Charlie's Requiem: Resistance

by Walt Browning

  The kid had done a nice job with the little home. He had scavenged a manual lawnmower and kept the grass cut and the flower beds in pristine shape. The adjoining yards were cluttered with debris and overgrown St. Augustine grass nearly a foot high. They were a glaring contrast to Beker’s place, further enhancing the cleanliness of his little two-bedroom block home.

  As I raised my hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing the young man and a remarkably clean and orderly living room.

  “Hi,” Beker meekly blurted, his head down and eyes darting at his feet.

  I smiled. “Hi, just wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.”

  “Fine.”

  I hesitated for a moment, expecting some further reply. But typical of the last few weeks, Beker remained quiet, a mysterious Sphinx.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  Beker looked over his shoulder, his head darting back and forth as if searching for something.

  “It’s a little messy,” he said as he scanned the room for anything out of place. “I haven’t had a chance to clean this afternoon.”

  “Looks great to me,” I said.

  In truth, the room was immaculate. The furniture and the table tops gleamed with a waxy shine. Not a speck of dust was evident. Thinking of what Janice had told me about the burns and abuse, I thought I understood his need to control his environment. His inability to open up, even to spend a little time with the rest of us, now made much more sense. Beker needed to feel safe, and to regulate everything around him to alleviate his compulsions. People, even those that meant him well, were an unknown variable that he couldn’t control.

  “I like your place,” I said. “You’ve really made this a nice home.”

  Beker’s face relaxed, and a bit of a smile creased his lips.

  “Thanks,” he said. “ But I haven’t gotten it quite the way I want yet.”

  I walked to one of the two couches and noticed Beker’s face contort as he struggled to stay calm and composed. I was obviously invading his space, and he didn’t like it.

  “Do you have a patio out back?” I asked. “Maybe we can sit out there.”

  “Yeah,” he said, looking relieved. “You want something to drink?”

  Before I could answer, he scrambled to the adjoining kitchen. I heard the clinking of glass and ceramic.

  “I got some oranges from one of the back yards,” he called out. “You want some fresh-squeezed juice?”

  “That’d be awesome.”

  I strolled to the back door and stepped out into the small, immaculate yard. The stone patio was spotless and the flower beds free of weeds. The wrought iron table and chairs were perfectly aligned, and a potted Christmas cactus sat in the middle of the round table, its tips a blazing red.

  “Oh gracious!” I pulled out one of the chairs and leaned my rifle against the table. “The cactus is blooming.”

  “Yeah,” Beker said as he joined me. In one hand, he held a large plate with Velveeta cheese sliced into squares with some crackers arranged in a pinwheel around the edge of the dish. A glass of orange juice was in the other hand. He proudly set the feast on the table and went back into the house, returning with a can of warm Coke for himself.

  “Don’t you want some juice?” I took a sip, savoring the tart, sweet taste.

  “Had some this morning. Besides, that’s the last of the oranges.”

  I set down the glass. “Beker, you shouldn’t have done that.”

  He smiled. It was cute. He was living on his own for the first time, and he was playing house with his first guest.

  “That’s alright. I’ll scrounge up some more oranges. They’ll be around for another month or two.”

  “Well, thank you. It’s really—”

  Without warning, he jumped out of his chair. “Be right back!”

  I chewed on a cracker and cheese while he rummaged around in the house, finally returning a minute later with a brown bag tied with a ribbon.

  “Merry Christmas!” he said, once again staring at the ground at my feet.

  I became keenly unaware that I had no idea what the date was. “It’s Christmas? I guess so, if the cactus is blooming.”

  “I don’t really know,” he said. “But it’s close. Anyway, here’s a present I got for you.”

  I was deeply touched and felt guilty for not reciprocating. As if he read my mind, he added, “Don’t worry about a present. You’ve done so much for me already.”

