were there.

The same holds true during any sort of organized combat. There are secret codes to communicate within the group, using these codes so others never know your plans.

The only time you want them to understand is when you are creating a diversion. False information is a very powerful weapon. Your opponent begins to look where you falsely want him to look, while you pulverize him from another direction. Diversion, . . . very critical indeed!

As I continued to get older, life continued to be very organized and mundane. I would go to school, come home and go back to school, interrupted occasionally by play periods within our complex.

Five times a day we would be called to prayer by a Mullah’s voice emanating from one of the Mosque towers. The days never changed for my family.

Others within the complex, who had been trained as specialists seemed to have more freedom of movement. Many of them had access to the few cars that were assigned to our complex. Only a very few people were in this category. Most were considered high level Believers but a few specialists were also allowed to drive because their expertise was useful at other manufacturing sights that they needed to travel to.

Most were Engineers who could help with electronics or the mechanical equipment similar to the Bakeries’ manufacturing systems.

I always thought those people were the luckiest people on earth and at times felt disappointed in my father for not being one of them. If he had been, he could have told us stories of the world outside of the compound.

The children of the Specialists’ always seemed to look down on the rest of us. That was my perception based mostly on jealousy, not so much on their actions.

They would follow their fathers to the front gate, yelling and waving good-byes and asking for their fathers to bring back gifts.

The fathers had to check through a security area. They would be required to register as to their destination and the reason for the trip along with an estimated time of return.

I could only imagine how wonderful it would be to travel and see things outside of the compound. The television was my only window to the outside world. At night we would gather around and watch shows like The Andy Griffith Show, with Opie and the goofy Deputy Barney, Perry Mason, Laugh In, mostly in black and white but humorous and entertaining.

After the entertainment series the world report would come on and we would see and listen to what was happening around the world. The man and woman who reported the news always talked about how the Believers around the globe were continuously threatened by the NON’s. The Believers had to be vigilante and aggressive towards them so that Satan would not rear his ugly head again.

The path to heaven was keeping the NON’s from gaining any semblance of power and eliminating them at every opportunity. Most of the world had become Believers with the exception of a few isolated areas, insignificant areas at best. The NON’s were trying to hold onto their corrupt Satanic ways.

The news always ended with pictures of riots showing how the NONS were disrupting society and being held back by the Believer’s using guns, fire hoses and tanks. Afterwards, there would be a body count for the NONS in the lower corner of the screen to let us know that we had sent so many souls to the hell that they had created for themselves. Each night the number was usually in the thousands. The good Believers never lost a soul!

I would go to bed each night trying to make sense of it all. In my mind I would question why the NONS would senselessly lay down their lives? Why did they want to disrupt the Society? Why didn’t they just submit to the demands of the Believers?

Life could be good if they would just play along. What were they dying for? It seemed foolish to me.

I would eventually drift off to sleep with these disturbing thoughts eventually fading away.

CHAPTER TWO

Gwen

A young woman awoke to the soft voice of her grandmother saying that it was almost time for school. Gwen Flannery was sixteen years old today. After school today, she and her Grandma would go to the review board in San Francisco to find out what life had in store for her. What would she be trained to do? Would she be a professional of some kind, or just a worker class? Would she stay with her Grandma, who had raised her, or would she be sent somewhere far away?

When her parents were taken by the authorities years ago Gwen was too young to understand what had happened. Later her Grandma had explained that the Believers knew what was best, and that her parents had not been able to adjust to the Societies’ norms.

When Grandma became aware that Gwen’s parents belonged to a subversive group, she felt it her duty to notify the authorities. They would know best how to handle such a situation. They would re-train her parents in the ways of the Believers, and transform them into beneficial members of the Society.

Gwen had felt the tremendous fear inside as her parents were led away from their apartment. She would always remember the frightened look on her mothers face as she was pushed into the car that would take both her and Gwen’s dad away that night.

Gwen watched as her mother stared at her through the back window of the car until she was too far down the street to be able to make out facial features. Gwen always had thought that her parents would come back, but now after almost ten years she had given up hope.

At first her Grandma had assured her that they would come back and that they would be together again. Now, after such a long time period even Grandma’s belief had faded.

She had settled into a state of depression. She never laughed or told funny stories like she used to do when they were all together. She seemed to handle each day in robotic fashion. She would go to the clothing factory each morning where she worked on a sewing machine for ten hours a day. She would come home and fix dinner.

After evening prayers she would say goodnight and go down the hallway to her small bedroom.

We had kept my parents bedroom just like it was when they were here. Neither one of us wanted to unleash the emotions that would come forth if we openly acknowledged that they would never be back.

One night as I came out of the bathroom I heard the sound of muffled crying coming from Grandma’s room.

As I leaned against the door to her room it silently came open. It opened enough for me to see Grandma lying on her bed holding a picture of my parents to her breast and sobbing quietly with her eyes and mouth closed tightly. It looked as if she was trying to hold the painful feelings inside of her, but the pressure was too great. The sobbing was leaking out from her pressed together lips, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

I wanted to go to her and comfort her but I didn’t know how. She seemed to be in a private hell.

Maybe someday she would share her pain with me and I would be able to lessen her grief and agony. For now she needed to be left alone.

Later I would realize that she was the reason my parents were no longer with us. She was in the hell of regret for a mistake that she could not undo.

Thinking that the Believers would help her daughter and son-in-law, she had turned them over to the people who would take them away forever! We would never know what had happened to them.

When we came before the Review Board the next night my heart was filled with anticipation. I couldn’t tell if it was elation or fear that I was feeling. My hands were sweating and my body trembled as I sat before the group waiting to hear about my future.

