Charlie's Requiem: Democide

by Walt Browning

  Cooperation with these census guys had been smooth, but not without some danger. To date, the long days spent combing the area had generated several confrontations with citizens refusing to abandon their homes. Of these, three had resulted in them calling in SWAT, but only one encounter ended up in a firefight. The other two groups had given up their guns when the SWAT team brought up their armored vehicle.

  The only group to duke it out with them was a couple of hardcore survivalists that had holed up on a small 2-acre homestead on the edge of town. Farmland touched this part of Ocoee/Winter Garden and the citizens here tended to be much more self-sufficient.

  After the homeowners had rebuffed the postal workers and their questions about food and guns, the census takers called in the SWAT “mitigation” team. Hovering a football field away, the group was discussing tactics when the windshield of the SWAT’s HMMVW took a sniper round to it, cracking the bulletproof glass. The SWAT members quickly found cover and the team engaged the house with one of their TOW missiles, destroying it completely. But before the missile did its job, the two men got away, their motorcycles shooting across the home’s backyard and out into the fields beyond. Seeing the arm of the launcher tube unfold and raise itself into firing position, then properly arming and aiming the missile, could take the better part of thirty to forty seconds. Obviously, someone with military knowledge was in the group because after seeing the missile’s tube rising into position, they bugged out just in time with their rifles secured across their chests and loaded camouflaged packs strapped to their backs.

  “We haven’t seen the last of those guys!” One of the two census workers stated.

  Silently, he agreed. These guys were survivors and the government had just poked their hornet’s nest. And like any species of Vespa, there were likely a lot more of them buzzing about, waiting to fatally sting any of their enemies that were too stupid or ignorant to know not to mess with them.

  The trip through Ocoee and Winter Garden was remarkably uneventful for the good doctor. There had been some stalled cars to contend with, but as he left Winter Garden’s city limits and entered the small burg of Oakland, the road became even less crowded as it turned into more of a two-lane country road.

  Dr. Kramer turned north onto highway 455 and travelled into Montverde, his home town. The small township was best known for Montverde Academy, a school with students from all over the world and where the ultra-wealthy found a place for their children. They actively recruited world-class athletes and had several alumni playing professional sports, while their soccer, basketball and baseball teams routinely finished tops in the state.

  As he passed through the heart of the campus, several students could be seen on the grounds kicking soccer balls or just relaxing. The school, with a large live-in population, was well equipped to handle the crisis. Their generators were likely still producing electricity for their dormitories.

  Dr. Kramer grew eager, his home a left turn away and just down the road. As he found his street and journeyed up, he noted that everything appeared normal. The first two houses he passed were dark and abandoned. They belonged to two snowbirds that weren’t scheduled to be there until after Christmas. He barely knew them since they spent only a few months there, and most of that time was visiting Disney or going to the beach.

  The next two homesteads were larger in size and each had a separate outbuilding where their owners worked their respective hobbies. The first of these two was owned by Betty and Dick Stonemaker. They were horse lovers and maintained a small stable and barn with two of their own horses, and four more boarders that brought in enough cash every month to defray their food and vet bills.

  The second home, his next-door neighbor, was owned by Ed Grafton, owner of the Grafton Stock Car Racing Team. His garage was full of tools and parts for his business. There were many nights that Dr. Kramer could see him under one of his “babies,” working on one tweak or another in an attempt to gain just a bit more torque or speed.

  Finally, Dr. Kramer stopped in front of his home. Sitting on ten acres, the multi-building homestead was his dream come true. Raised on a farm in West Virginia, Kramer never lost his taste for the rural life. He met his wife, who was a devout Jew, while attending the University of Florida. He converted to the religion, finding the process both strenuous and rewarding. One simply does not convert to Judaism like most religions allow; it is a long process that requires a full measure of commitment. To simply say you want to become Jewish and convert to the religion is not enough. This person who petitions the Jewish community to join them is called a brit, which indicates that he or she is a convert. To enter into a covenant with God and with the Jewish people, believing and doing is not enough. You need to become part of that people. So, in a sense, Kramer had to be accepted as one of their own. Not by his request, but by the community’s permission. Gaining that final acceptance made you a “ger,” which literally means someone who has come to live among a people to which he or she was not born. A naturalized alien.

  Dr. Gerald R. Kramer sat for a minute, his emotions threatening to boil over, as he took in the beautiful sight before him. The wood-paneled façade gave his house a cabin-like appearance. Even the stone chimney spoke of the mountains of West Virginia. His wife fought him tooth and nail over this, eventually capitulating when he reminded her that they were in Central Florida to be near her now deceased parents. So although she wanted a more traditional country farmhouse, he got his mountain cabin look.

  Their outbuilding, a combination of a horse stall and workroom, was sitting behind the house and to the right. Hugging his property line, the dark green steel building blended into the lush field before him. His daughter’s horse, a mare named Striker, roamed the pasture nearby. The family’s second horse was not visible, likely still in the barn. A small corral was attached to the back of the building, its swinging wooden door open. Their dog, a retriever named “Bud,” saw the old car as he started to pass through the gate. Not recognizing it, the protective animal charged forward from the backyard, barking and growling as he pulled up the driveway.

