Charlie's Requiem Novella

by A. American

  “Suite yourself,” he replied. “How about you, Garrett?”

  “I can handle a pistol,” he replied.

  Dr. Kramer had a revolver and another black handgun on the table. Garrett picked up the black pistol and properly removed and replaced the magazine. He kept the firearm pointed away from all in the room as he manipulated the slide to gently pull it back a bit and confirm that a bullet was in the chamber.

  “It’s a Glock,” he said.

  “It’s a 40 caliber,” Dr. Kramer said. “It’s got a 13 round magazine and I found a spare mag in the car along with two boxes of ammo, one for each pistol.”

  Dr. Kramer took the revolver and put it in his pocket.

  “Well I’ve got my hunter right here!” Janice said in her sweet southern accent. Garrett smiled, turned and left the room.

  “I’ve got one or two more things to pack,” he said as he made his way to the reception room.

  “I’m with him, too.” Janice said and quickly followed.

  “Looks like Janice found her man,” Dr. Kramer said after the two had left the room.

  “But he’s too young,” I replied. “She’s almost five years older than him.”

  “He’s a man,” Dr. Kramer said in earnest. “In this new world, you’ll find out soon enough that age isn’t going to determine the men from the boys. Garrett killed two dangerous people for you guys, especially for Janice. Not many men out there in today’s society that could or would do that.”

  He was right, I thought. Just how many guys in my generation could have done what Garrett did last night? Who could you rely on in this upside down world?

  Garrett had proven himself. As I watched the two of them work together down the hall in the waiting room, I realized that they were quickly becoming a couple. I envied them. Going through the apocalypse with a partner would make things much easier. I thought I had a battle buddy in Janice, but now, I wasn’t so sure. She needed protection, I wanted a partner.

  Thirty minutes later, we helped the patients into the vehicle. The car was loaded with food, medical supplies and other gear that the six would use to survive the coming weeks. Dr. Kramer had a long coil of I.V tubing wrapped around his waist in the event he needed to siphon gasoline. It was both cute and sad at the same time. We hugged and kissed each other, acting like the day after Thanksgiving when all the relatives were heading home. It was a bittersweet time. We all knew that we wouldn’t be seeing each other again.

  Dr. Kramer handed me a paper bag just before he got into the driver’s seat.

  “Here, Charlie. Take these. They are for you and Janice.”

  I looked inside the bag and it was filled with birth control pills. I looked up and smiled.

  “Gosh, Doc. I didn’t know you thought of me that way!”

  He chuckled and put on a serious face. “Charlie, you don’t want to be pregnant out there right now. It’s not going to be a place to raise a baby. Just take these and start using them if you aren’t on them already. I hate to think of bearing a child in this mess.”

  “It’s alright, doc. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Maybe not now,” he replied. And in a grave whisper, he said. “And maybe you run into a situation where you didn’t want to get pregnant. Or worse, a time when you didn’t want to have sex.”

  I got his drift. My mood quickly turned serious. Getting pregnant because I wasn’t careful was stupid. Getting raped may not be a choice. I shivered and Dr. Kramer grabbed me in his arms and hugged me. It was a father’s hug. I needed it.

  “Now!” he said to the group. “It’s time to get out of here!”

  He looked at the three of us and pointed down the road past the I-4 overpass. “There is a bike shop down there, and a Wal-Mart further still. But I would stay away from any store that could have food, liquor, drugs or firearms. They’ll be a death trap someday, if not already. Each of you need to get a bike, however you can. By hook or crook. It will make your trip a lot quicker and maybe safer. And find a map if you can!”

  With a quick wave, the good doctor jumped into the driver’s seat, cranked the engine and was gone. Janice started to tear up as the big blue Chevy rumbled down to Kirkman road, made a right and shot north to begin delivering his patient’s to their homes. I sighed, and as the quiet began to settle in, I realized that I felt a lot less sure of myself now that he was gone. I felt small and frail for the first time in a long while. With Dr. Kramer gone, I became very aware that I missed my family, and most of all, I missed my dad. I wanted to go home.

  Chapter 18

  Day 6

  33rd Street Jail

  Mike Jones was glad it was nearly over. The past five days hadn’t gone well. With the power gone and over four thousand angry inmates yelling, cursing and throwing feces at him, he had just about had enough of the place. If it weren’t for his brother officers, he likely would have split some inmate heads. And there had been a lot of that going on. Not the COs banging heads, but the gangs taking on each other. At least for the first three days.

  They had done their best to keep the gang members separated throughout the ordeal. But with no computers available to track the prisoners’ location in the complex, more often than not, competing gangs would inadvertently meet in the exercise yard or cafeteria. Almost always, blood was drawn. Things were bleak, and rumors that the food supply was dwindling didn’t leave the correction officers with much hope.