  I stared at the brown bag like it was from another planet. I was so confused about this kid. He rarely talked, didn’t open up and kept his distance. Yet here he was giving me a Christmas gift.

  “Well…” He finally said after I failed to open the gift.

  Tearing the top off of the stapled bag, I was shocked to see what he had found for me.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered. “I can’t believe it.”

  In the world before the EMP, if a guy had bought me a pair of one carat diamond earrings or a bejeweled tennis bracelet, I couldn’t have been more appreciative than I was right now. I pulled out the package and gently laid it on the table, caressing it.

  “Well?” he asked. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it!” I replied. “I never would have thought you’d do this for me.”

  Beker blushed.

  “You’re a life saver!” I stood up and hugged him. His small frame stiffened as I pulled him close. A moment later, I felt him relax, and his thin arms timidly found my shoulders as he briefly hugged me back.

  Beker had stuck pure gold as far as I was concerned. With that little Christmas bag, he’d taken away one of my biggest fears about the coming journey. He’d given me a Life Straw, a portable water filter that would let me drink from any source of water. No boiling needed. No bleach.

  “Really? They’re just water filters.”

  “Beker, they’re more than that. On our trip, they’ll be life itself!”

  Beker sat back with a grin on his face. I suddenly realized just how tense he had been as his shoulders relaxed and a smile creased his face.

  I had come over to quiz him, to get a feel for his intentions and treat him like a suspect in a criminal investigation. Now, I knew I was his friend, and any doubt about his loyalty had been laid to rest.

  “I found a few more! There are enough for all of you,” he said with a conspiratorial smile.

  It was strange, but in a way, I felt like I had found a little brother.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s show the others! They’ll be so proud of you.”

  He lit up. “You think?”

  “Beker, you have no idea. Now go get the rest of these and let’s show the group. We’re having dinner at the Riker’s house at sundown. They’ll all be so happy.”

  “Can I give them out?” He timidly asked.

  “You bet! In fact, do you have any more ribbons and bags? These will be the best presents they’ve ever had!”

  “Let’s finish the cheese and crackers,” I said. “Dinner’s at the Rikers’ house tonight. I hope you’ll come over this time and hand out the presents yourself.”

  Beker, who just moments ago had seemed happy to share his gifts with the others, turned away. A look of confusion, or maybe pain, washed across his face. The change was so sudden, it was almost spooky.

  He slowly rose from his chair and walked over to the garden bed flanking the patio. He bent down, facing away from me, and almost absently began pulling up a few stray blades of grass that had found their way out of the mulch.

  “I don’t know,” he muttered.

  “Beker,” I began, “I really would like you to come over.”

  For a moment, the young man continued to prune the society garlic that was just beginning to sprout its purple blooms.

  “Why?” he finally asked as he stood up and turned toward me. “You don’t know me from Adam. Why are you doing this for me?”

  I was taken aback, and my mind swirled with thoughts of his past abuse and our present situation. Had
he ever had a normal relationship? Had anyone treated him kindly without asking for anything in return? I didn’t know what to say.

  “Sure, I get it,” he continued. “You think I’m helpless. You think I’m weird!”

  “No!” I said. “I don’t think that at all.”

  “Then why? Why do you want me to be part of your little group? Why do you care?”

  “Because that’s who I am!” I replied. “Why is it so hard for you to just let people be nice to you?”

  I immediately regretted my harsh response, but I was exhausted to the bone. I had to try to make him understand.

  “Beker, this world really sucks. It’s full of danger and uncertainties. And when you find someone who you can lean on, someone you can trust, then you grab that person and hold on. The good people are few and far between.”

  I got up and slowly approached him. He backed up slightly as I got close.

  “I don’t have any family to depend on,” I began. “Jorge and Maria are going to leave to find their own family, and that leaves Garrett and Janice. My last friends on earth.”

  I reached out and took his hand. He tried to pull away, but I held firm. I lifted his downcast face up with my other hand and looked him in the eyes.

