Charlie's Requiem Novella

by A. American

  “What should we do?” Beth asked. “Do we go back in or do we get out of here.”

  Before they could decide further, the front double doors of the BRC were flung open and several DHS agents came out, one manning each of the busses. Then, to the astonishment of both Beth and Mike, dozens Aryan Brotherhood prisoners came out, none of which had cuffs or restraints. They joked and whooped as they spread out and entered the busses. When finally full, the three vehicles slowly turned around in the parking lot and made their way out the gate, finally turning up the ramp onto I-4.

  “Jesus,” Beth said. “Could that be what the Captain and judges died for?”

  “Hmmph,” Mike replied. “Looks like a reason to me.”

  Several more DHS agents came out the door, laughing and joking. Two of them went to the front gate and manned it. Beth and Mike looked at each other, having not even noticed that it was unguarded from the beginning.

  “We stumbled onto an execution,” Beth said.

  “And they didn’t want any witnesses,” Mike added.

  The third agent made his way toward the bus they were on. If found, the both knew they wouldn’t be alive to see the sun set.

  “Hide,” Beth said. “Get to the back of the bus and get down.”

  Somehow, the two of them managed to scrunch down and avoid detection. The driver gave the back of the bus a perfunctory look and started the engine. Immediately, they felt the vehicle lurch forward, its gears ramping up as they too entered the onramp to Interstate 4. But, once on top of the interstate, instead of moving forward they came to a quick stop. The driver opened the door and hopped out, making his way behind the bus. Screams could be heard outside and both Mike and Beth risked a peek out the back window.

  There, not a hundred yards behind them was a massive roadblock with MRAPs, HUMVEEs and police vehicles. All the vehicles were blocking, what looked to be the largest mass of people they had ever seen, from moving any further down the expressway. They were being pushed off the interstate and onto John Young Parkway. The problem was that a large group of people, several hundred by the looks of it, had stopped and refused to go down the ramp. It appeared that there was an impasse when out of the blue, the blockade was pulled back and the crowd that had wanted to keep using I-4 were allowed to continue their journey down the expressway.

  That’s when Beth spotted the Aryan Brotherhood. One of the school busses had pulled off to the side of the roadway and disgorged its passengers. With pipes and fists, the Brotherhood rushed into the crowd and began to exact a bloody revenge on the uncooperative mob that had just passed by the blockade. The DHS agents manning the roadblock simply stepped back and to the side. Now, both Beth and Mike thought, things were starting to make sense.

  As the Brotherhood merged with the crowd, the two groups were indistinguishable. As far as the DHS was concerned, it was a win-win situation. Lose some uncooperative civilians, less problems for them. Lose an Aryan, no problem either. They were all sitting back, appreciating the show.

  The bus driver seemed to be watching for the same reason, the sick enjoyment of observing someone else suffer. It was a modern day Coliseum with the slaughter of these innocents providing the same twisted pleasure as in ancient days. It made Beth shake. It made Mike see red.

  Suddenly, a group of about 50 civilians broke from the ranks and started running up the far side of the wide concrete expressway. A whistle blew from a DHS agent at the roadblock and a second group of Aryan Brothers appeared from that area and gave pursuit. The two groups were destined to meet, and by both Mike and Beth’s estimation, they were going to collide right at their location.

  The bus driver must have figured out the same thing, because he turned and strode back to the bus. Mike moved up and hid about five rows from the front. The driver entered the bus and shut the door, locking it in place. He removed his sidearm and stood at the door of the bus and watched out the front window where the two groups had finally met. There were about a dozen thugs from the white gang and they laid into the unarmed group of civilians the way a pack of wolves would attack a flock of sheep. As he stood, staring out the front glass, the last thing the driver would ever remember was the feeling of surprise when saw the spray of his arterial blood bathing the right side of the bus. The blood loss was so quick, he was down and was unconscious within seconds. He was dead before Mike wiped the man’s blood off of his Blackhawk Garra II knife, a folder with a nasty curved blade that he liked to keep razor sharp. So sharp, that the DHS agent never felt the slice that ended his life.

  Mike retrieved the guard’s handgun and opened the door. He leapt out into the fray, turning to his right. A large, bald shaved hoodlum was coming up the side of the bus at the same time. Both men were startled, but like most brawls, the bigger and stronger man usually won. In this case, Mike clobbered the punk on the bridge of his nose with the butt of his pistol. Blood spewed as Mike brought his left fist down on the man’s face, breaking his cheekbone and crushing his eye socket.

  All the years of listening to these racist’s taunts was contained in that one blow. As a CO, he was trained to interact with the prisoners with respect. “Yes, prisoner Jones, you may do this” or “yes prisoner Smith that would be fine.” Meanwhile, the bald white brothers would spit at him and call him nigger or yard ape. In general, Mike had to endure the constant and degrading abuse of a racist who had nothing to lose. The pent up anger from three years of listening to this nastiness was now unleashed.

