Charlie's Requiem Novella

by A. American

  Well, I thought, I’ll be eating some food soon and that will drop the weight I’m carrying.

  We ran across an unopened five-gallon jug of water for an employee water bubbler. We swapped out the empty jug on the stand for the unopened one still in the closet and drank as much as we could before topping off our own supply. Dr. Kramer warned us to eat and drink as much as we could when the opportunity arose. It preserved our supplies.

  As we scanned the map, it was apparent that most of the trails that led to just north of downtown. We were going to have to make our way through Orlando on normal paved roads before finding the bicycle trails that might hide us as we escaped the rapidly deteriorating city.

  I was looking at the names of the trails when I ran across a name that echoed in my mind. The Seminole/Wekiva Trail rang a bell, and I was vaguely aware that I should know why. The southernmost trail that would help us was called Cady Way and might give us our first chance to get off the road. It began just east of downtown.

  “You know,” Janice said. “The neighborhoods from here to downtown aren’t exactly the safest to walk.”

  “And that was before the shit hit the fan!” Garrett chimed in.

  They were right. This damned apocalypse had really screwed up our lives. Travel now meant you couldn’t just button up your car and glide past the crime and other areas that made you uncomfortable. You had to confront them.

  Maybe, I thought, that had been the problem all along. We never had to face what we weren’t comfortable with. And a problem ignored will grow to a crisis unresolved.

  The more I thought about it, the less I liked the idea of going through Orlando. But when we looked at the alternatives, going around the sketchier areas of the city, we were adding days of travel. There appeared to be no alternative but to suck it up, take our chances and head straight for Orlando.

  “What’s going on outside?” Janice asked. “Who are all those people?”

  I turned from the table and looked out onto Kirkman road. We had walked down under the I-4 overpass and found the bike shop in a strip mall about a half a mile passed the freeway onramp. Now, there was a steady stream of people walking back north toward the expressway. Not just a stream, but a flood of people. Men, women and children were marching up the road filling both north and southbound lanes, all heading north.

  We grabbed a couple of maps and jogged out onto the sidewalk, watching the parade of people walk, shuffle and stumble up the road. Families and couples were dragging their luggage and children behind them like some pitiful migration across the asphalt planes of the Central Florida Serengeti.

  Then, just in front of me, a woman with two small children had her rolling suitcase handle snap. A large open beach bag tumbled off the top of the rolling case spilling almost a dozen water bottles and multiple granola bars onto the pavement. It looked like she had raided the free continental breakfast bar at her hotel, and now it had all dumped out onto the road with two screaming, filthy children grabbing her torn and stained jeans. The poor woman was at her wits end and began to scramble for the lost treasure when one of the other travelers, a similarly soiled man in a tattered business suit began to steal the water and bars, shoving them into the pockets of his jacket.

  “NO! THOSE ARE FOR MY CHILDREN!”

  “Tough shit lady.” He sniped back as he scooped up a pile of fruit and nut bars.

  “Sorry buddy!” I heard and snapped my head to the left.

  Garrett had his Glock out and had drawn down on the pig of a man, leveling his 40 caliber at the jerk’s head. The man stopped, his eyes wide with fear. He slowly began to put the handful of bars back on the ground. I looked about and we had gotten noticed. Most stopped and retreated from Garrett and his hand cannon, but I noticed three men in the group directly behind the businessman start to move around Garrett, attempting to flank the kid. I could tell they were intrigued by the Glock in my friend’s hand.

  Before I could even think about it, I had my Hi-Point 9mm out and pointed at the three as they were moving off the road and around Garrett’s back.

  “I DON’T THINK SO!” I shouted.

  They froze and immediately began to back away.

  “Other side of the street, assholes. Don’t fuck with us. We’ve killed three already today and three more won’t make a damn bit of difference… so JUST FUCKING MOVE!”

  They looked at each other and ran across the median to the other side and disappeared into the mass of people.

  I stood there, still pointing at the place where the three had just been, my hands shaking from the rush when I felt Janice gently grasp my pistol.

  “It’s OK, Charlie. They’re gone!” she quietly said.

  I lowered my gun and turned to see a wet stain beginning to form in the businessman’s groin area. He had pissed himself. I tuned to face him and strode up and got into his face.

  “Give it all back and get the hell out of here!”

  “Uh… sure!” He replied and quickly placed the stolen items back on the pavement.

  “I don’t think so dipshit. Put them in her bag like a good gentleman.”

  He picked up the fallen items and brought them over to the woman. The poor woman was standing in the road, her children clinging to her legs, mouth agape. The man reloaded all the lost items into her fallen beach bag and set it on the ground next to the mother and kids.

  “Now apologize for being an asshole!” I shouted loud enough for all to hear.

  “Uh… I’m sorry.” He said in a quiet voice.

  “You’re sorry for being an asshole! And say it loud enough for everyone to hear!”

