Charlie's Requiem: Democide

by Walt Browning

  The guide, obviously in charge of the construction, was visibly relieved. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be by tomorrow. What time should I expect to be here?”

  Before Bedford could reply, the room was shaken by a sturdy knock on the door.

  Drosky looked to Bedford, who gave him a nod, and after directing the men into a defensive position, he opened the door to find an agent with a concerned look on his face.

  “State your business,” John commanded.

  “I need to report that we’ve found evidence of a break-in,” the man stammered.

  “Where?” Bedford asked. “Where was there a break-in?”

  “The north building,” the agent replied.

  Bedford regained his lost anger and pointed at the poor administrator.

  “What kind of ship are you running here?” He said, pointing an accusing finger at the construction supervisor.

  John, seeing an opportunity to find out where Charlie had gone, chimed in.

  “Sir,” John started. “With your permission, I would like to investigate the break-in and report directly back to you.”

  “Good thinking, Special Agent!” Bedford replied. “It seems that if you want a job done right around here, you have to do it yourself.”

  “You should keep someone here until I return. I doubt anyone would have access to this floor, but with the way things are being run around here, I don’t want to trust the security of this building to anyone else until we’ve gone over everything with a fine-toothed comb.”

  Bedford nodded with a smile. “I’m glad someone is thinking around here!” He responded. “Now go and report back when you are finished!”

  “As you wish, sir.” John replied.

  Drosky motioned to the agent who brought the news, and they both made their way to the north tower.

  The agent showed John the broken lock on the basement access door. John went through the motions of checking the lock and making notes on all the things he already knew about. When they got to the floor where Charlie and the group had been staying, he took extra time to inspect everything, hoping for a clue on where they went.

  “It looks like some vagrants were staying here,” the agent said to John.

  “Possibly,” John replied, looking in all the drawers and cabinets in two of the middle rooms. John stepped into the bathroom of the east-facing room and noticed a marking on the sink, where an anchor had been drawn in lipstick inside the bowl. John tore a piece of paper from his notepad and wiped the marking, smearing it so that it wasn’t legible anymore. What an anchor represented was beyond him, but it had definitely been left by one of the group.

  After inspecting the floor thoroughly, and doing a perfunctory walk throughout the rest of the building, he walked out of the 4-story structure and started wandering around the building’s periphery.

  Where are you? John thought as he wandered out onto the northern side street. John stared around at the windows of the structures directly in front of him, looking for a signal or sign that they were secreted close by. Not seeing any movement, he looked down the road and saw a large sign for an insurance company. He had just decided that the group was gone for good, when he was struck by the realization that the insurance company was called “Anchor Insurance of Orlando,” and had an anchor for a logo.

  John smiled and shook his head. He wasn’t due to meet up with them until 8:00 that night; and unless he pulled night guard duty, he should be able to get to them.

  Drosky returned to Bedford’s apartment and reported on his findings. He added details that the first agent had failed to notice, putting him in even higher regard with the Undersecretary.

  “Well done,” Bedford stated. “I see I picked well when I chose you!”

  “Sir,” John said. “Could I request that we receive an intelligence report on a daily basis. That way, we can better prepare contingency plans based on the threat levels we are advised about.”

  “Excellent idea! And, Special Agent Drosky, I need a chief for my protection detail. You are that man. Proceed to headquarters, and I will advise them of your change in status once again. I expect you to have a plan and a list of required assets ready for me tomorrow evening. Are you up for that?”

  Without hesitation, John agreed. “Would 5 PM be acceptable, sir?”

  “Very acceptable,” Bedford beamed, the power of the position oozing from his pores. “I’m glad I found someone capable and reliable in this city!”

  John looked at the men and read their nametags over their left breast.

  “Holden, you have the 3rd shift so you can go home for now. Masterson, you stay here until Holden gets back. Night shifts start at 11 PM and end at 7 AM. Samuels, you stay with Undersecretary Bedford until he retires for the evening, then go home. I’ll work out the details with personnel and get more help.”

  Drosky turned to Bedford and explained. “At night, we’ll lock the facility down and have a guard just outside your front door. But I want two guards with you when you’re out of this building, the second agent can be like a running back holding his position in the backfield so he can guard the quarterback.”

  He knew the pompous man would eat up the quarterback reference; and sure enough, Bedford agreed, as Drosky had quickly become the go-to man for the Undersecretary’s personal security.

  John excused himself and made his way back to headquarters. He immediately reported to the Office of Intelligence where up to the minute news was being gathered. He got first-hand information on the position of the gangs DHS was using to clear the city, and the map wasn’t looking too good.

  The only area where Homeland hadn’t taken control was to the east and slightly north of downtown. John saw some map symbols he wasn’t familiar with, and learned that the symbols represented battles where two of the gangs were fighting over territory.

  “They’re all trying to get the choice neighborhoods,” the intelligence agent said. “You know Winter Park and Maitland, the loot is first class and the Latinos and white supremacists are fighting over the territory. Colonial Drive and McGuire road are all no man’s land. It extends all the way up to Casselberry.”