  “And I have you. We have each other, okay? I need you to understand that. We need to trust each other, otherwise…”

  “I had a family once,” he choked out. Tears welled in his eyes as he wiped them away with his free hand. “Didn’t work out too well.”

  “I’m not like them.”

  “But how do I know that?”

  “You can’t. But I promise you I will work to earn your trust.”

  The tears fell in earnest now. I hugged him and let him sob. I don’t know how long we stood there, Beker releasing all the shame and pain he had bottled up for years. Finally, exhausted and spent, Beker gently pushed away and looked at me. His gaze was searching. Seeking the truth behind my words—and more importantly, empathy. If the last few months had taught me anything, it was that compassion was in short supply, but I had plenty of it for this lonely boy who bore the scars of his abuse all over his skin and his psyche.

  “I’ll be there,” he finally said.

  “Good, we’ll get together about sunset.”

  I turned back to the table of cheese and crackers. Sitting down, I motioned for him to join me.

  “You know,” I began, “my mom is somewhere in the Tampa area.”

  “I didn’t know that. I thought your mom and dad lived in the house you guys are using.”

  “She’s my step-mom. My real mother left town years ago.”

  “So your parents are divorced?”

  I hesitated, not sure how much I should tell him. I hoped that if I shared something about my past, it would help him open to me. “My mom moved on, and my dad eventually remarried. It all worked out in the end, I guess.”

  “So you’re okay with your step-mom?”

  “Yeah, she’s alright. I mean, we get along and she doesn’t get in the way of me and my dad.”

  “My mom and dad couldn’t stay in the same room for more than two minutes before things got bad. My dad was pretty cool, though. He taught me how to play chess one summer. He had to work a lot, but he made time for me, you know?”

  The kid obviously cared for his father. I didn’t push him for any more information than he was willing to give up. He had spoken more in the last ten minutes than the prior month.

  Beker didn’t mention his mother at all. I assumed that was where he found his personal hell on earth, so I let it go. I made a mental note to let the others know not to bring her up.

  We finished our cheese and crackers, and I stood to leave. “Is your bathroom working?” I asked.

  “Sure! It’s in the hallway to the left. I have a bucket of water in there. Just pour it in the tank and flush.”

  “Thanks, and thank you for the juice!”

  “No problem.”

  I walked into the house, leaving the kid at the wrought iron patio table, soaking up sun. I walked down the hallway and found the bathroom, but there was no bucket of water. I went into the next room, a master bedroom with an attached en-suite bathroom and found the bucket of water. As I started to close the door, I glanced back into the perfectly made up room and noticed a few purple velvet Crown Royal bags sitting on the bed. Curious, I went over to them and opened their golden yellow ties, accidently spilling some of the contents onto the queen-sized mattress. Jewelry and gold coins scattered onto the floral bedspread.

  He was stealing from the neighborhood! That’s why he had been disappearing during the day while we were scavenging for food. He joined us for our morning huddle, then looted homes for their left-behind treasures! I was shocked, and felt totally betrayed.

  I gathered the items and put them back into their small sacks, replacing them where I had found them. I closed the door and looked at myself in the mirror.

  What have I done? I asked myself. We all agreed to only take the necessities from the neighboring houses, like food and a few pieces of clothing. He’s a thief! And I just invited him into our lives.

  I shook my head. After I finished in the bathroom, I opened the door to find Beker standing in the bedroom. A quick glance at the bed showed that he had removed his stolen loot and stashed it away. I gathered myself, refusing to allow him to know that I had discovered his secret.

  “Oh! You scared me. I hope you don’t mind, but the bucket of water was in here so I decided to use this bathroom.”

  Beker’s face relaxed as I glided passed him and down the hall. He was on my heels as I got to the front door. I spun around and gave him a grin.

  “See you tonight! And don’t forget your presents.”