  The man hesitated, at least until I put my hand on the butt of the Hi-Point which had been stuffed into the front of my belt. Janice and I both wore our scrubs, me because my business attire wasn’t fit for walking and her because she had nothing else. She wore her scrubs to work. I had recovered my leather belt, and had that around my waist over my scrubs. My pistol was tucked into the belt, being too heavy to be held up by the cloth ties that kept my scrub pants up.

  “Oh Come on!” He protested.

  “Unless you want more than piss staining your clothes,” I said. “You’ll do what I said. Now apologize for being an asshole. Otherwise, I can tell you from experience, blood won’t come out of that nice jacket of yours.”

  The man hesitated once more, then faced the woman.

  “SORRY FOR BEING AN ASSHOLE!” He shouted.

  Before I could say anything else, he sprinted across the road and disappeared into the crowd that was trying to decide if it was safe to proceed.

  I turned to the woman and child, picking up the beach bag and handing it to her.

  “You need to be careful,” I said. “It’s nasty out here and getting worse.”

  She smiled and thanked us, pulling the kids onto the sidewalk. We led her and her family to the parking lot of the bike store and helped her try and repair her suitcase.

  While helping, we picked up some valuable information. For one, the people around us were coming from the local hotels that were accommodating the Universal studio visitors. The night before, the government had stopped by the hotels and informed them that DHS had set up processing centers to help those that were trapped. She showed me a flyer that was distributed by the federal agents with a map directing everyone to the Central Florida Fairground. People were told to take I-4 north-east toward Orlando. They were to get off on John Young Parkway, right next to the 33rd Street jail and head north. A few miles up the road, turn left and the Fairgrounds were on the right. It promised food, shelter and safety.

  “Wow,” I said after reading the flyer. “That’s impressive!”

  I showed it to Janice and Garrett. They were equally surprised at the rapid and efficient response the government had managed. I began to have some hope.
r />   “It says, no firearms and to have some identification,” Garrett said.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Janice asked. “You getting a little attached to your new friend?” Janice patted the top of his Glock.

  “No,” he replied. “I guess not. It’s just that our guns have already stopped some bad shit from happening. I hate to give that up.”

  “You did pretty well with a tire iron, big boy!” Janice replied with a smile. “Does it say anything about tire irons?”

  “No,” he replied with a sheepish grin. “But I like what I have a lot more.”

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it,” I said. “I vote we find this place and see what it’s all about.”

  “I know I would appreciate it if you tagged along,” the poor mother said. “I’d feel a lot safer if you were with us.”

  Janice picked up the younger child and nodded to me. Garrett, well, he was going where Janice went so the decision was settled.

  “My name’s Charlie,” I said to our new walking companion.

  “Theresa,” she replied. “And this is Kaylee, my oldest.”

  “I’m five years old,” the little girls said holding up all five fingers of her right hand.

  “Wow,” I replied. “Next year you’re going to have to use two hands when you tell me your age!”

  “And your friend is holding Brie, my youngest.”

  “I’m Janice. Hi Brie!” she said as she hoisted the little girl on her shoulder.

  The young girl squealed with glee as she rode above the crowd. It was amazing how adaptable kids were, and how aware they were of the emotions around them. Her mom felt safe, so now the kids did too.

  We put together another one of Dr. Kramer’s make-shift Wrangler jean backpacks with one of the woman’s spare pair found in the broken suitcase. We soon were loaded up, mom and her oldest child holding hands, Janice with the youngest on her shoulders and Garrett and me flanking them, hand on our pistols tucked into our front belt.

  We returned to the moving mass of people and went back up the road, turned right onto the onramp and entered Interstate 4. The massive 10 lane road which starts in Daytona Beach to the Northeast cuts southwest across Central Florida and ends up in Tampa. Along the way, it crosses Orlando and takes people to Universal Studios, SeaWorld and of course, Disney World. As we got up to the elevated expressway, I could finally appreciate the immense number of people involved. Stretching for as far as I could see in both directions, thousands and thousands of people were slowly migrating east toward Orlando. That’s when another wonderful tidbit of information was revealed to us.

  “I guess that’s what the DHS guy meant when he suggested we leave as soon as possible.” The mother said. “He told us that where we were, there were about 20,000 people here in the Universal area.”

  “I can believe it,” I said looking about us.

  “Yeah, but he said there could be as many as 300,000 down by Disney. And even more from parts south. And that they were all going to be coming this way. So if we wanted to stay ahead of them, we needed to move.”

  I glanced back, but the crowd around me blocked my view. As we passed the numerous cars, trucks and SUVs, I ran ahead and climbed on top of a dead 18-wheeler and looked behind us to the southwest. Down the road, several miles back, a literal wall of humanity was making its way toward us. Tens of thousands of people had massed and were walking up the interstate. It was the Super Bowl and World Series multiplied by three, all moving our way.