  Three days earlier, the warden released about 700 prisoners that were considered non-violent or within six month of release. They were drawing up a second list when miracles of miracles happened. The federal government showed up! A convoy of military vehicles pulled up to the front gates and rumor had it that they were going to be absorbing the facility into the federal government. In fact, the commander of the DHS unit had been taken to meet with the various gang leaders and within a day of his arrival and the gang violence trickled to a halt. Mike didn’t know how they did it, nor did he care! But the last two days had been blissfully quiet, and the feds, or DHS or someone with some serious pull had actually brought out a working generator, allowing them to restart the muffin monster and clear the sewage from their pipes. There was even a shower available for the brass that ran hot water! And the food problem disappeared overnight. Mike had to admit it, the feds came through with flying colors.

  Just then, his radio crackled to life. “Officer Mike Jones. Report to the warden’s office.”

  Mike keyed back and replied. He would be there in ten minutes.

  Mike had been sleeping in the work release center where the guards had taken over the facility. The center, designed like a dormitory, allowed for prisoners to work in the community, then return to jail at night. It provided them the chance to pull their own weight by earning an income to support their own family, pay victim restitution and reimburse the government for fees in prosecution. All these work center prisoners were low risk and had been released, freeing up space for the guards that had stayed to do their jobs. Overall, over 50% of the staff stood their ground. Mikey was proud of that. He thought it would have been a lot worse.

  Mike entered the warden’s office where a new group of administrators had set up shop. Several desks were present with DHS employees manning each one. Mike must have had a confused look on his face, because one of the administrators shouted out.

  “Can I help you?” he yelled.

  “Uh, Mike Jones reporting as requested.”

  “Oh yes,” one of the other desk jockeys said, “right over here.”

  Mike took a seat in front of the man while he reviewed a thick folder in front of him.

  “Oh, easy enough!” The man gushed. “You’re scheduled to go to OPD headquarters where you’ll be reassigned by our department there. They are processing all the Corrections Officers at their facilities.”


  The man took Mikes incredibly thick personnel file and placed it in a self-sealing envelope. It reminded Mike of the large white, tear resistant envelopes the post office uses for First Class Mail. The ones with the green border.

  “Now you need to take this with you and report to the Orlando Police Department Headquarters building at 100 S Hughey Ave.” The man continued. “There is bus service at the front gate that leaves on the hour. You have to report by midnight, tonight.”

  “Do I have to wait until then?” Mike asked. He was scheduled for another night shift, but that was obviously not happening if he had to report to OPD headquarters tonight.

  “No, whenever you are ready,” he concluded. “Anything else?” The man asked as Mike sat and tried to assimilate his new orders. Mike shook his head.

  “Then go! Be off! The next bus leaves in 45 minutes and another an hour later.”

  Mike got up to leave but was stopped when the man handed him the envelope with his records in it. The man, a bit on the eerie side, refused to let go of the package when Mike first took hold. He tugged back hard as Mike attempted to leave.

  “Under NO circumstances are you to open this package! If you do, it is a federal crime punishable by imprisonment of at least five years!”

  Mike snickered, thinking the man was pulling his leg, but one look at the bureaucrat told Michael James Jones that there was no humor in his words.

  “Seriously?” Michael shot back.

  “Officer Jones,” the man sneered back. “Don’t Fuck with the DHS! Not now, nor in the immediate future. Be advised. We aren’t screwing around.”

  Mike shook his head in amazement and lumbered off to pack his belongings and catch the next bus. It had been a strange few days. But regardless of the lack of civility of the new front office people, he was glad they were there and elated that he could leave.

  He wanted to check up on his mother and two sisters, so he just had to report in tonight and find some down time to make sure the family was safe. His family lived north outside of Sanford and had a little land where his mama raised chickens, rabbits and had a nice garden. He knew that with her stores of canned and jarred food, they would be alright for now. And his mama and the sisters knew how to use a gun, having a shotgun and pistol available to protect their home. They had good neighbors too, so Mikey wasn’t worried yet. Looking at the activity around him, it appeared that the corner had been turned. He would just check in, get his new assignment and take some time to see his family. Maybe, he thought, I might even convince mama to put one of her older birds into a pot and cook a nice homemade chicken dinner. That thought finally brought a grin to the big man’s face. The first one in six days. It felt good to finally smile again.

  About a half an hour later, Mike was found his way to the bus tagged to deliver its passengers to the OPD headquarters. With less than 4 miles of roadway to travel, it shouldn’t take too long. But then again, with the stalled cars and lack of power still evident, there was no way to know how long any travel would take.

  Looking down the road, Mike could see a stream of people coming off the I-4 ramp, heading away from the jail to the north. The numbers were surprising. Hundreds of people were walking along the side of the road, coming down the far ramp and continuing north on the roadway. The flow seemed endless.

  “That’s a lot of mouths to feed!” came a retort next to him.

  Mike looked down and thought he recognized the woman standing next to him. Unsure who she was, he replied back. “Tru dat. I haven’t seen that many people since the last Florida Classic Football game.”

  “The Cats really took it to the Rattlers, didn’t they?” She replied.

  The big man looked down on the little white woman and gave her a very quizzical look.

  “Get back, girl!” He said with a smile. “You watched that game!”

  “Every year.” She replied.

  “But its BCC and A&M. They’re black schools. And you definitely are not black!”

