“How many people are in the neighborhood?” he asked the young man.
“I don’t know,” Ricardo replied. “There are about 400 homes in the area, but a lot of people are missing. I would guess we have about five or six hundred people here right now, but that’s just a guess.”
“I need to speak to as many as possible,” Dr. Kramer replied. “This is going to get worse if we don’t make some changes. I need to explain what is happening and what needs to be done to prevent more disease. This is critical!”
Ricardo nodded his head and strode off to speak with the other adults. Within a few minutes, over a dozen teenagers with bicycles had gathered at the front of the school. Ricardo spoke with them briefly and they all took off in different directions. Ricardo looked up at the sky, checking the position of the sun and returned to the school gym. Dr. Kramer was taking the temperature of the children, using an old style mercury thermometer salvaged from one of the homes nearby. He had the women gather notebooks and assign one to each patient. He showed them how to check their pulses with a stop watch found in the gym office, and had them write down the child’s vital statistics in the notebook. He was creating a patient chart.
Several of the women had old-style manual or self-winding watches. With no electronic parts, they continued to tick along. Using these and the stopwatch, the children’s vitals were monitored and documented. Dr. Kramer created a simple instructional page that defined what constituted a vital statistic that required further attention. Temperature at 102° or above, heart rate over 100 beats per minute or difficulty breathing. With these simple parameters, their patients could be supervised with a minimum safety margin. Given the situation and the lack of training of the caregivers, it was the best he could do at the moment.
“I have sent some teenagers out to the neighborhood. We will have a meeting in about an hour here at the school. I know they will want to be home before dark. That gives you about a half hour with them. Is that alright?” Ricardo asked.
“That would be great!” Dr. Kramer replied. “And I am impressed with the people here. You have all pulled together.”
Ricardo beamed. The teachers and some of the other adult residents had pulled together the second night after “the darkness” had begun. The darkness, Kramer thought. Such a nice and simple word for such a terrible and complex situation. People needed a simple explanation, or at least a named enemy to blame for their problems. Calling their plight “the darkness” fit both of those needs. After all, it was dark 12 hours a day already, so they weren’t dealing with anything new. At least that’s what they could tell themselves.
The doctor looked about at the people that needed his help. He decided that he didn’t need to be home immediately. His house had a generator and plenty of food. Living in a hurricane-prone state that also boasts of having the most lightning strikes and tornados of anywhere in the country, folks tended to have backup power and plenty of food in the pantry. In 2004, when three hurricanes struck Central Florida, the rural parts of the state went without power for weeks. Self-reliance was at a premium and practiced by most living outside the small burgs surrounding the metro Orlando area. The only worry he had was for the physical safety of his wife and daughter. He had seen a lot of the bad side of humanity these last few days, and he just hoped that it hadn’t extended into the country. His home had plenty of acreage and was located on a dead end street. It was off the beaten path and hard to find. His wife and daughter could both use a gun and his neighbor was a close friend. They were as well situated as anyone in the area.
Dr. Kramer gathered the caregivers together and they began to produce multiple sheets of paper with simple instructions on proper handling of food, disinfection of water and sanitation goals.
Eight drops of unscented chlorine per gallon of water as a minimal requirement, while it was ideal to heat the water and bring it to a rolling boil for at least one minute. Some bacteria are resistant to the chlorine treatment. Clean containers for water catchment systems were needed to gather rain from the roofs as well as storing the disinfected water. Getting soap and as many forms of chlorine were to become a priority, along with food scavenged from the empty houses. Pool shock (without fungicides or other additives) could be used. Wood was in short supply, so alternatives were needed. Disassembling homes that were abandoned or damaged could be done. Furniture and even the framing in the walls could provide the needed fuel for the fire; and with its limited availability, rationing the wood had become imperative. Clean handling of food was critical. Finally, realizing that the sewage situation was not sustainable would put a real burden on the community. As the pump stations sat idle, sewage was building up in the system and would eventually back up into the homes. Coming up with sanitary ways of disposing of human waste was going to be a problem as well.
Only by sharing knowledge would the people survive. Plumbers and builders were now at the top of the societal heap. Most of the people in the community were laborers and other blue-collar workers. They were the needed ones now, while the bankers and other white-collar workers had been relegated to the bottom rung of the ladder. The sudden role reversal would shake the social order from top to bottom. Dr. Kramer thought it ironic, as he waited patiently for the people to gather, that the last shall be first and the first shall be last. A phrase his Christian friends were taught when learning about Jesus.
“A pretty smart Jew, that Jesus!” Dr. Kramer said quietly as he watched the community gather together. Things were truly upside down!
Chapter 2
“When you’re weary, feeling small. When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all;
I’m on your side. When times get rough. And friends just can’t be found;
Like a bridge over troubled water. I will lay me down”
– Paul Simon
Charlie
Janice and I sat on the bed of apartment 24. The keys that had been given to us opened a side entrance to the relatively new housing complex, located just a few blocks from the old Orlando Police station. Entering the building, we found all the doors opened and each unit had been cleaned and serviced.