  I got down and told the rest what was happening. I sure didn’t want to get caught in all that. There was no way our government could handle that mess. We all agreed that our final goal was to get to DeLand and take care of ourselves. Going to shelter and relying on the government to house hundreds of thousands of refugees along with feeding millions in such a small area was going to be impossible.

  Theresa was visibly agitated at our decision, but agreed we were probably correct in our assessment. I assured her she could still change her mind when we got to the turnoff at John Young Parkway, where she only had a couple of hours walk to get to the Fairgrounds. It was with this thought in mind that we moved with a purpose up I-4 and toward the turnoff a few miles ahead. That’s when our world turned upside down and death visited us once again.

  Chapter 20

  Day 6

  33rd Street Jail

  Mike and Beth

  Mike and Beth entered the bus and took seats next to each other. So far, they were the only passengers on the large, Greyhound transport. The engine was running and door open, but no driver had yet appeared. They were scheduled to leave within the next few minutes.

  “My God,” Beth said. “We could have walked there by now.”

  “Yeah,” Mike replied. “But I don’t want to mix it up with all the people out there. Too much going on I don’t understand.”

  Beth looked at Mike for several seconds, assessing the big man with renewed interest.

  “So Mike,” she said. “Where are you from?”

  “Oh, right here in O-town.” He said. “Graduated from Seminole High School.”

  “Did you play sports?”

  “Oh sure! With my size I didn’t have a choice!” he smirked. “Did alright. Nothing special. Then when I graduated I decided to be a CO.”

  “Why not a cop?” Beth inquired.

  “Cops don’t have too good a rep in my neighborhood. A CO! Now that’s alright.”

  Beth understood. She had processed too many American black males not to get the drift that cops were the enemy in many African-American communities, even the black cops. It was a sad state and Beth didn’t see any easy way out of it.

  Just then, three school busses rolled into the front gate and pulled up next to the front of the Booking and Release Center. The drivers left the busses running and entered the BRC.

  “That’s weird,” Beth said, staring at the idling behemoths.

  “Probably releasing more prisoners,” Mike replied. “They’ve been letting the short timers and non-violent go. I just don’t know who else they can let out that won’t be causing problems!”

  They continued to watch for any sign of who was going to get the “get out of jail free” card when Mike saw a group of soldiers come out a side door or the BRC. The emergency exit went into a courtyard to the right of the main entrance to the building. It was surrounded by a ten foot chain link fence topped with razor wire.

  Mike and Beth watched as eight DHS agents decked out in full kit moved into the courtyard and turned to cover another group that was a few seconds behind them.

  “Hey!” Mike said. “That’s Chief Braddock. And the judges!”

  “You’re right!” Beth replied. “Judge Bender and Hernandez.”

  As the two watched, the second group of people including the judges and chief moved to the wall of the building while the 8 agents kept their place about ten yards back. There were several DHS administrators talking animatedly with the captain while the two judges stood with arms crossed, listening to the conversation.

  “Mike,” Beth said tapping him on the shoulder. “I don’t like what I’m seeing. Can you crack the window a little to see if we can hear what they’re saying?”

  “Sure. I was just going to do that.”

  Mike clasped the window clips and sliding the glass on its tracks about an inch. What the two of them heard next was forever frozen in their minds.

  “I’m telling you,” Captain Braddock said in a raised and angry voice, “Is that you can’t do that with those thugs! I won’t approve it and I promise you, I’ll make sure your superiors know about it!”

  “I can assure you,” the head administrator said in an eerily calm and commanding voice, “that my superiors not only know about this, but have engaged me to implement these
directives.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Judge Bender shot back. “Our government can’t have fallen to this level. I can promise you we will fight you tooth and nail. This is not constitutional and every corrections officer in the facility will fight you when we let them know what’s going down.”

  The DHS administrators had moved back slightly from the other three men. Their leader, a lean and pale man, had his back to the captain and judges. He had his head down, shaking it slowly. Finally, about three paces back, he turned and with a sneer he addressed the three.

  “This is a new time,” he said. “This is a new world. There is no more Constitution. There are no more ‘rights’. There is only power and pain. And I weld both!”

  Then, without hesitation, he drew a handgun and shot Judge Bender in the head. Within another second, the eight DHS agents lit up all three men and riddled them with dozens of rounds. All three were dead before their bodies hit the dirt.

  The administrator turned to scan the parking lot. Beth and Mike ducked down in time to avoid detection. After a minute, the eight agents had taken the corpses back in the building and the area was once again clear.

  “Oh my God!” Beth said. “I can’t believe it!”

  Mike was boiling. Captain Braddock was his boss, but more importantly, he was a brother CO. Mike respected him as much as any man. There was vengeance in Mike’s blood. Beth could see it when she stared up at the man-giant sitting in the seat next to her. She put her hand on Mike’s shoulder.

  “There’s nothing we can do right now,” she said quietly.

  “I know,” Mike said. “Ain’t going to do anything stupid. But this won’t stand.”