  “Do we have any assets in this area?” John asked, pointing to the seam in gang coverage.

  “You kidding?” The agent replied. “I wouldn’t send my worst enemy in there.”

  John thanked the man and returned to his apartment. If he found the group, he had no choice but to tell them that their best bet was through that disputed quadrant of the city where they might be able to find a seam to slide through. Otherwise, they needed to give themselves up and take their chances with the system. John sighed and planned his evening around a trip to Anchor Insurance. On one hand he hoped to find Charlie so he would know they were alright, while on the other hand, he didn’t relish the thought of giving them the news he bore. He hated to give bad news, and thought of the irony of the situation. Usually, as a policeman, he gave bad news to families after the event had taken place. Tonight, he would be bearing the news that might well kill them all, before anything actually happened. John thought for a moment and decided he didn’t like either of these options. Being a messenger of bad news sucked, whether it was before or after the calamity had occurred.

  Charlie

  The darkness took forever to take control of the city. It slowly descended on us like the gravity-defying dance of milkweed’s cotton when it breaks from its brown seed capsule. Once caught in the breeze, it seems to float forever, eventually settling to the ground when gravity finally defeats its wind-driven dance. Tonight, the lingering fuchsia sky gave way to purple, and finally darkness as the daylight was finally devoured by the inky black night sky.

  We all knew what was coming, and we all knew that this could be our last night alive. None of us was innocent enough to think that the night walk we were planning wou
ld be safe or easy, so we watched in silence as the evening sun died in its daily journey over the western horizon.

  We plan to leave about 9 PM, regardless of whether Drosky appears. Checking one of the wind-up clocks we had synchronized with John, I saw that he would either be here in the next half hour, or we would go blindly to the east and take our chances. That prospect didn’t fill me with much hope, since our luck had been poor to date, so I could only hope that John would bring us some good news, because Lord knows, we could use a little of that now.

  Most of the group had gathered in the downstairs lobby, quietly conversing with each other in a quest to stay calm. Being locked up together these past many days had allowed us to become more versed on each other’s personal life than I knew even about my own family. I, for one, decided to sit quietly by myself, gazing out of the back window of the office I had taken when we first arrived. The stained glass bled no colors now that the sun had set, but the rising winter moon was just beginning to light up the eastern sky. Its bluish hue cast long shadows in the parking lot that made up my rear window view. It was a cold light and one that did nothing to dispel my fears about our journey tonight.

  “What time is it?” A quiet voice said.

  I heard Janice gliding into the room. Her distinctive footsteps were among the many nuances I’ve learned since our group had been forced into such tight and stressful quarters.

  “Almost that time,” I replied. “John is due at any minute.”

  She sat down next to me on the couch, leaning back into the plush leather-pillowed back.

  “Charlie,” she began. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” I asked, fully knowing what she was here for. The prior days had given her time to accept Brie’s death and for her to accept her role in it. Garrett had told me she had apologized to him and that she wanted to speak to me as well. I assumed it was probably a cathartic way for her to forgive herself, given the improved mood she had displayed after she had spoken to Garrett.

  “The way I handled Brie’s death and for my part in it,” Janice replied. “I am truly sorry.”

  “You know that we all had a part in her death,” I began. “But we can talk about that another day.”

  I turned to my friend and put my hand on her arm. The dark room, slightly illuminated by the cold azure moonlight, prevented us from seeing each other’s face. But her words were sincere, and sadness seeped from each syllable she uttered.

  “Right now, I want you to know that I forgive you, and I know that Brie does too.”

  I heard Janice catch her breath; then a quiet sob escaped from her lips. She dropped her head into my lap and her body shook ever so lightly as she allowed her pent-up grief to finally be set free.

  I sat there, stroking her long locks of hair, silently giving her the time to grieve, and the space to heal.

  A few minutes had gone by when we heard some murmurs and movement from the other three.

  “Someone’s coming!” Jorge hissed.

  We all found our pre-planned hiding spots in the room and silently waited for our fate to arrive. Garrett, Jorge and I took aim at the front door and waited.

  The door’s handle gently shook then turned, and a single figure was framed in the back-glow of the moon’s light as they pushed their way into the building. A piercing white light shot out into the room as the intruder’s flashlight lit up our sanctuary.

  “Charlie?” I heard.

  John! I thought, then replied, “Over here! Is that you, John?”

  “Yeah!” He said with some relief in his voice. “I’m so glad I found you guys!”

  John pointed his flashlight down to the ground and the six of us moved to a side room that faced the adjoining building and where Jorge had blacked out the windows with heavy curtains.

  “Any of you guys have a light?” John asked. “There aren’t any patrols due through here until after midnight, so it’s safe.”

  Garrett produced a Coleman battery-operated lantern and switched it on. The light soon filled the room and we got around to updating each other in on what had happened these past few days.

  Eventually, John got around to business, asking Jorge for his map of the area. John produced a marker and began to outline the areas of the city that we had to avoid.

  “Oh my God,” I said after he explained our predicament. “Just how do we get out of here?”

