Charlie's Requiem: Democide

by Walt Browning

  “Jump in and make room,” Ed said.

  Kramer moved the supplies so that the battery was centered over the rear-wheel axle, reducing the stress on the truck’s frame. Each battery had to weigh close to a thousand pounds. Watching the truck sink as the Grafton eased the battery down, he became concerned.

  “Will the truck handle more than one?” Kramer asked.

  “I found some paperwork in there,” he replied and pulled out the folded sheet of paper. Grafton found the technical specifications for the batteries and nodded as he read.

  “Says here they are “forklift” batteries. Each one is a thousand pounds, and the truck is rated for 3100. We should be fine since the feedbags and other stuff is less than 500. With you and me, we are near the limit, but this baby’s in good shape. I reinforced the suspension a while back, so it should take it.”

  “Says here,” he continued, “that each one of these batteries is rated for over 800 amp/hours. Two of these should give you the storage of at least 16 regular lead-acid batteries. Huh, what a great idea!”

  “How are we going to get these out when we get home?” Kramer asked.

  “Easy,” he replied. “I’ll use the winch in the garage to lift them out and swing them onto one of the rolling carts I use for my engines. Then we can pull them to your house and install them.”

  After using the portable lift’s forks to slide the first battery to the left side of the truck’s bed, Ed returned to the building and retrieved the second one.

  As he lowered the last battery onto the back of the pickup’s strained suspension, there was a distinct sound of a shotgun shell being racked into its chamber!

  Both Grafton and Kramer froze, both knowing full well what that metallic “click-clack” meant.

  “Oh crap!” Grafton said.

  “Both of you, hands in the air and turn around slowly!” They heard.

  Both obeyed, slowly rotating to their left, coming face to face with three armed men.

  The man with the shotgun was dressed in all black tactical gear. He had an AR-15 slung over his shoulder and a black, tactical shotgun was tucked into his right shoulder, pointing directly at them.

  A DHS patch was visible on his left arm as he scanned the barrel of the shotgun back and forth between the two of them. A smirk on his face, he backed up a step or two, giving them a look at the two men that accompanied him.

  Grafton almost fell over with relief when he saw that they wore postal uniforms. But his stomach rose back into his throat after seeing them with drawn Glock semi-automatic handguns. The two postmen walked over to the old truck and peeked in the loaded rear cargo area.

  “Well,” the first postal worker said. “Not only do we have a thief, but it looks like we found ourselves a hoarder too.”

  “Two crimes at once!” The other man said with disdain. “That’s not good for you two. Not good at all.”

  “Back up away from the vehicle,” The DHS agent said. “Now down on your knees, hands interlocked behind your head and DO NOT MOVE!”

  With the two postal workers covering them with their handguns, the agent began to zip-tie Grafton’s hands behind his back.

  “You have it wrong,” Grafton started. “I know the owner of this place. He won’t mind me using some of these batteries.”

  “I’m sure,” the agent replied. “Looks like he gave you the keys and everything.”

  Ed cringed when he glanced at the mangled metal door. He knew there was no dodging this crime as he hung his head in shame. I should have known, he thought to himself.

  After Kramer had been zip-tied as well, they were searched. But neither carried a wallet or I.D. with the state of the world being what it was. One of the postal workers looked inside the now-open outbuilding.

  “Wow!” he called out. “Jackpot! You should see the stuff in here!”

  The other postman followed his partner, the whistling from inside letting the DHS agent that had remained with Kramer and Grafton, that they had found something of value.

  “We got some big-time batteries. Never seen anything like them!” The first postal worker said to the DHS goon. “We have a huge score here!”

  “Not calling this one in, I assume!” the agent replied.

  “Not in a million years,” The postman replied. “This goes to the stash. This’ll be worth its weight in gold.”

  “What do you mean by that? What stash?” Kramer said questioning their statement.

  These three weren’t acting like any authoritative agency he had ever worked with or come across. Their demeanor had changed dramatically when the plastic handcuffs had been placed, and now they were eying the pickup truck with the same lust that a drunk would look at their first morning drink.

  “Will the truck fit in the warehouse?” The agent asked the others.

  The three men began a short discussion, the thrust of their plans revolving around the truck, feed and all the batteries and storing them in an illicit warehouse to barter with later. It suddenly hit both men, that these three were looting and storing their treasures, and not upholding the law.

  “What about these boys,” the DHS agent said.

  “We can’t let them go,” the shorter postal worker said with a sadistic smile.

  “Can I do it?” the taller of the two replied.

  “Think you can do it this time? You wimped out last time!” his postal partner chided.

  “SHUT UP!” the tall man yelled. “I’ll do it!” And then, after an awkward moment where the other two just looked at the tall man with smiles, he shouted.

  “I SAID I CAN DO IT!”

  The three criminals made Kramer and Grafton get up off their knees; and taking them out of the enclosure, they were led to a patch of scrub oaks that lined the back of the property.

