Charlie's Requiem: Democide

by Walt Browning

  The Duck Potato or Wapato, was growing in thick patches in the shallow water of the property’s lake out back. Gerry hadn’t even known about these plants, but learned about them from the books he had brought back from their foray into Winter Garden. He and Rob spent several hours with a heavy rake uprooting the plants, letting their root ball float to the surface. The rhizomes on the roots were edible and had a chestnut flavor to them. Last night, Barb had sliced them and fried them in oil. They were heaven. Tonight, it sounded like she was boiling and whipping them up with some rehydrated milk powder.

  The herb shop had provided him with a treasure-trove of knowledge. Besides learning about the air potato, he now had a small garden bed prepared next to the house. A veritable herbal nursery was developing in back of the house with multiple medicinal plants germinating in small pots around the pool area. As soon as their shoots were strong enough, he was going to transplant them into the manure-enriched dirt. Very soon, he could start manufacturing tinctures and powders that would alleviate any number of ailments such as diarrhea, aches and even thin the blood of patients with an irregular heartbeat. Although he missed the accuracy and advancements modern medicine provided, he had developed a strange sense of satisfaction at the idea of growing the medicaments from the earth. It’s probably similar to the feeling farmers get when their produce is consumed around their own kitchen table, he thought.

  Dinner was served before dusk, and Barb made a picnic basket filled with food. Three of her pork chops were wrapped in foil, and several paper bowls full of potatoes, beans and a desert of vanilla pudding were placed in the wicker basket. Ed added two bottles from his precious stash of Budweiser beer, and the four of them drove away to meet Vernon at “Bragg’s bunker,” their new name for the old man’s home.

  Pulling into the yard in front of the buried Quonset hut, Kramer flashed his lights three times, a pre-planned signal that they were the expected guests for the evening.

  A few moments later, Vernon appeared at the side of the car, seemingly materializing from thin air. He wore MARPAT fatigues and had darkened his face, while his shotgun had been replaced by a very deadly looking battle rifle.

  “Saw yer car from a mile away.” He stated with some disgust. “I think I gotta give you boys some training on OPSEC.”

  “Get yer lights off and come on in!” He spat.

  Little light spilled out of the open door as the crusty old man stood in the shadows while the four exited the car and entered the metal structure.

  Vernon entered last, scanning the yard and woods beyond with an electronic, flip-down device he had attached to a skull cap he was wearing. Closing the door, he peeled his headwear off and set it on a table by the hut’s sole entrance.

  Seeing Kramer’s inquisitive look, Vernon picked up the night-vision device and handed it to the curious doctor.

  “PVS-14, Gen 3+” Bragg said.

  “I have no idea what you just said,” Kramer replied. “But I assume you can see in the dark with this.”

  “As long as there’s stars or a moon, I kin see just fine. But it don’t work too good if’in there’s no light. Called an intensifier inside. Don’t see in the dark, just makes the low light brighter! I kin show yer after the call.” He offered.

  “That would be fascinating.” Kramer replied with some boyish enthusiasm.

  “Boys and their toys!” Barb interjected.

  She set the basket down on a cluttered wooden table and began to unpack its contents.

  “When will you get my daughter on the phone?” Barb asked.

  Bradford let out a laugh, his coughing limited to a single hack.

  “Tain’t no phone,” he started. “It’s a radio. It ain’t like you kin just dial a number and git someone on the other end. They’ve gotta be listenin’”

  “Well,” Barb replied, unfazed by the explanation. “When will we be radioing my daughter?”

  “I figure in about fifteen minutes we kin give it… Hey! Wacha got there?” He asked as Barb unwrapped three huge, cooked pork chops.

  “Dinner,” She replied. “For you!”

  Vernon Jackson Bragg, man of the South and named after two of its most famous generals, stood slack-jawed as Barb set a place for him at his messy dinner table.

  “Well, I’ll be…” He said, stunned at the feast that has appeared before him.