  Kramer stopped short of the wrap-around porch as his wife, beautiful as ever, came out of the front door with a shotgun pointed at his car, to her, an unknown vehicle.

  He slowly got out of the old Cutlass, and “Bud” suddenly changed from a viscous guard dog to loving family pet. The animal jumped up and down, bouncing his front paws off of Kramer’s stomach as it begged its master to give him some attention. The doctor squatted for a moment, hugging the loyal pet.

  His wife, momentarily stunned at seeing her missing husband alive and well, dropped the weapon where she stood and sprinted into his arms. Crying and laughing at the same time, she smothered him with kisses and a hug that threatened to break his ribs.

  “It’s OK now, honey.” Kramer started. “I’m home now. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Gerry,” she replied between sobs, “I didn’t think I’d see you again. Oh my God, you just can’t know.”

  A sudden slam of the front screen door brought both of them to a stop. Turning back to the house, they saw a beautiful young woman standing on the stoop, her face frozen in disbelief.

  “She thought you were dead,” his wife whispered to him.

  Kramer disengaged from his wife and walked toward his youngest daughter. Only 18 years old, and a senior at Montverde Academy, Caroline Ann Kramer was a tall, lithe beauty that blessed their family almost ten years after her older sister had been born. A natural with the horses, an athletic swimmer and long distance runner, she was in the awkward stage girls get when they aren’t quite a woman and definitely not a child. She carried herself like her mother, with almost a regal posture that lent itself well in equestrian competitions.

  “Dad?” She said, her eyes still glazed at the sight of her missing and presumed-dead father.

  “It’s me, baby. I’m home.”r />
  “Oh, Dad.” She said and started to cry. She collapsed slowly to the wood deck, squatting into a ball, gasping for breath as her body was wracked with sobs.

  “Caroline!” He said softly as he helped her stand. He gently enveloped her with a tender hug.

  “It’s really you!” She sobbed as she touched his face and then hugged his neck fiercely.

  “You were dead! I just knew you were dead.” Was all she could say.

  “No baby,” he whispered to his daughter. “I’m alive and I won’t leave you again.”

  Gerry Kramer, world-class cardiologist, finally broke down after suppressing the emotions that had been building up the past two weeks. The guilt over the deaths he witnessed and the life he took, were finally bubbling to the surface. His wife of thirty years joined the hug and they all praised God for their blessings. Being with his loved ones was joyful beyond words. And although he still worried about his patients and the community he had just left behind, he decided that it was his turn to be happy. He finally gave himself permission to be selfish and enjoy the gifts God had granted to him. The blessings of his family and their safe home.

  “Where were you?” His wife asked.

  Barbara Kramer still couldn’t believe he had come home. With Caroline sinking deeper and deeper into a state of depression, Barbara had kept up a façade of hopeful expectance. She talked daily as if her husband would walk through the door, making everything right once again. But as the days passed by, the hope she was peddling to her daughter seemed more and more disingenuous. She tried to hide her fears, knowing that Caroline would sink deeper into her personal hole, but it seemed like she was losing that battle.

  Dr. Kramer sat down at his kitchen table with his wife and daughter. He began his tale, starting with the harrowing first week holed up at his office after the EMP went off. He left out the part where he had shoved an I.V. pole through a man’s spine, simply stating that “we had to kill a couple of thugs.”

  “So that explains the car,” Barbara stated.

  “You don’t like my taste in antiques?” Gerry asked with a wink.

  He began to explain why his mid-70’s auto was running when their modern Tahoe and their daughter’s Prius had turned into the world’s largest paperweights, when he heard Bud beginning to bark. It wasn’t the challenging, deep pitched, rapid barking used for a stranger. It was more the “Someone is here, and I know them” type of bark.

  Dr. Kramer retrieved his shotgun, the one his wife had just been pointing at him, and walked to the front door.

  “Well I’ll be damned!” Ed Grafton exclaimed. “I thought we had lost you!”

  Ed was standing beside the old Cutlass, an AR-15 straddled in his arms.

  “Saw this old beast driving by and thought I’d better check on who it was.”

  “Thanks, Ed.” Gerry replied. “Just got back.”

  “OK, Robert!” Ed yelled. “It’s the Doc.”

  A young man appeared from the side of the house where he had been hiding in case the old car had brought someone who shouldn’t have been there.

  “Come on in,” Gerry said to his friend. “You too, young man.”

  Grafton climbed the front steps and gave the Doc a man-hug, patting him on the back several times.

  “Doc, meet Rob Silvers. Rob is one of my drivers; got stuck here when we lost power.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir.” Rob said, shaking Kramer’s hand.

  Average in height and wiry in build, he fit the typical profile of a Grafton race car driver. Lean and mean was how Ed liked his racers and Rob was the poster boy for that look.

  “Come on in,” Gerry said again. “I don’t know what we have in the way of drinks or food, but I’ll see if we can put something together.”