After our dangerous journey from Dr. Kramer’s office that morning, finding some peace in a locked building seemed like heaven. Garrett had wandered off to check on the other three floors, scavenging for any other items that could help us survive. So far, our search of the adjacent rooms had been unsuccessful.
Each unit had been thoroughly broken down; and other than furniture, all the contents had been removed. Dresser drawers, cabinets and closets were barren of any items. No pictures, no dishes, nothing that indicated that the apartments had ever been occupied. The only signs of human habitation could be found in the bedrooms. Linens were folded and placed on each bed. Towels, sheets and blankets were the rooms’ only offering.
The kitchens and bathrooms had been sanitized. The cupboards were sitting ajar, their shelving units meticulously scrubbed. It almost felt like a high-end hotel just before check-in.
The one saving grace was that the building had a functional water and sewer system. The spigots poured cold water and the toilets flushed. At least we wouldn’t have to leave the building to do our business.
Little Brie was curled up on the couch of the apartment’s living room. A blanket from the bedroom was wrapped around her frail body and a large, feather-filled pillow enveloped her shoulders and head. She rested and occasionally, she would let out a squeal, pitching her body back and forth. Once, she jolted upright and screamed, bringing Janice quickly to her side to calm the poor child. Her mother and sister had been killed back on the road earlier that day. Fortunately, the child didn’t witness their final seconds; but through our conversations with her, the little girl knew at some level that her mother and sister weren’t going to be joining her anytime soon. From the waif’s struggles with her late afternoon nap, and the sounds and words she was screaming
in her dreams, I was fairly certain that the child knew her mother and sister were dead.
For her part, Janice seemed to have found some sense of equilibrium; although, she wasn’t totally right with our predicament. Her sudden and intense bonding with Garrett, along with the new responsibilities of taking care of Brie, seemed to have stabilized her for the time being. She was busying herself making our new temporary home comfortable for the four of us.
The two-bedroom apartment sat on the east side of the building, facing away from DHS headquarters. The four-story apartment building was one of three identical units that were stacked next to each other, making up one of the new condominium and apartment buildings that had recently been erected in the downtown corridor. I remembered when they were being built. There was an outcry from the other building owners in the area because of the glut of residential spaces and a demonstrable lack of need for more downtown units. These apartments had been put up less than two years ago; and if I remember correctly, the federal government had come in at the last minute to salvage the project. In fact, the feds had ended up designing and helping to build them. The city’s Democrat mayor took a lot of heat for the overbuilding of the downtown district, but Orlando’s left-leaning population will likely re-elect him with little trouble. That is, if there are any more elections. When they were completed, and as predicted, they sat half empty as the supply of residential units far exceeded demand. Most of the other downtown apartments buildings suffered for it.
I got up from the bed, letting Janice continue to organize the room. I wandered out the door and into the hall. The building was deathly quiet, no sounds emanating from the sterile and darkening walls. It was quickly moving towards evening and the light of the descending sun was shining through the large picture windows and out the open doors of the west-facing apartments across the hall from us. I slowly moved into one of these apartments and watched as the sun’s light was beginning to morph into an ever-deeper orange. Sunsets in Florida can be so beautiful. I remember one of the physicians I visited, an allergist, talking about the unique makeup of our air. Apparently, a study was done at my alma mater, the University of Florida, to determine why the sunsets in our state were so intense in color. Seems that in the upper atmosphere, dust from the Sahara Desert is flung up into the stratosphere over Africa and travels across the Atlantic Ocean. As it moves further west, it settles onto the Florida panhandle and into the Gulf of Mexico. According to the doctor, the tiny granules of sand bring desert fungus and allergens, making his patients’ lives a nightmare. But as the tiny sand particles settle into the Gulf, the rays of the sun pass through them like a prism, scattering the white light into a rainbow of colors. Watching a Florida sunset can almost be religious.
As the dwindling light transformed from orange into purple, I watched as ever more traffic started to build around the DHS headquarters. The soldiers and agents in their black tactical outfits were pulling up and dismounting their military vehicles. Dozens of them appeared as the darkness began to take hold of the city, pulling up under the elevated freeway and parking in the shadows of the concrete thoroughfare.
Most of the DHS traffic stayed on that side of Interstate 4. The wide highway bisects the city of Orlando from north to south. A vast majority of the highrises and apartment buildings, including our building, sit on the east side of the elevated interstate, while the old Orlando Police Headquarters, now the DHS building, was built to the west. I stood in the window and watched as the massive parking lot filled to capacity; and In under a half hour, I counted over a hundred vehicles that were put down for the night.
As the sun began to creep down over the horizon, the DHS building suddenly lit up. Streetlights outside the structure and in the parking area flickered on and illuminated the three blocks that made up the massive complex. Looking south, I could just make out a high-rise about four blocks down. It had power as well and I could see soldiers walking toward the lighted 40-story structure. They had somehow brought power back to the small skyscraper. It looked to be where these soldiers were spending the night.