  “Yer didn’t have ta do that fer ol’ Vernon,” he said as a tear welled in his left eye. “I’da done this fer ya anyways.”

  “Actually,” Kramer said as he deposited a plastic grocery bag full of cigarettes onto the table, “I think this is part of our agreement.”

  Bragg snatched the bag and rummaged through the collection of tobacco. A look of dissatisfaction hit him when he pulled out some packs of thin, menthol cigarettes.

  “Chick sticks!” He scowled. “But I guess beggars can’t be …”

  He stopped his tirade when he pulled out several cartons of red and white-boxed Marlboros and the 10-pack container of Camel unfiltered cigarettes.

  “Hot Damn!” He shouted and slapped his knee. “Yer hit the jackpot!”

  “And this,” Ed added as he pulled out two cold bottles of Budweiser beers.

  “Well,” Vernon said as he surveyed his new treasure. “Yer takin care of ole Vernon, ain’t ya?”

  With a gratified nod, he attacked the first pork chop, chewing on it contentedly, then washing it down with a long draw on the beer bottle.

  “If’in yer ladyfolk weren’t here,” He said after the first large mouthful had been swallowed, “I’da let out a burp that the NSA coulda picked up on them satellites they got over my house!”

  Bragg finished the first pork chop in record time, polishing off the beer with his final bite.

  “That hit the spot!” He exclaimed. “Thank yer, ma’am. That weren’t needed, but appreciated! I kin eat the rest later. Now, let’s git yer little one on the radio!”

  “Now before ya git yer panties in a wad,” he started. “We only got a few minutes with her. The government’s listenin’ in on things and we got ta be careful. Just don’t argue with me and do what I tell ya. I ain’t jokin’ either. Yer been good ta me and I’m doin’ yer a favor learnin’ ya how the feds work.”

  Bragg sat at the workbench where his radio gear was placed. Dialing in the proper frequency, he made contact almost instantly, with a man named “Slackjaw” at the other end.

  “Hey Slack, yer got the little one with ya?” Vernon asked.

  “Copy that, Cornbread. Got the little one here!”

  Vernon got out of his seat, and before letting Kramer sit down, he explained a few basic things about the radio and Operational Security or OPSEC, as it was called in the military.

  “First, ya punch that bar on the microphone ta speak, then let it up. Otherwise, yer broadcastin’ and we can’t hear nothin’ coming back.” He said, pointing to a long bar that sat on the base of his desktop microphone.

  “Second, don’t use any names. Use nicknames or no names at all. Don’t want the feds gettin’ any more information than they need.”

  “Third, I’ve worked out a system here. Just do what ol’ Vernon says an we’ll all stay safe. Got it?”

  “Got it!” Kramer replied.

  “Ok then,” Bragg said. “Sit down and push the bar!”

  Kramer sat in the old wooden roller chair and pushed the microphone’s bar, transmitting over the High Frequency ham set.

  “Bug? Are you there, little one?” Kramer asked, using his nickname for his oldest daughter who used to buzz around the back yard taking care of the horses and her other chores.

  Static came from the speakers on the desk, momentarily depressing the mood in the room. A high pitched squelch came back and a woman’s voice hesitantly replied.

  “It’s me,
daddy!” She said. “I’m here!”

  Barb let out a small cry and both Caroline and her mom began to sob.

  “We’re all here, baby.” Kramer added.

  “Ask her a question only she’d know, ‘cause It may not be her.” Vernon suggested.

  Caroline jumped in and said, “Ask her about the Max.”

  “Bug?” Kramer said into the mic. “Tell me about Max.”

  Max was their family’s late dog, a mix of a Labrador retriever and some type of pointer. He had been injured driving off a large feral hog that had charged the two girls in the back yard. That incident forced the family to reinforce the barrier that surrounded the property, adding strong mesh wiring to the bottom of the corral-style wooden fence.

  He had recovered and lived to be 14 years old when a kidney tumor took his life. It was then that the 18-year-old Claire decided to become a doctor, and Gerry had often wondered if her choice of nephrology had been influenced by the loss of her childhood pet.

