Charlie's Requiem: Democide

by Walt Browning

  When Jorge stumbled across the couple, and heard the Hargrave’s story about their stay at the airport and the government’s plan to house everyone in large camps, they all agreed to stay away from any military personnel for the time being. Even before running across the couple, Jorge had seen the military vehicles speeding up and down 436. His instincts told him to stay out of their way. Given the level of crime and lack of governmental power, putting himself in the crosshairs of a jumpy Army machine-gun crew didn’t seem too logical. A little math in his well-educated brain told him that a few thousand soldiers wouldn’t make a huge impact in a city of two million. Best to take care of his own and leave the military alone for now.

  Here they were a few hours later and they were a several miles closer to downtown but now had to decide what to do about this young girl in their path.

  “We need to help her,” Tammy said to her husband.

  “Let’s just wait a few minutes,” Jorge said quietly. “There’s something about her that doesn’t seem right.”

  “Nonsense,” Tammy replied. “The poor thing can’t be much more than ten years old.”

  “That’s a lot of makeup for a ten-year-old,” Jorge replied. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  Again, Jorge’s senses tingled. His background in sports combined with his honed instincts from his years at Rollins College earning a degree in finance gave him some sixth sense for both opportunities and menaces. He had used this little voice in the back of his head to advance quickly at his bank job, and now it was screaming at him to be careful.

  “Hey guys,” Jorge said. “Let me circle around through these back yards and get a better look. Something is off here.”

  “I don’t see what your problem is,” Tammy shot back. “She’s just a little girl and she’s all alone.”

  “Well,” Wayne said to his wife, “It can’t hurt. Let him check it out first. Can’t hurt to be careful.”

  Wayne squatted down next to Jorge as the young man continued to stare under the chassis of the SUV.

  He patted Jorge on the right shoulder and looked up at his wife.

  “Go ahead,” Wayne said. “We’ll wait here.”

  “Honestly,” Tammy hissed. “You two are the biggest wimps.”

  “We’ll wait here,” Wayne assured Jorge. “Come on back when you’re comfortable that it’s safe.”

  Jorge got up but continued to squat behind the large vehicle. The truck sat in a driveway next to a single story pink stucco home. He peered around the edge of the forest green truck waiting for the girl to look away from them before sprinting around the back of the house.

  “Honestly Wayne!” He could hear her say. “It’ll take us a year to get back to Evansville at this rate.”

  The girl down the road looked away, and Jorge sprinted around back of the house where he was met by a six-foot high wooden stockade fence. Listening for any sounds from the other side, he finally lifted himself up and over the barrier and dropped into the back yard of the home. A patchwork of sand and sprigs of grass told him immediately that the owners never used an irrigation system. There were no signs of occupancy either. The back sliding-glass door stood open, the screen door was ajar with the inside of the home showing signs of being exposed to the elements. Dirt and leaves were gathered inside the doorway on the filthy white tile. A quick look past the glass showed that looters had already visited, with furniture turned over and broken glass on the floor. The flat-screen television was lying on the ground, its screen shattered.

  He jumped the fence to the next yard, seeing an identical situation with windows broken out and yard furniture overturned. He made his way into the house, finding a window facing the front where he could observe the street and the suspicious-looking girl.

  As he settled down next to the broken front window, he could hear Tammy and Wayne arguing nearby. Jorge popped his head up briefly and saw the young girl just a few houses down. She had heard his two companions and now stood up, looking in their direction.

  “Can you help me?” She cried out. “I need some help!”

  Tammy stood up from behind the Explorer and strode down the street toward the young girl.

  “Come on, Wayne! What are you waiting for? The girl needs our help!”

  Wayne slowly rose from his spot and trailed behind his head-strong wife.

  The girl began to cry, covering her face with her hands. Jorge watched as Tammy got to the girl. By now, the adolescent was sobbing, her shoulders bouncing up and down as Tammy put her arms around the miserable waif’s shoulders.

  “It’s OK,” Tammy said. “We’ll help. Just tell us what happened. Where is your family?”

  Wayne finally made it to the two women, and setting his walking sticks on the ground, he began to take off his backpack.

  That’s when it all fell apart.

  Jorge watched in horror as four men rushed out from a nearby hedge of bushes. All carried an assault rifle of some sort, and the couple was quickly knocked to the ground.

  It had been a trap, the young girl having been hung out as bait to catch the random good Samaritan as they walked through the neighborhood.

  Within a few seconds, the backpacks had been dumped on the grass and their contents rummaged through. One of the men, a nasty-looking thug who looked like he hadn’t washed since the whole crisis had begun, grabbed a package of granola from the pile and threw it to the heavily made-up girl.

  “Good job,” he said. “You’re not needed anymore! Now get the hell out of here. Be back in an hour.”

  The young lady greedily grasped the bag and began to run off.

  “And don’t run far!” He continued. “You know what’ll happen to you if you do. I’ll find you for sure, and you don’t want me mad!”