Janice joined me, both of us gazing out the window on our new reality.
“Hey,” she stated. “I’m getting hungry. I haven’t heard from Garrett since we got here. I’m a little worried about him.”
“I’ll find him,” I replied. “You stay with Brie, but remember, no lights. We can’t have anyone seeing that we are in here.”
“That’s going be tough,” she sighed. “This place has picture windows in almost every room.”
“The hall bathroom doesn’t have any windows,” I tiredly replied. “Go in and close the door if you have to use a flashlight.”
I reluctantly turned and went back into the hall, straining to hear any sign of Garrett. I was exhausted to the bone. Our four-story structure had about 30 rooms per level. We chose the second floor out of sheer exhaustion. We didn’t want a first floor window with walking traffic looking in on us. We didn’t want to climb beyond the second floor because we were just too pooped.
I quickly walked to the stairwell and stopped to listen for sounds of Garrett moving about. The sun was nearly down, and the light coming from the open doors was fading fast. I suddenly realized that it would be getting pretty dark in here, and I was not going to be able to use my flashlight for fear of being spotted from outside.
I quickened my pace and checked out all the other floors, calling out Garrett’s name. Nothing. Now, I was worried. Where are you! I thought.
I came to the end of the first floor, staring at the southern stairwell. Nothing. No response. It didn’t make any sense.
I opened the door to the stairs, and was surprised to see steps leading down. The north staircase didn’t have an access to a basement. I turned on the flashlight and crept down the steps. They were narrow, unlike the other steps leading up that would allow two or three people abreast.
I found a door at the bottom propped open with a box. I quietly entered the substructure and cast my beam around the dark labyrinth. A narrow hall opened up into a large storage area. Boxes were piled up in the middle of the hallway and overflowed out of each storage unit that lined the walls. Containers of canned and packaged food, clothing and all the “stuff” that used to fill the occupied apartments upstairs were being stored down here. I was momentarily relieved as I saw all the goodies we would need.
As I started scanning the room, I heard a muffled sob coming from the far wall. I crept around the boxes that were stacked in the large common area, keeping my flashlight covered with my hand, just enough light came through my closed fingers to see a few feet ahead.
A shaded light could be seen in one of the storage units on the other side of the room. As I weaved in between the piles of junk, the crying became more evident. I was at a loss. I was pretty sure it was Garrett making those pitiful sounds, but there was a chance that it was someone else. I couldn’t risk calling out his name, at least this far into the basement room.
Stealthily, I crept closer to the open door. As I approached, the beams of a flashlight were emanating from within. I shut off my flashlight and peeked around the open door. There sat Garrett in front of a pile of toys, holding a throw pillow and quietly sobbing.
“Garrett,” I whispered.
The poor kid about jumped out of his skin. His eyes, even in the shadowy light, were swollen. His body shook as he tried to catch his breath.
“Garrett, what’s wrong?”
“Wwww, Wwwhat’s wrong?” He stammered. “What isn’t wrong?”
I moved to his side. He remained sitting on the floor, gripping what I could now see was a Star Wars pillow.
“I can’t do this,” he replied.
“Can’t do what?” I asked.
I sat down next to him and put my hand on his arm.
“Everything!” He answered. “Everything.”
He suddenly st
opped his sobbing and became quiet, staring off at the darkness. He barely moved, and I moved a bit closer, putting my arm around his back and pulling him tight.
“I know,” I said in a whisper. “I know.”
“Charlie,” he replied after another minute. “I killed two men.”
His shoulders slumped and he started to shake. Not as badly as when I first came into the room, more like a quiver. The reality of the days spent in the grocery store and now on the road was catching up with him. I know it was starting to pound on me as well; I was just too tired to think. Plus, I hadn’t killed anyone like he had the night before. We all saw death, but only Garrett had caused it. It was finally weighing on him. He took the lives of two scumbags in the most personal of ways, with a crow bar across their heads. Granted, if he hadn’t been there, Janice and I would be either dead or raped and enslaved. For that, I will be forever grateful; but it seemed that being heroic was taking its toll. Garrett was suffering from guilt, shame and fear.
“Garrett, you know you saved our lives,” I said.
He stiffened a bit and relaxed. He leaned into me and put his head on my shoulder.
“Janice and I would be dead, or worse, if you hadn’t done what you did. Those men. Those dirt bags killed your boss and dozens of people at the store. They were going to kill the patients as well as Dr. Kramer if you hadn’t put them down.”
“Put them down! You make it sound like I killed a rabid dog!” he shot back.
“You did!” I replied with some forcefulness. “You killed a couple of rabid dogs! Only sick animals treat others the way they treated us.”
I stood up and hovered over him.
“Janice is waiting upstairs. She is alone with Brie. I need to get back to her before she freaks.”
I turned to go, and heard Garrett rustle behind me.
Charlie's Requiem: Democide Page 2