As the leader of the group spoke my ears seemed to become amplifiers on the way to my brain. The sound got louder and louder as I heard his words.

The Believers were worried about what my parents might have instilled in me before they were taken away.

He asked me if my Grandma had ever talked to me about my parents. He wanted to know if she had told me about how my parents had plotted against the State. He pressed me for details about what we talked about at home.

I had very little to say because Gram and I had not talked very much about my parents. I was beginning to understand why!

After I was barraged with many questions that I could not answer he abruptly stopped and sat down, leaving me standing there feeling physically spent.

The group before me shuffled papers and made indiscernible comments to each other. Finally, the leader stood again and spoke.

"Gwen Flannery, the review board has made its decision and as you are aware, decisions of the Board are for the good of the Society and are final.

Tomorrow morning you will come back to this place and join others who will be going to Camp Oakland. There you will be taken care of by the State and evaluated further.

"If you are found to be a good member of the Society, and have no obvious problems, you will be sent on to your future training and life-long assignment.

"Please go home with your Grandmother, say your goodbyes, and prepare for your trip to Oakland.

"There will be a paper on the table to explain what you need to bring with you.

They stood and filed out of the room without saying another word. I just stood there. Eventually I helped my Gram up out of her chair and we silently went back to the apartment.

It was astonishing for me to realize that I was not afraid of what was about to happen. I was confused, but not afraid. When I went to sleep that night I actually felt elated with a sense of impending adventure.

Later at camp Oakland I would find out what really happened to my parents, and that Grandma was due to suffer the same fate!

The Believers would pay someday!

CHAPTER THREE

James’ Selection

Eventually I reached sixteen years of age which meant that it was my time to be selected!

Selection was the time when the Society decided what you were going to be for the rest of your life. They would let you know what career was chosen for you, where you would live and possibly who you would marry. Everyone looked forward to Selection because it was the most important day of your life!

Our parents were so excited when my older sister reached the milestone. They were summoned to appear before a review board from our housing complex. There were also members from the National Believer Bureau. The panel numbered 12.

I was not invited to my sister’s appraisal, so I stayed home waiting to hear the news. When my sister and parents returned home that night they were ecstatic. My sister was going to be a nurse. She would go off to a far away school and study. After graduation she would most likely be assigned to a hospital and spend the rest of her life in a different housing development where other hospital employees lived.

She would marry, with consent of a divisional panel. She would have children who would go to the local school as we did and start the cycle all over again. She would be reasonably happy as long as she followed in the Believer’s doctrines.

She would have a Nanny from the Bureau raise her children, never talk against the Society and pledge her life to service of the supreme Deity. My parents were so pleased by her good fortune.

Now it was my turn! The year was 2078.

The night we were to appear before the Panel the three of us sat down for dinner. My father said a prayer.

May God bless this food. May God in his infinite wisdom and power bless our family and especially our son James. He will be judged tonight by the Panel and his life will begin. God bless the Panel for they are all knowledgeable and will do the right thing by James. What ever they decide, we will rejoice and give thanks to God. James will rejoice in their decisions because he knows they serve the almighty and are assuredly directed by Him. Amen!

We ate the rest of our meal in silence and then left the apartment heading for the community center building at the end of the street.

It was approximately a 10 minute walk from our apartment. There were a few more young people with their parents in the gymnasium that was being used as a waiting area.

The Panel held these appraisal meetings once a month. If your 16th birthday fell within that month, it was your night for Selection.

We checked in at the reception desk and gave our identification cards to a clerk. She scanned the card with a code reading device and then scanned our right hands. The hand scan would pick up an identity chip that had been implanted shortly after birth. If all information matched, which it did, we were given a number on a small piece of paper and told to sit down on the bleacher benches until we were called for review.

Our number was 6. I was excited! I wanted to know what I would become. Would I be a pilot, a doctor or an engineer? Any of those careers would allow me to have a car. I would see the rest of the world. Life was going to be exciting, I just knew it! I had behaved through my years in school. I had followed the rules. I had shown respect to the Believers. I was a good student. What could possibly hold me back?

After an hour, number six was called. I leaped up but had to wait for my parents who were much older and did not move as well as I did. We walked to the reception desk and were instructed to enter through a doorway into a much smaller room.

Upon entering we could see a long table at the far end of the room where 12 people sat looking over papers or talking to the person next to them. In the middle of the room there was a small table with 3 chairs facing the Panel. A man at the door instructed us to sit on the three chairs at the small table. Respectfully we did as he had commanded.

Then we sat and waited. To me it seemed like an eternity before the person most central at the front table began to speak.

You are James Thompson, are you not?

I said, Yes I am, as courteously as I could.

You are the parents of James, are you not? My parents each said yes as they nodded. Then it was quiet again as papers were being shuffled, small comments were being made to each other that we could not hear. Then, silence again.

They either stared at the papers in front of them or stared at me and my parents. The lack of speech was deafening within the room. It went on for 5-10 minutes. For me it seemed like 5-10 hours. Finally the lady in the center seat spoke again.

James, please stand up. I stood as my parents stayed seated. James, the Panel has made its decision and as you are aware, the decision is for the betterment of the Society. Our selection for you is based upon your actions throughout your life within the housing development and at your institution of education. I want you and your parents to watch the large video screen. The Video will help to explain how we arrived at your selection tonight.

A screen slowly scrolled down from the ceiling. Just before it came to a complete stop, a video began to play.

There I was, over and over again in the submissive posture during prayer time mumbling words that made no sense at all. The word crap came out of my mouth time and time again. Samuel’s words came out the same.

The scene switched to the play-ground where at call to prayer I was shown ducking behind the side of a building not conforming as the others on the playground did. I thought I was concealed from view but the hidden cameras