  Unexpectedly, Mike heard a grunt behind him. He quickly spun in time to find little Beth with the downed bus driver’s baton. She had engaged another Aryan and was getting the best of the brute. In fact, she was damn good. A cross blow to his right knee had caused the grunt he had heard. Mike now watched approvingly as an uppercut to the thug’s chin brought the piece of shit down. A coup de grace to the head split the man’s skull depositing his brains on the concrete. She spun around to Mike and nodded.

  “Got your back, brother. I was a CO too. Twenty years!”

  Mike nodded back and the two entered the mass of people, trying to stop slaughter, Mike welding his pistol like a hammer and Beth bringing up the rear.

  Suddenly, they heard a scream and turned to their left. Twenty yards away, they saw one of the Aryan brothers take a crowbar and smash it into the face of a young woman carrying a small girl. That was the last conscious thing Mike remembered until later when the carnage had been stopped. The red vision Mike first saw with the murder of the Captain and the judges flooded his brain. The criminals that DHS had unleashed on the unarmed people had crossed all the lines that civilized people use to define humanity. An unarmed mother was slaughtered for no reason. Mike went postal. It was the most incredible display of raw power Beth had ever seen. Men were tossed like rag dolls over the interstate and onto the road fifty feet below. Heads were smashed against anything hard enough to crack them. Car doors, concrete and even another head were used to terminate the criminals. He was a vengeful, giant god cutting a swathe through the chaff of humanity.

  The brotherhood thug with the crowbar was just the first of over a dozen that felt his wrath. Mike picked up the crowbar that killed the young mother and ended the lives of the remaining Aryan brothers, allowing the remaining civilians to escape. Fortunately, the morass back at the original roadblock had kept those heavily armed agents occupied while Mike cleaned house to their rear.

  Finally, when the bloodletting was through, Mike and Beth surveyed the damage. Six of the civilians had fallen, including the mother and her child, the later crushed by the mob as it tried to escape. Her little neck had been broken. All of the dozen or so Aryan Brothers lay dead somewhere nearby.

  Mike finally dropped the crowbar and let Beth lead him back down the road, away from the roadblock.

  “Come on, Mike.” She gently said. “Let’s get to OPD headquarters. There have to be some answer
s there.”

  Mike and Beth began the walk, followed by one person no one had seen. One other Aryan prisoner had escaped their notice. A freshly shaved man with a new tattoo on his arm and a swastika given to him by his new brothers. Under the swastika was a name: Beker. He was told it meant reborn, or converted in the German language, the language of the fatherland. Even though the real German word was Bekehrte, it was close enough. It meant more than conversion, it implied proselytization or active promotion of a faith or belief. The boy liked that. He now went by Beker.

  Chapter 21

  Day 6

  Charlie

  On the Road

  As they approached the exit to John Young Parkway, the group could see the massive display of force that appeared to make the decision for them. There was no way they were going to be able to get by the military vehicles.

  They cautiously approached the blockade and noticed a large group of people clogging the right side of the freeway. They weren’t moving and Charlie could hear arguments between the people and the DHS soldiers.

  “Come on,” Charlie said to the others. “Keep right and let’s find out what’s going on over there. I like having options.”

  They agreed and pressed themselves to the right side of the thoroughfare, finally coming up to the barricade. A group of men were arguing with the agents, wanting to travel through to get home on the other side of the city.

  “Sounds like a group we can join!” Janice said.

  “I don’t know,” Theresa said. “I just want to get somewhere secure. I’m from Ohio. I don’t need to get anywhere except where I can keep my children safe.”

  “We’ve discussed that,” Janice replied. “You thought it would be smart to put some distance from the Disney refugees and your children. That there would be too many people with not enough food or supplies to handle everyone.”

  “I know, but seeing this makes me afraid. I mean, why can’t we push through? Maybe they don’t have any help further down. Otherwise, they would let us go through.”

  “I hate to say it, but Theresa makes sense!” Garrett said. “This makes me worried as well. I mean, what are they trying to do? Can’t you hear it? Some of them are saying they live nearby and just want to go home.”

  The group was stuck. No one could come up with a clear reason for pushing forward and Theresa was getting more and more edgy.

  “I’m sorry guys,” Theresa finally said. “I have to get off. I’m taking my kids to the Fairgrounds. You guys need to do what you have to.”

  Janice gave me a resigned look and started to take little Brie off her shoulders when a commotion arose at the front of the group. The DHS agents began to part, moving several vehicles back and out of the way. It looked like they were going to let us through!

  Before anyone could do a thing, the crowd behind us began to push forward. It felt like an ocean current grabbing us and pulling us out to sea. To fight it was hopeless and risked being trampled.

  Theresa got a terrified look, but I yelled to her.

  “Look,” I said. “You can still get off at the next exit. The Fairgrounds will still be there if you want. Let’s get out of this crowd and you can decide what to do.”

  She gave me a thumbs up and we let the crowd direct us through the opening and down the freeway.