  “So,” she replied. “I watch for the battle of the bands. And the cheerleaders! I don’t care who you are! That’s fun to watch.”

  “Huh!” Mikey snorted. Never would have thought! He said to himself.

  “Name’s Beth! Beth Ann Hildreth.” She said to him and stuck out her little hand.

  The big guy gently took her hand in his and replied. “Mike. Mike Jones.”

  “So, Mike Jones. I assume you’re a corrections officer!”

  “Yes ma’am. And I assume you are not!”

  The little woman rang out an infectious giggle. “No sir. No I am not!”

  “Didn’t think so. You don’t have that look.”

  “What look?” She deftly lobbed back. Their verbal sparring was becoming fun. “You’re saying I look a little too mean for the job?”

  “Well,” Mike shot back, enjoying the direction of the conversation. “I didn’t want to bring that up. But since you’ve mentioned it…”

  “Watch it, buster!” She chided back. “Big guys like you have no defense for my quick, cat-like strikes! HIAAA_YAAA!” And she jumped into an exaggerated karate stance, staring up at the giggling giant next to her.

  “I’m glad you recognized my superior powers, Mr. Mike. Before I was forced to use them on you. I can assure you, it would have been extremely embarrassing!”

  “OK! I give up! You are the sensei!” Mike snorted at her.

  “And I will call you grasshopper!” Beth replied.

  “Grasshopper?” Mike genuinely asked. “Why grasshopper?”

  “You know, Kung Fu. The old television show.”

  “Never heard of it,” Mike honestly said. “Must be a white thing.”

  “Naw,” Beth said. “More generational. I could be your mother.”

  “Hmmph,” Mike said back.

  He stared north at the walking hordes moving away from them up John Young Parkway away from the jail. He pointed at them and Beth looked where he directed.

  “The way the world looks now,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever learn what you’re talking about.”

  Beth stared up the road, watching the mass of people stagger and slog their way along the four lane street.

  “Tru dat, big man!” She replied back. “Tru dat.”

  Chapter 19

  Day 6

  Charlie

  On the Road

  I strapped my book bag over my shoulders and quickly realized that jogging and CrossFit weren’t the same as hiking with a load on my back. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at the ‘revelation.’ I mean, even in swimming, being a star at the 50 meter freestyle didn’t translate to fame and fortune in water polo. They were two completely different events, even though they were both in the water. You would think that a medalist in the SEC championships my junior and senior year could allow me to throw a damn volleyball in the water for a full game! But when I tried once, just because it looked like fun… I lasted exactly sixteen minutes (two quarters of the four quarter match) before I gave up. These guys have to tread water, dash back and forth the length of the pool and rise up several feet like a freaking whale breaching the surface of the ocean. And they do it, non-stop, for eight-minute stints, four times in a row. I assumed they were the same muscles I used when I did my 50 and 100 meter freestyle sprints, but I quickly found out they really aren’t. Water polo was a constant grind while freestyle sprinting lasted less than a minute with hours between competitions. I was a world class sprinter in swimming’s version of a marathon. Now, with the prospect of having to lug 30 pounds across miles of hostile land, I was quickly being reminded of this reality. The best way to get in shape for a particular physical event or test is to practice that event. I was a jogger, wearing the minimal amount of clothing and lightest shoes when I did it. Now only an hour into our journey, I was ca
rrying almost 30 pounds of food, clothing, water and a damn heavy handgun, and feeling it in muscles I didn’t realize I had. And worse of all, we were still wandering about just south of the office looking for bicycles and hadn’t started north to Janice’s sister’s house.

  What was also taking its toll was the stress. Walking wasn’t just a stroll now. We had to plan our steps, literally every step, so that we could cover each other, avoid possible traps and choke points and all the while try to stay unnoticed. The people who were out now tended to be a bit desperate. With six days of hell behind us, the desperate, stupid and criminal tended to be the boldest. I hoped we were in the first category and not the second. Of course, we had killed three men so technically we did fit the third category.

  When we finally found the bicycle shop, it had been looted. I suppose it shouldn’t have been a surprise with the hotels and theme parks nearby. Anyone with a home 500 miles or less from here would have been looking for any transportation to get home. Unless we wanted to take a child’s pink “Barbie” bike, of which there were many left in the ransacked shop, we were now committed to our lot in life: foot refugees. At least we only had 50 or 60 miles to walk. Her sister’s property was about ten miles northwest of DeLand which was about as rural as you could find in crowded Central Florida.

  One big positive was our discovery of a map of the bicycle trails in Central Florida. Not having been into bicycling, I was surprised at the number and extent of the trails throughout the state. Janice and Garrett cleared a table and we laid the map down. The early morning sun was shining into the broken storefront window, giving us a nice warm light to see by. After studying the map for a bit, I realized that we could use several of these trails to pass through many parts of the city while staying off the main roads. It was becoming evident that the best way to survive was not to be seen. Another “find” was some clip on flashlights that we might find useful. But the added weight, as light as they were, made me hesitant to add the extra few ounces.