  “I know,” she quietly said. She turned and scampered off to the house next door as the four brutes hovered over the Hargraves.

  “What… what are you going to do?” Wayne asked. His back to the ground, he propped himself up with his elbows tucked under him. Tammy lay on her side, refusing to look at the four that stood over them.

  “Whatever the hell we want!” One of them said. The big one, the leader, pointed his AK-47 at Wayne.

  “You,” he said. “Get up.”

  Wayne got off the ground and shakily stood up. The big thug led him into the yard and around back of the house.

  Tammy finally turned her head toward the group and watched as her husband was led away.

  “Where are you taking him?” She asked weakly.

  The three stood sentinel over her, refusing to speak. A moment later, a single gunshot came from the back of the house.

  “WHY?” She screamed at the men.

  “Don’t want any blood out here,” one of them sneered. “Not much of a trap if there’s blood in the street.”

  With that, one of the men reached down and grabbed the woman by the hair and pulled her up. Tammy screamed as he threw her toward the front door.

  “I’m first this time!” One of them said.

  They all laughed at Tammy as she was shoved into their lair.

  Jorge sat there for a minute or two more, finally leaving as the sounds of Tammy’s screams were too much to take. His brother had given him a six-shot revolver which Jorge had tucked under his shirt. He tried to think of a way to save Tammy, but one man with a handgun was no match for four men with assault rifles. The Hargraves found out the hard way that no one was to be trusted. The four criminals were just doing what evil men do when they have no boundaries. They took what they wanted and killed those that got in their way, and Jorge vowed to remember that. He quickly left the house out the back, quietly leaving his former travel companions behind. Hearing Tammy’s pitiful screams as she was being brutalized, he prayed that Maria was safe as he slowly made his way toward her downtown apa
rtment.

  He moved with a purpose, slowly and carefully, as he picked his way through the ensuing neighborhoods. Always observant, he made it a point to err on the side of caution. Although he had less than ten miles to travel, they were tough ones with areas that found blocks of homes abandoned, and other areas with houses full of survivors refusing to leave. Dogs made stealth difficult, and more than a few times, he had to dodge gunfire from startled homeowners; and at one point, a pack of wild dogs hunted him through several back yards. A single shot from his revolver at the pursuing horde put an end to the chase.

  The ten or so mile journey, which would have been a four or five hour walk in normal times, took Jorge all of that day and most of the night to accomplish. Finally, after sneaking through several blocks of abandoned downtown Orlando, he found Maria’s apartment building.

  It was a four-story modern box built within the past few years. Maria had lived in the pink building. There were three identical buildings side by side, each painted a slightly different shade of muted pastel color. In the dark, the pale orange, pink and green colors each building were painted was indistinguishable, but his girl had lived in the northern most building and Jorge quickly identified the one where her apartment was located. There were no lights evident in the structure, nor for all the others nearby, while a tall 40-story building a few block south was lit up like a Christmas tree. Having identified the correct apartment, he scanned the windows, watching carefully for any sign of life. Briefly, a flicker shone through the sheer drapes in one window and he thought he could barely make out a shimmering of light. That was near Maria’s place.

  She might be there! He thought.

  Jorge carefully began to move around the building, checking each door and every window. None was open. He had approached from the east and slowly moved to the north, then west side of the building. The main entrance on the west side, a double glass door, was locked as well. If he hadn’t seen the dim light coming from the window on the other side of the building, he would have abandoned any thought of Maria being here. It was evident as he walked through the heart of the city, that everyone had been moved out. He had passed blocks of empty buildings. Tens of thousands of people who once worked and lived downtown were gone, likely moved to the refugee camps set up by DHS. Each step closer to her apartment brought Jorge an overwhelming conviction that Maria was in one of those camps. If that were the case, he had decided to turn himself in to the nearest downtown DHS office, and hopefully be settled in a camp with his girlfriend. But the dim light coming from the apartment above renewed his hope that she was in there, and Jorge was not going to be denied the chance to be reunited with his love. The past week without Maria had solidified his original feelings. She was the one, and nothing was going to keep him from his woman.

  Finally, on the south side of the building, Jorge found a door recessed a few steps down from ground level, a service entrance with a single-clasped lock. Jorge reached into his backpack and extracted a set of bolt cutters. While not originally part of his plans, Eduardo had convinced him to pack the 24-inch piece of hardware after one of their scavenging hunts found a stash of food behind a locked door in an already-looted store. Looters were lazy, and a simple clasped door had hidden a storeroom full of canned goods.

  Jorge cut through the Master Lock and the steel door opened into a pitch black room. Jorge could finally bring out his flashlight now that he was inside the building. His beam cut through the darkness, revealing a large, open storage room where lockers lined the outer wall and piles of clothing, pots and pans and other household items were stacked in the middle of the floor.