  A minute or two later, a scream ahead was our first warning that all was not right. Then several more people yelled that it was a trap. The next thing I knew, it felt like I was in a washing machine, my body being tossed about as people responded to the threat by racing more quickly down the road, turning to fight or even attempting to turn back to the DHS roadblock. I kept pushing forward along with Janice and Garrett. We hugged the far side of the roadway and tried to keep moving. Suddenly I heard a terrified cry and saw several bald men with clubs beating the people a few yards away. They were relentless and brutal. The crowd surged again and I lost sight of Theresa and Kaylee while barely keeping up with Janice, Garrett and Brie.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a giant of a man in a green uniform toss one of the tattooed men off the interstate. The criminal’s screams were quickly cut short as he found the ground fifty or sixty feet below. I momentarily saw the giant man’s eyes. They weren’t human anymore as he went on a killing binge, smashing any of the bald tattooed thugs he laid his hands on. His actions gave us the opening we needed, and along with the others we quickly left the area and moved down the road.

  I stopped the group after we had gone far enough to lose sight of the barricade so we could wait for Theresa to catch up with us. After 10 minutes, we became worried. After 15 minutes we were ready to go back for her when we saw two people moving down the roadway. Both were in uniform and I was about to yell for everyone to run, when I recognized the big man that was walking toward us. It was the giant that had killed all the thugs that were attacking us. They were moving at an unsteady gate, and the other officer, a small middle aged woman, was having some trouble helping her companion. Without thinking, I ran back to them and grabbed the man as he lumbered along between the disabled cars.

  “Thanks dear!” The female officer said. Her green uniform had a corrections department patch and was stained with sweat and blood. The big man was huge. I wasn’t sure I was helping all that much when Garrett came up and took over. The officer still towered over the kid, but Garrett was a bit over six feet tall and could give the large man a shoulder to use.

  We quickly made it to Janice and Brie as they waited by a car.

  “We have some water if you need it,” I stated.

  “That would be absolutely fabulous,” the female said.

  Both of them took a full liter of water, the big guy downing it in a few seconds and finishing off a second one in almost record time.

  “Name’s Mike Jones,” he said, finally speaking for the first time since we met.

  “Beth Hildreth,” the female officer said. “And thanks for the water.”

  “Oh my God,” Janice blurted out. “You saved our lives. Thank you!”

  “And what was all that about?” She continued. “Why did they do that? I just don’t understand!”

  “We don’t know either,” Beth replied. “But you’re welcome. Actually, you should thank Mike. I’ve never seen anyone wreak havoc like he just did.”

  “Dude,” Garrett said, punching Mike on the shoulder. “You were a god out there! You were the Junk Yard Dog and John Cena all wrapped into one big killing machine! We would all be dead if it weren’t for you.”

  “Hmmph,” Mike replied.

  He was still coming down from the fight and didn’t have much to say right at that moment. Of course, as I would later learn, Mike has a tendency to not say much anyway. And “hmmph” tends to cover a lot of adjectives and emotions when he talks. Most of the time, though, he tends to act rather than speak. I respect that about the man.

  “Hey!” Janice said. “Our friend is back there. Did you see her? She’s about 30 years old, and has a little girl with her.”

  Beth gave us a very disturbed look and reached up and patted Mike on the back.

  “No one’s left alive back there,” she solemnly said.

  “NO!” Janice cried out, holding Brie in her arms. “Her mother is back there!”

  “I’m sorry,” Beth replied. “I really am. But there isn’t anything we can do about that.”

  “Oh My God,” Janice replied. “What am I going to do with her? Who’s going to take care of this child?”

  “Why don’t you guys come with us to the Orlando Police Department? We’ll get some help for the little one there. And maybe we can sort this all out.”

  “I don’t like that plan at all!” Garrett said. “I just saw soldiers let a bunch of criminals lay into civilians and kill our friend. How can I trust the OPD?”

 
“I don’t know kid,” Beth continued. “But you can trust us.” We aren’t part of what’s going on and I want some answers too! Just come with us. If things look hinkey, we can just keep going. But I’ll tell you this; nothing is what it once was. Everything has changed and I want to know where we stand in all of this.”

  “I think we should do what Beth says,” I said. “I know they are on our side and if everything is now different, I want to know how it’s all changed so we can make a good decision about what to do.”

  After some more discussion, we all continued our journey and an hour later exited the freeway in downtown Orlando. We crossed back under I-4 and passed scores of military trucks parked under the freeway in the city owned parking lots that span the length of the elevated interstate.

  “You guys stay here,” Beth said as we got closer to the OPD headquarter building. “Mike and I will approach the building and get more information.”

  “Here,” she continued and passed Mike a large envelope. “Your records. I got them from the bus.”

  “Thanks, Beth. I forgot.”

  “That’s what a mother’s for kid.” She replied with a smile.

  The two of them walked through the parking lot, across the street and up to the front door of the building where they were stopped by two DHS agents. After a minute, they were let in the building. Janice, Garrett and I hunkered down by a military vehicle, shaded by the interstate overpass above. Little Brie had fallen asleep on the walk, the two year old exhausted by the trip. She began to wake up and Janice took her to a secluded spot to potty. After they came back, we all used the spot to relieve ourselves and broke out our supplies to have some food and water.

  Several hours went by and I was starting to get worried having heard nothing from either Mike of Beth.

  “I think we need to keep moving,” I said.