  “Injured by a hog and died when I was a senior in high school.” She replied without hesitation.

  “Please let me talk to her!” Barb asked.

  They switched spots, and Bragg monitored their conversation to ensure they didn’t give out any information that would compromise the group. Caroline took a turn, and for a couple of minutes, all was right with the world.

  “Dad?” Claire said, prompting Kramer to sit in front of the mic again.

  “What is it, Bug?” He replied.

  “I don’t know how to say this, but something’s not right here.”

  “How so? You mean other than no power, lights or cars?” He replied, attempting to lighten his daughter’s mood.

  “NO!” she replied laughingly. “But something’s going wrong at the hospital. My patients are disappearing and I don’t know where the government is taking them.”

  “Hold on there!” Vernon said, pushing Kramer out of the way. He depressed the “send” bar on the microphone and spoke.

  “Slackjaw. Switch now!” He commanded to the other man.

  Kramer watched as Bragg tuned the radio to another channel and connected up with the other side on the new frequency.

  “Wer good fer one more minute,” Bragg said. “Then wer’ done.”

  “But...” Kramer started to protest.

  “Trust me, doc. If’in she says what I think she’s gonna say, we gotta be careful. Time’s up. You’ll see.”

  Bragg backed away from the table.

  “Go ahead, doc. I think yer need to hear this.”

  “Bug, I’m here.”

  “Dad,” she started. “DHS is taking away my patients, at least the ones on dialysis. They say they’re putting them in a better facility, but Vanderbilt is the best facility. There’s nowhere else to take them that’s better than here.”

  “Are you sure?” Kramer asked back. “They could have an extended living facility or some other place for them. Or they might need the beds for acute cases.”

  “That could be true if we had acute cases coming in. But we don’t. The only patients we are seeing are government workers and their families. I haven’t seen a kidney patient in two weeks, so I’ve been in the emergency room sewing up gunshot wounds.”

  “What about other facilities?”

  “There aren’t any,” she replied. “At least none in Nashville. We’re the only hospital or other healthcare facility with power. Dialysis machines need electricity, dad. This just doesn’t make sense. What should I do? I feel like I need to ask someone.”

  Vernon grabbed Kramer’s hand before the doctor could depress the bar.

  “Don’t let her do nothin’ like that.” He pleaded. “Tell her to lay low until you talk again.”

  Kramer recognized good advice when he heard it. He depressed the bar and spoke.

  “Bug, don’t say a word. I’m going to set up another session soon. I’ll look into it on this end.”

  “OK, daddy. I’ll be quiet about it.”

  “Keep your nose clean, Bug. I’ll get back to you soon.”

  “I love you!” Claire said back. The three Kramers, huddled around the microphone, all replied back as Gerry depressed the bar one last time.

  “We love you!” They all chimed back. And with that, she was gone.

  Barb wiped her eyes, drying the tears that had collected during their conversation. Caroline quietly moved to a couch and silently sat down.

  Kramer continued to stare at the radio gear as Bragg shut down the power to the HF ham radio.

  “Doc,” He started. “There’s bad things a happenin’ out there. I’m hearing about people disappearin’ whenever I get someone stateside on the radio. Sometimes I just listen and they all say the same thing. Old people, sick people and a lot of prisoners are vanishin’.”

  “But why?” Kramer asked, genuinely confused.

  “I think that’s somethin’ yer needs ta find out. I got my ideas, but yer gotta find out fer yerself.”

  The Kramers and Ed thanked Vernon for what he had done, both Barb and Caroline giving the crusty old man a hug and kiss on the cheek. Bragg, genuinely moved, blushed at the attention.

  “Yer too kind to ol’ Vernon.” He shyly said.

  “And doc,” He added. “I sure hope yer find out what’s happenin’ ta all them people.”

  “You know, don’t you?” Kramer asked.

