Charlie's Requiem: Democide (5 page)

“Like a battery backup system?” Bru asked.

“Well, yes and no. You see, a battery backup will give power when it is down, but it doesn’t absorb the excess when the power exceeds the need.”

“Bottom line, Parkway. How did this happen?” John asked.

“Well, capacitors collect power. They have a switch that allows them to interface with the grid. Open the switch and the capacitor is off grid, but close the switch and the capacitor interacts with the lines and helps regulate the voltage. Here, let me show you.”

Parkway pointed to a switch on the bracketed capacitors. “These capacitors have an open switch, which would take them off the grid, but in the yard, it opens the mechanism to an environmental power surge.”

“So, let me get this right,” John said. “The open switch allowed the capacitor to get charged by an outside source like a lightning strike?”

“Yeah, that’s possible. But more than likely, the EMP that hit us fully charged the capacitor. An EMP is a very powerful electric charge. It probably juiced up the capacitor, and that poor fellow touched the electrode on top of the structure and it discharged into him.”

“How much electricity?” Bru asked.

“Well, come over here and look.” Parkway said.

They walked over to the corpse and examined the results of the capacitor’s work.

“See his right hand? How it’s blown open? That’s where he grounded himself along with his feet. The electricity entered his left hand which melted and burned him, but left with a vengeance out his other limbs.”

Parkway bent over the scrawny corpse and pulled back his burnt shirt.

“See the outline of the medal on his chest?” Parkway observed.

Weed had a metal swastika hung around his neck. The outline of the medallion was burned into his skin.

“We call that metallization. Basically, the electricity ran through his chain and through volatilization or ionization of the metal, drove the molecules into the man’s skin. This much volatilization means the current was massive.”

“Basically, the electricity tore metal particles off the medallion and tattooed them into his skin,” John replied.

“Exactly. I couldn’t have described it better myself! You’re pretty sharp, Agent Drosky. What’s your background?”

John briefly described his time in the Marines and OPD. Parkway stood and listened intently in silence.

“So what does this mean for the recovery?” John finally asked.

“Well,” Parkway said. “Let’s me show you something. Come with me, please. And could you have your partner stay with the body and finish his report so we can get back out there? We have a lot to do.”

Parkway turned to the other five men loitering about.

“Hey you guys, don’t touch the capacitors. You can load up the transformers in row “C” on the flatbed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Parkway led John to a stack of cables next to the back fence.

“You seem like a good enough guy,” Parkway started. “I didn’t get any type of vibe from your buddy, though.”

“Just started working with him today. Why the secrecy?”

“Well, let’s just call it a feeling.” Parkway said. The utility worker moved closer to John; brushing up against John’s shoulder, he leaned in slightly.

“It just seems like more than a coincidence that we’re here.”

“How so?” John asked. “What’s bothering you?”

“Well, about three months ago, we were pulled off a big project down at Lake Nona, building the new medical campus. I mean, being pulled off one project to do another isn’t the strangest thing in the world. But this, well…” His voice trailed off as the man struggled for the right words.

John could tell he was holding back. They advanced further away from the other men and stopped at the back fence.

“Agent Drosky…”

“Please, call me John.”

Parkway smiled and nodded his head ever so slightly. They both turned and stared back at the others, watching as Bru took notes and the others gathered at their flatbed and began to load spools of electric wire and several transformers with their attached fork lift onto the back of the truck.

“Lake Nona is a big project. I mean huge. The governor was personally overseeing it. He used a lot of political capital getting the funding for the place.”

“I remember,” John injected. “He wants to diversify the economy of the area. Get away from the city’s reliance on theme parks and create high tech jobs.”

“Exactly! And we were told to go full bore.
Overtime
? No problem.
Outside
contractors
? Whatever you need. We were on a strict schedule with no budget.”

“Hmmm,” John said. “If you want it fast and good, it won’t be cheap.”

“It wasn’t cheap, believe me,” Parkway continued. “We were balls to the walls. Then, in August, we were pulled off the job and sent to a bunch of lay down yards to ground a bunch of new equipment.”

“What do you mean, ground?”

“We made them lightning proof. At least, that was the excuse we were given. I thought it was some middle management ass-wipe that got a bug where the sun don’t shine. But, that wasn’t the case.”

Parkway moved even closer to John, leaning into his ear.