  Ed’s knees gave out as they were walking to the copse of trees, forcing the laughing DHS agent to pick him up under his arms and push him forward, while the other two taunted the poor old man for his loss of nerve.

  Kramer knew how this was going to end. Each step he took brought years of recollections and scores of treasured memories to his conscious mind. The trip to their final destination took just a few moments, but seemed like months as time compressed in the doctor’s mind. When they reached the edge of the trees, Kramer had made peace with himself and with God. It was with a calm, but heavy heart that he turned to face the three executioners.

  “Turn back around!” The shaking, tall postman said. “Turn around, I said, and down on your knees!”

  Grafton practically fell to his knees, tears welling in his eyes. He cringed and waited for the final crack of the postman’s pistol that would send the gun’s projectile shrieking through the air and into his head.

  Kramer, on the other hand, refused to turn away. Instead, he dropped to his knees and faced the three men. His eyes glared back with a certainty that only a true believer in the afterlife could bring. The corner of his lips was raised in a slight grin, announcing the faith he had in his final destination. He had the look of a man who knew his destiny and was unafraid to make the journey.

  “I said,” the shaking postman said again, “TURN AROUND!”

  “Just do it!” Kramer said back. “I want to see your face when you pull the trigger. I want you to see the man that will haunt your dreams for the rest of your life!”

  “OH Lord!” The timid man said. “Just turn around.”

  “Or what?” Kramer calmly replied. “You’ll kill me if I don’t?”

  The other two stopped their jocular banter and stared with disbelief at the doctor.

  “Well,” the agent said. “Seems like we have a hero!”

  “Tell you what,” the agent continued, bringing his shotgun up and pointing it at Grafton’s raised right arm. “If you don’t turn around,
I’ll blow off your head. Then, I’m going to use this shotgun to take his arm clean off. Then I’ll take off the other one. Then I’ll shoot off his legs, one at a time, and leave him here to bleed out. Now, it’s your choice! Turn around and we’ll do this clean, or face me and I swear I’ll blow off your head and leave your friend here in pieces to die a slow, painful death!”

  Kramer knew the answer, refusing to allow Ed to suffer because of his own pride. Kramer spit at the men’s feet, and turned around, slowly shuffling himself on his knees until they were both facing the trees and the retention pond beyond.

  “I’m sorry, Gerry!” Ed said quietly, having gained his composure. “You can turn back if you need to. I’ll be all right. I mean, dead is dead. Right?”

  “That’s OK. Let’s just get this done. See you on the other side!”

  Both men heard a click, as the agent with the shotgun took off the safety.

  “Good bye boys, and thanks for the…”

  A single crack popped from the bushes nearby, and a cry came from behind them. Suddenly, four or five more pops came forth and Kramer heard the men behind him fall to the ground.

  “DOWN!” Kramer yelled to Grafton and they both fell to the dirt. Sneaking a look behind them, Kramer could see all three of their attackers were down, two of them with bullet holes in their foreheads and their tall executioner with one through his left eye.

  “CLEAR!” Came a cry from in front of them.

  “CLEAR!” Came from yet other spots.

  Someone came from behind, and gently but firmly grasping Kramer’s hands, they cut the zip ties. The doctor rolled over and stared at two younger men, both looked to be in their mid-twenties. They wore MARPAT camouflage garments and each carried an AR-15 rifle. They had green and brown camo ball caps and both had full magazine pouches lining their belt.

  One of the two, a black man, reached down and gave Kramer a hand getting up. The other one, a man of unassuming size and a bird-like face, hefted Grafton up like he was lifting a fish from the water. An impressive show of strength for such a normal-sized person.

  “Thank you!” Grafton said. “You saved our lives.”

  “Thanks,” Kramer added. “We owe you!”

  “Hey,” the black man said. “That was impressive.”

  “What?” Kramer asked.

  “The way you faced that guy down.”

  “It was nothing!” Kramer replied.

  “No,” the other said. “That was not nothing. I just hope I could be as strong if I’m ever in that situation.”

  Kramer, not knowing what to say, just stood mutely before them.

  “Name’s Trey Williams,” The black man said, shaking Kramer’s hand. “And this is Will,” pointing to “bird man.”

  “Name’s Will Schumacher.” The young man added.

  “Gerry Kramer,” the doctor said. “And this is Ed Grafton.”

  The four men moved back to the fenced in area and stood by Grafton’s pickup truck.

  “Hey, I know you!” Will said.

  Kramer began to ready a reply, being used to the recognition, but that’s when Will continued.

  “You own Grafton Racing Team. I’m a huge fan!”

  Kramer bit his lip and silently chuckled at his pride, assuming that he was the famous one.

  Ed perked up and nodded as Will began to act like a star-struck teenager.

  “This guy’s team is the best,” He started telling his companion, who quickly cut off his star-struck friend’s rant.

  “Hold off on that thought, we’d better get moving,” Trey said. “They may have friends around.”

  “I doubt it,” Kramer replied. “I don’t know if you heard them when we were first caught, but they weren’t going to arrest us. They were going to steal our truck and store it in some warehouse.”