  “Yeah, ol’ Vernon knows. But yer wouldn’t believe me if’in I tol’ ya. Ya gotta find out fer yerself. Maybe you kin help, and maybe not. But the only advice I kin give ya is this. Don’t stick yer neck out fer the feds. They got their plans, an if’in ya ain’t part of them, yer not needed. And ya don’t wanna not be needed with this bunch. Believe me.”

  “You know,” Ed said as he listened to the conversation. “I don’t think you’re so crazy after all.”

  Bragg snorted at Grafton’s remark.

  “I ain’t crazy,” Bragg said. “But it helps if people think I am. I’ve seen too much from this government to trust ‘em and I don’t want to stand out when they come lookin’ for those that don’t fit in or may be a liability when they take control.”

  Kramer did a double take, listening to Bragg suddenly become much more cogent as he explained his lifestyle choices.

  “You old coot!” Kramer said to the retired Marine. “You’ve got a lot more going on inside that head of yours than you let on.”

  “Now doc,” Bradford said with a grin. “I ain’t knowin’ what yer talkin’ about. Yer all have a nice night!”

  The four of them returned to their houses, both joyful their daughter was alive and well taken care of, but fearful at what she had warned them about.

  “What are you going to do?” Barb asked her husband.

  “I’m going into town tomorrow,” Kramer immediately replied. “I’ll visit the rabbi and check in with Rick Chase. If anyone can tell me what’s happening with these people, he would know.”

  Barb heard the determination in her husband’s voice and decided not to try and dissuade him from his mission.

  “Who are you going with?” She asked as they pulled down their street.

  “I’d take either Will or Trey,” Ed interjected. “They’d be my choice.”

  “I agree!” Barb added before Kramer could reply.

  Both Trey and Will had proven themselves and had military experience, although neither was a “ground pounder” in the purest sense. Both were from a Combat Logistics Battalion that was responsible for the machines that transported the Marines and the maintenance of said equipment and vehicles. They essentially drove and maintained the trucks and other fighting vehicles that the Corps used to get their men into the fight. But because they were Marines, they were trained riflemen and were expected to fight with the rest of t
heir brothers.

  “Alright,” Kramer quickly replied. “Let’s ask Trey if he’d accompany me.”

  After arriving home, Trey readily agreed to escort Dr. Kramer into town.

  “If I may make a suggestion,” Trey asked. “I think we should take the buggy into town. I like the off road options it provides.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” Ed replied. “How about you?”

  “Sounds like fun,” Kramer readily agreed. “I’ve been dying to ride in that thing anyway.”

  “But what if someone starts shooting at you? There aren’t any doors on it!” Barb asked with concern.

  “I hate to break this to you,” Trey replied. “But doors on a car don’t stop a bullet.”

  “But,” Barb shot back. “Every movie I’ve seen…”

  “Is wrong!” Trey replied before she could finish her sentence. “The bullets out of just about any battle rifle cut thorough the sheet metal like it wasn’t there. Our best defense is not being seen or being able to go where the bad guys can’t. The buggy can take us where cars can’t go. That’s our best chance.”

  “Don’t worry.” Kramer said, immediately regretting his words as he saw the look on his wife’s face.

  “Let me rephrase that,” Gerry said calmly. “Don’t be too worried. I’ll be careful and Trey here knows how to use that rifle.”

  “Ma’am,” Trey added. “I’ll bring him back in one piece. I know what I’m doing. My Military Occupational Specialty was transportation and I’m good at what I do. I promise, I’ve been trained to handle far worse situations. We’ll be fine.”

  Barb seemed to calm down with that, and nodded. She gave Trey her patented look of, “You Better, Mister!” She then turned back to her kitchen to shut down the power and conserve their batteries for the night.

  “Tomorrow, at dawn.” Gerry said.

  “I’ll pick you up!” Trey replied and winked.

  The next morning, Kramer heard the purr of a vehicle as it pulled up to the front door.

  “That sounds different,” Kramer said as he came outside.