  Jorge quietly moved among the mounds of items, probably taken from the apartments above. He found the interior door and followed it to the stairwell. Each step he took was planned and precise. Each step found him waiting, listening and sensing movement from above. It took Jorge over thirty minutes to reach the second floor landing. Gently, he began to turn the metal lever; and within another minute, he was able to crack the door open, revealing yet another dark and foreboding hallway. He dared not use his flashlight during his ascent, for fear of revealing himself to those above, and to preserve what night vision he was able to muster in the dark void around him.

  Peaking past the door, he could see a smattering of light coming from a closed door about half way down the hall. Quietly, he entered the hallway and eased the door closed. No sound emanated from the rooms nearby. All the other rooms stood open, except the one with light sneaking from the bottom crack. Jorge withdrew his handgun, which now contained exactly five rounds of the original six, and crept toward the closed apartment.

  He found himself next to Maria’s place. A quick peek inside the open front door confirmed that it had been cleared out and stood empty like all the others on the floor. All the others, except the one he stood in front of now. Whoever was in there, maybe they could tell him what had happened to Maria.

  Jorge tested the door’s handle and found it unlocked. Gently, he pressed the handle down; and hearing a slight click, he pushed it open into the living room. No one faced him and no one challenged him as he slowly and carefully inched the door back.

  He scanned the room and saw the source of the light coming from the hallway to his right. The light wasn’t steady, but flickered like a big candle.

  Jorge peeked around the corner of the hall and saw two bodies sleeping on the floor next to a bathroom. The apartment was identical to Maria’s and he knew the floor plan from his time at her place. He relaxed when he saw they weren’t DHS agent, but rather a couple of regular people. But why were they on the floor? Why weren’t they in their bed. Jorge couldn’t be too careful, especially after watching Wayne and Tammy being taken down earlier the day before.

  He brought his revolver up and pointed it more or less at the two people sleeping on the floor. He squatted down next to the closest person to him, a girl about his own age, and touched her shoulder. He quickly backed away, waiting for the anticipated jump or other sudden movement, but the woman didn’t move. Strange!

  He bent over again, and shook her shoulder, expecting some response, but got nothing in reply.

  That’s when he started to notice a bit of a headache developing. His breathing was a getting heavy as well, and the air felt stuffy. Jorge tapped the girl on the shoulder once again.

  “Hey,” he whispered. “Wake up!”

  Nothing.

  Jorge panicked. He felt the girl’s forehead. It was warm. She wasn’t dead. He shook her more violently.

  “Hey! Wake up!”

  He was rewarded with a bit of a moan, but nothing more.

  Jorge stepped over the prone woman and saw a young man sleeping at the other side of the bathroom door. He glanced into the bathroom and saw a propane stove emitting a flame from on top of the sink. Two more bodies were inside, a woman on the floor and young child swaddled in blankets in the tub.

  Nausea began to build in Jorge’s chest. His breathing started to become more labored and he realized suddenly that these people were suffocating from the propane burner’s flame.

  He grabbed the woman he had been trying to wake up and dragged her into the hall outside. He did the same with the young man, making sure both were still breathing. He went into the bathroom and found the woman lying next to the child. He pulled her out and when he reached the hallway, the other two were beginning to come out of their stupors. He checked the woman from the bathroom and found she wasn’t breathing. He quickly began CPR. She had a slight pulse and so Jorge started breathing for her. Within a minute, she was taking breaths on her own and the other two had regained consciousness. The first woman he had brought out sat up and shook her head. Seeing Jorge working on Janice, she staggered over to their side as he finished his assisted breathing to revive the woman.

  “What happened?” Jorge asked.

  “I don’t know,” the girl
replied as she checked her now-breathing-friend’s pulse. “We decided to sleep in the bathroom. Brie was afraid of the dark and we didn’t want any light to give us away. Brie? OH MY GOD! Where is she?”

  Jorge rushed back into the apartment, leaving the three of them in the hall to recover. Janice began to groan, then she rolled to her side and threw up. Garrett sat upright and put his head between his knees, taking deep breaths to try and revive himself.

  Seconds later, Jorge returned with the child in his arms. He laid her on the floor on the carpeted hallway. He checked her pulse and breath. In the dim light coming from the bathroom where the still-burning-propane camp stove stood, he began CPR. He knelt on the little girl’s side and pumped out 30 quick chest compressions, then puffed two breaths into her.

  The other three victims couldn’t focus, their brains saturated with the carbon monoxide that had nearly killed them, so Jorge continued to work alone on the child. He had pumped her chest and breathed life into her lungs to no effect, so he repeated the first set of chest compressions and then another two breaths. For a third time, he gave the little girl the life-giving chest pumps and again, he pushed air into her broken body.

  But it was no use. Holding back tears, Jorge finally sat back and looked up. The three people he had rescued sat in the dark, their features hidden by the blackness around them. Their own brains still hadn’t recovered from the trauma of anoxia, and their awareness was deficient at best.

  “How is she?” The boy from the hallway asked, he speech slurred and full of pain.