  “You need to find a seam,” John began. He took the map and drew a line from our building directly east. About a mile down Highway 50 he made a northern line up through downtown Winter Park, which cleared our group from the known areas where DHS had taken control.

  “You need to move about a mile east then head north through Winter Park. The problem is that the areas of gang activity change daily, so I don’t know how long this data will be valid.” John said.

  “We planned on leaving tonight anyway,” Jorge replied. “Nothing good can come from waiting. But we’re glad you showed up! We were planning on going east on Colonial Drive all the way to the 520. That should take us to my brother’s farm. Looking at the map, I think we would have run into some serious trouble if we had gone that way.”

  “More importantly,” John said. “You need to stay off the main roads like Colonial Drive or Mills. The gangs are looting the stores and living in the restaurants along these major streets. You need to stay on the side roads where the pickings are slimmer. Right now, the thugs are picking the low hanging fruit. In a few more weeks, after all the stores have been emptied, they’ll move into the residential neighborhoods. Those neighborhoods are your sweet spot to get out of here.”

  Working with John, we devised a route that would get us into Winter Park. From there, we would head north toward Maitland where my dad lives.

  “We can stop at my dad’s house,” I said. “He’s not home but we might be able to pick up more supplies, and I know he has some guns we can use.”

  “If they haven’t been stolen yet.” Garrett added grimly.

  “Why aren’t these expensive homes already looted?” Janice asked, pointing to Winter Park. “The unmarked areas are in really high-end neighborhoods.”

  “A lot of those folks haven’t left yet,” John said. “They have a lot to lose and they’re holding out for now.”

  “You’d think the gangs would have hit them already.” Jorge replied. “There’s a lot of stuff for the taking there.”

  “Yeah,” John said with a smirk. “But the residents also fight back. There are enough AR-15s in Winter Park to outfit a small army, and I’ve heard some reports of serious pushback by the remaining citizens against both the gangs and DHS. It’s significant enough that some helicopter gunships have been brought in and positioned at the airport.”

  “It’s come to that now?” I asked, shocked at the level of cruelty that DHS had sunk to. “We’re killing our own people.”

  “Think about it,” John said. “Who stands to lose the most if the country is transformed? Not the average Joe! They won’t fight the change as long as they have their DirectTV and beer. It’s the self-made people that will lose it all, and there are no rewards for hard work and sacrifice in a socialist state. The ones that are holding up in their homes are the ones with no place in the new world order. They have nothing to lose by fighting to the end.”

  As we began to develop a specific route through town, stealth was given first priority.

  “Why don’t we turn up Hampton,” Jorge asked. “That’s a straight shot north up to Leu Gardens.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work,” John contemplatively said. “If I remember, a lot of the homes to the west have walls along that road. You’ll end up having to walk through funnels of walls that would block any chance of escape if you were seen. If it were me, I’d take Altaloma Avenue, skirt around Fern Creek Elementary and continue up to
the Gardens. From there, you have a few options.”

  Pointing to the map just east of Winter Park’s downtown, he continued.

  “I’d stay east of the city proper. There are too many high-end stores in the Winter Park downtown corridor, and I don’t have any information on what’s going on there.”

  “I think we need to go here,” I said and pointed out the neighborhood where my dad lived, a dead end street on the north side of Lake Maitland. “It’s probably not too high on anyone’s list of places to loot, and it looks like it’ll take us most of the night to get there. It’ll be a good stopping point for us and we can push out of town tomorrow night.”

  “I think that’s a good plan,” John replied after a moment or two of thought. “Give me his address and I’ll see if I can give you some help. With my new job, I have a heck of a lot of latitude and mobility. If it’s safe, I’ll try and get to you. If not, maybe I can keep DHS from looking your way.”

  We all agreed that this was a good start and thanked John for his help.

  “I’ve got to go,” John said. “Keep your eyes and ears open and don’t take chances. Better to arrive late than not at all.”

  John wished us all luck, and quietly slipped out the front door.

  “Well,” I said. “No time like the present. Let’s move out in five minutes. We have a long walk ahead of us.”

  Fifteen minutes later found our group slowly moving east on Hillcrest Street, just a block south of Highway 50. The night was once again illuminated by the rising moon, and the temperature had cooled a bit, but hadn’t fallen to a point where I needed a sweater. In fact, as the “point man” in our group, the stress had me sweating rather than shivering as the evening progressed.

  With my Hi-Point 9mm in hand, we moved in stages from home to home. The restored Chicago-brick-covered street was clogged with abandoned cars and household trash. A mixture of single-story professional buildings and residential houses, it was a transitional neighborhood trying to hold onto its former domestic life. Several majestic homes had been converted into attorney’s offices, with brick knee-walls abutting the sidewalks, and formerly manicured lawns now littered with paper and trash. The blue glow of the moon bathed these brick and plaster homes with an unnatural pall while casting ghost-like shadows on the ground at my feet as it was filtered through the hanging Spanish moss which had infested the neighborhood’s oak trees.