  The three men found their way into the large, country kitchen where they found Barbara boiling water on their propane stove.

  “Hey Ed, Rob.” She started. “I have some instant coffee, if that’s alright.”

  All three men smiled and nodded in agreement.

  “So,” Ed started. “I assume you’ve been in the city. Just what’s happening out there?”

  Dr. Kramer began the story once again from the beginning, detailing his theory that an EMP had taken out the power grid along with most computers.

  “So you say that the older cars are running just fine,” Ed interrupted. “That makes sense since all my computers are fried including anything in my personal cars and in the house. Even my cell phone is down.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Kramer replied. “And that’s created a real mess back in the city. They’re already running out of food and with no electricity there are thousands dying every day from a lack of sanitation or medical care.”

  Kramer finished his story, describing the housing subdivision he had helped out. He did fudge a little on the time he had spent there when he saw his wife’s reaction to this unplanned layover. But her demeanor softened as he went into enough detail to know that he likely saved the lives of a number of the sick children he initially treated. Not only that, but setting up a sanitary water system and attending to the chronically ill was Gerry’s way. He had always been selfless, sacrificing himself for others.

  “Well,” Dr. Kramer concluded. “I knew that my ladies were set up to handle an extended loss of electricity, so I didn’t stress too much about their well-being.”

  “Ed has been great to us,” Barbara added. “He’s been keeping an eye on things, making sure we’ve been safe.”

  “Have you seen anyone around?” Dr. Kramer asked.

  “None other than a couple of guys walking toward the Academy out on 455, but they never stopped. Been hearing some large diesel engine vehicles drive by down the road, but they went by too quickly to see what or who they were.” Ed replied.

  “Sounded military,” Rob said. “My dad was in the Army, and I’ve heard my fair share of military trucks. It sounded a lot like the M-series haulers to me.”

  “Did you see any running cars or trucks when you came home?” Ed asked.

  “Not a one, but I wasn’t looking for any. It was hard enough to get by all the stalled cars and keep an eye out for unfriendly people.” He answered.

  They made some small talk at that point, everyone trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Finally, Ed broached the subject that had to be on the Kramer’s mind.

  “So Gerry,” he started. “What about Claire? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Dr. Claire Kramer was in Nashville, working a residency at Vanderbilt Medical Center. With communication down, there was little any of them could do to get more information.

  “I don’t know,” Kramer honestly replied. “She’s smart, so she should be alright.”

  “She’s probably at the hospital,” Ed replied hopefully. “I suspect they’ve been able to keep the power on and feed their people.”

  “I hope so,” was all that Dr. Kramer could say.

  Privately, the cardiologist knew that the backup generators at the area hospitals were designed to run for only a couple of days before they ran out of juice. Further, if they were computer-controlled like the ones at Orlando’s major hospitals, the generators were likely useless.

  But Barb didn’t know this, and neither did Caroline. So he had to stash yet another uncomfortable secret into his private “in” box and see that it never saw the light of day. Seeing Barb and Caroline’s hopeful reaction to Grafton’s observation was enough of a reason to hide the truth from them. His girls needed hope, even if it was unfounded.

  “Well,” Ed said. “We need to get back to the shop.”

  “What’s the rush?” Gerry asked. “It’s not like you have anywhere to go.”

  “Actually, we might.” Ed replied. “If what you say is true, and your b
lue Cutlass is proof of that, then I can put together a couple of stripped-down cars that should run. I have the carbureted motors and older ignition systems that should allow me to make some working vehicles.”

  “Yeah!” Rob chimed in. “We could even use that old dune buggy frame you have stashed in the corner and make a third ride.”

  “Hey, you’re right! It won’t hold much, other than a couple of people, but it would give us a way to move around.”

  “Until then,” Kramer said. “We have the “blue bomb” at our disposal!”

  “Hallelujah,” Ed sarcastically replied. Then, changing the topic a bit, he asked, “Mind if I take it over to the shop and give it a once-over?”

  “Go ahead. I don’t think we’ll need it for a while. But you need to unload the trunk and back seat first. Just put all the supplies in the garage. It’s cool enough outside that nothing should go bad.”

  Besides all the gifts the community had given him, Dr. Kramer still had a large cache of medicines that the previous owners of the car had been nice enough to supply. He had used some of the drugs back at the subdivision, giving several elderly folks some heart and blood pressure medications. But the vast majority of his stash was still in the trunk and would be a real asset for his neighbors and some of the local physicians.

  “Rob, get the doctor’s keys and take it to the garage. I want to look under the hood then put it up on the lift.”

  “Copy that, Mr. Grafton.” He smartly said.

  Dr. Kramer tossed the young man the keys and went outside to unload the trunk and back seat.

  “Hey mom,” Caroline said. “Think I can go over to Mr. Grafton’s and watch him work on dad’s car?”

  “Sure honey,” Barb said. “Just be back before dark.”

  Their daughter smiled brightly, her world restored; and she swung around to leave the house.

  “And take Bud with you!” Barb added.