  * * *

  “DHS looters, huh. Well, that just puts the icing on the cake.” Trey said with hatred.

  “What are you two doing here, anyway?” Will asked.

  “Well, I hate to admit it. But we were looting too.” Kramer said.

  Kramer told them about their plans to use the batteries to run his house at night and for a backup during the days when the clouds blocked the sun.

  “Wow, power! That would be nice.” Will stated soberly.

  “What about you boys,” Kramer asked. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Just trying to survive,” Trey replied. “We were at Will’s house when a crew just like those three showed up. We told them we were fine, but they wouldn’t leave us alone. They called for support and got an up-armored HUMVEE delivered to Will’s front door, then blew his house up with a TOW.”

  “A TOW?” Ed asked.

  “Yeah, a “Tube-launched, Optically-tracked, Wire-guided” missile.”

  “A missile?” Ed said with astonishment. “They blew your house up with a missile?”

  “Yeah. Well, if Will here hadn’t taken a shot at their HUMVEE, they may not have taken out his house.”

  “I should have put one of them down,” Will replied. “I figured they’d get the message if I just creased their windshield.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” Trey admitted. “They had it out for us, anyway.”

  “Well, when we saw these three moving through the neighborhood back there, we followed them figuring they’d try the same thing on someone else.”

  Trey pointed to the back of the property where Kramer and Grafton had been led. Beyond the tree line and across the pond, a large subdivision of newly constructed homes was visible, the zero lot-line parcels of property filled to capacity with oversized, faux-stucco homes.

  “So, is that where are you guys staying?” Kramer asked.

  “For now, until the food runs out. Then, I guess, we’ll move on.”

  Kramer had an idea. He excused himself and pulled Grafton into the outbuilding to get some privacy.

  “We could use them,” Kramer said. “We need friends, especially young, healthy men.”

  “And particularly men who can handle themselves.” Grafton replied.

  “Can we feed them?” Kramer asked. “That’s why I brought you in here. I know I can chip in, but I don’t have enough for two more mouths.”

  “I think we have enough,” Grafton replied. “I mean, with the boars and sows roaming about, we should be able to bring in more than enough protein to feed us all.”

  “What do you think?” Kramer asked, prodding his friend to help make the decision.

  “I’m good, if you are!”

  “I agree. Let’s ask.”

  The two men quickly returned and approached their rescuers.

  “How would you boys like to join our little community. Now, before you make a decision, let’s get some ground rules straight.” Grafton began.

  The two men stood expectantly.

  “First, let me tell you what we can bring to the party. We have electricity, running hot and cold water and enough food to get us through next year, if we supplement it with some hunting and fishing.”

  Their eyes lit up at the thought of hot water. They were about to burst with enthusiasm when they heard about all the food.

  “Second, we have room for you to bunk in the house. My wife and I already have one guest, but we have another two bedrooms available. One guest room has a queen-sized bed, and the other a pull-out twin mattress. It’s up to the two of you to decide who sleeps in which bedroom.”

  “And third, you can leave at any time, and we can ask you to leave for whatever reason. There is no contract and no lease! You are there at our pleasure, but you can stay at yours. All we ask is that you live by our code of conduct, work hard and we will get along famously.”

  “What codes are those?” Trey asked.

>   “Respect my land, my family and each other and work to earn your keep. Be honest and forthright with no secrets and we will all do just fine.” Grafton concluded.

  “And what do you expect from us?” Trey asked. “Why are you asking us to join you?”

  “Because we have two families, and only three men available for protection is not enough. It’s a cruel world out there right now. You two have shown us you can be trusted, and that’s in short supply as well. You can handle yourself in a fight, and you saved our lives. It would be an honor to have you join us.”

  “Sir, we need to discuss this. Could we have a minute?”

  “Of course, son. Take your time.”

  The two young men met by the edge of the fence. Their animated faces and gestures were not too hard to decipher. Ed was good at reading men, and these two were leaning toward joining them at their homes.

  “Well,” Kramer said. “Looks like you’ve won them over.”

  “You think?” Grafton said. “What makes you so sure.”

  “Well,” Kramer continued. “They’re playing rocks, paper and scissors. That could only mean one thing.”

  “They’re deciding on who gets the queen bed!” Grafton replied.

  Trey and Will turned and rejoined Kramer and Grafton.

  “Mr. Grafton. Mr. Kramer.” Trey began.

  “That’s Dr. Kramer,” Grafton said.

  “You’re a doctor? A real doctor?”

  “Is there any other kind?” Grafton asked with some amusement.

  “Well, yeah. Dr. Kramer could be a medical doctor or some college professor.”

  “Ouch!” Kramer laughed at his friend. “He got you there! And yes, I am a real doctor. I’m a cardiologist.”

  “Well then, that’s just the gravy on the biscuit!” Will chimed in.

  “What my friend is saying,” Trey added. “Is that we would love to take you up on your offer. We’d be appreciative of the chance to join your family.”