  He smiled back, and I turned down the front walk and made my way home as quickly as possible without looking suspicious. I had a lot to discuss with Janice, and I couldn’t wait to get it out.

  CHAPTER 3

  WATTS BAR NUCLEAR PLANT

  SPRING CITY, TN

  “Everything the State says is a lie, and everything it has it has stolen.”

  — Friedrich Nietzsche

  AS CHARLIE WAS WALKING BACK to her father’s house, Brendon Davidson was struggling with his nuclear plant’s impending demise. His white, short-sleeved button-down shirt was filthy from days of sweat and grime. As chief of maintenance for the plant, his job had taken a dramatic turn since the EMP had taken all of his computers off line. The electromagnetic surge had fried every one of their electronic systems, causing the facility’s backup generators to kick in. The old diesel generators had been unaffected by the electric surge, but several things had conspired over the last couple of months to bring the plant and its skeleton crew to this critical and rapidly deteriorating situation.

  A nuclear power plant is a controlled nuclear detonation. Enriched Uranium is pressed into 1-inch-long pellets, composed of Uranium 235 ore that has been concentrated to a more reactive level.

  The U235 readily takes on stray neutrons, which cause it to split into Krypton 92 and Barium 141, along with more neutrons. As multiple neutrons are separated, they spread in the pile of Uranium and collide with more U235. This causes these atoms to split as well, creating even more neutrons that seek out more radioactive material. This cascading reaction generates heat, which is then used to boil water. The corresponding steam then drives the plant’s turbines, creating electricity.

  But Murphy’s law dictated that if something can go wrong it would, and several months later, things finally went sideways in a big way.

  Before the attack, the plant had been in the process of adding a second reactor, the first one to go online in almost twenty years. It was fully charged with uranium, but this second reactor hadn’t had its emergency generators installed yet. Instead, the power company had been using the other reactor’s electricity to run the new reactor’s own cooling pumps.

  Now the original backup diesel generators had to do double the work, driving two water
pumping systems, and they weren’t up to the task. The supply of diesel was being managed by DHS, but the engines themselves were beginning to fail. Once one of the generators went down, the others would be inadequate to keep both nuclear piles cool. They were going to have to shut down one of the two water pumps and sacrifice one of the reactors to a nuclear meltdown.

  A “China Syndrome” situation would occur, where the pellets would melt and condense into a pile of radioactive slag. The pile of Uranium would melt its way through the containment metal and concrete, eventually making its way into the earth itself.

  When the uranium finally condensed into a pile of radioactive slag, it wouldn’t create a nuclear explosion. That was the good news. That took uranium-235 concentration levels over 80%, while the nuclear material they were using was much more dilute. But when the hot, radioactive material hit the surrounding water, plumes of deadly irradiated steam would be sent into the atmosphere, contaminating an area up to sixty miles downwind.

  Over a million people had lived in this danger zone until two months ago. When the power went off, most people had abandoned their homes to seek shelter the nearby Knoxville or Chattanooga refugee centers. How may were left was unknown, but Davidson didn’t have the manpower to warn them.

  Single by divorce and childless by choice, Davidson was a devoted employee. Educated by the Navy, he was disciplined and precise, which added to his anger when he realized that The worst part was that all of this should have—and could have—been prevented.

  According to Davidson’s contact at DHS, a series of brand-new generators were supposed to have been delivered right after the EMP hit. Several prefabricated conduits had been established outside the pump house where concrete pads had been poured. Diesel generators were to have been delivered and set on these pads, the female conduits of the building matching the male conduits of the generators. A week after the EMP hit, his contact at DHS informed him that the generators designated for use at Watts Bar were not in the warehouse where they were supposed to be, and replacements could not be found. Davidson warned DHS of the situation, even screamed it out on the plant’s now quiet floor, that the reactors could meltdown if their antiquated diesel generators failed. All it earned him was a shrug from the DHS man who simply spun on his heels and left, never to return.