“It was the feds,” he whispered. “The federal government mandated it, at least that’s what my supervisor told me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” John replied. “Why would they care about Orlando’s lightning problems?”

“Exactly what I thought at the time. But who am I to argue with the powers that be? So we did it. Took us almost four weeks to finish. It didn’t make any sense ‘cause the summer storm season was coming to a close. But when is the government ever prone to logic?”

John chuckled. “Agreed!”

“It didn’t make any sense, that is, until now.” Parkway concluded.

“Why now?” John asked.

“Because,” Parkway finished. “If we hadn’t grounded and protected all this stuff, the city would still be without any hope of power.”

“You mean to tell me…” John started.

“Yeah. When we grounded and protected the capacitors, transformers and other equipment from a lightning strike, we also protected them from the EMP.”

With that, Parkway raised his right eyebrow as if to say “
Quite a coincidence”
, and walked back to his men, leaving John standing there with a lot more questions than answers.

Chapter 7

“In a time of War, where every man is enemy to every man… the life of man (is), solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short”

-Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan

J
orge peered under the stalled Explorer, looking down the trash-filled street ahead. A young woman, hardly a teenager if not younger, sat on the right curb in front of a modest concrete block home. She seemed lost, her hair pulled back in a futile attempt to appear presentable. The grime on her face was camouflaged by thick makeup that, even fifty yards away, looked too heavy. It gave her a desperate, trashy look that set off some alarm in the back of Jorge’s mind.

Ever since last Thursday, when the power died and the Delta jetliner crash-landed in the lake in his backyard, the world as he knew it ceased to exist. Things turned upside down in a matter of seconds. His new home, career and plans for the future had gone up in smoke.

Watching the Airbus jet land on top of the water behind his house was just the beginning. When Jorge reached the “crash site,” he was greeted by over a hundred passengers who were just as bewildered as him. The pilot, Kevin Stillwagon, had masterfully set the metal bird down; and in a stoke of good fortune, their left wing settled next to a dock. All the jet’s occupants, having exited down the wing onto the dock, were amassed in the back yard of a 1950’s concrete block mansion. The elders in the group had taken seats on the patio furniture that was now a makeshift airline gate. With no one at home, the group sat bewildered, waiting for the plane’s crew to tell them what to do next.

Jorge offered little information to the pilot and his staff, other than to confirm their location. The captain did explain his theory about an electromagnetic pulse causing the power outage. Linking the loss of power in the jet to the loss of power on the ground, Captain Stillwagon surmised that no one was coming to help them. With dusk settling, and after some discussion, the entire group decided to walk to the airport. Like some modern day Trail of Tears, the collection of tourists, business people and uniformed airline employees all snaked their way east toward Orlando International Airport. Fortunately, it was only a few miles away, but several of the oldest in the crowd were assisted by a couple of wheel chairs that the captain bravely salvaged from storage compartments in the front of the still-floating plane.

The sound of the group’s departure still haunted Jorge’s memories of their early evening exodus. Everyone was eerily quiet as they made their way down the road, as if walking to their own funeral. The only thing heard from the large group was the sniffles of the children and the tiny rumble of their carry-on items as the plastic wheels of the luggage rolled over the asphalt, occasionally jumping over small rocks and pebbles. The hollow echoes of the clicking of high heels, the tick-tack of the luggage rollers bumping over the ground and swishing of pants and skirts marked their passage. Then, like ghosts in the night, they faded into the deepening darkness, disappearing from his life forever.

Over the next week, Jorge lived with his mother and father, helping them adapt to the situation. After a couple of days, it became evident that no help was on the way. A couple of days after that, the entire family managed to come together at his parent’s modest home. Three of his siblings were married and there was one grandson. Last night, after a lengthy family discussion, it was decided that they were all going to travel south and make their way to his brother Francisco’s place of employment, a large cattle ranch in Osceola county.

Francisco, the second oldest child, had gone to the College of Central Florida in Ocala and graduated with a degree in agricultural business with a certificate in animal sciences and husbandry. He was hired by a large cattle ranch in Osceola county that owned a herd of thousands of heads. The “Ranch,” as it was called, is comprised of about 295,000 acres, or 450 square miles, stretching across Orange, Osceola, and Brevard counties. It was one of the few places the large family could think of that could allow them to survive. Its isolation, access to water and food and the farm’s need for bodies to protect their herd made the decision to make the forty-mile walk an easy one.

That morning, the entire family had left their southeast Orlando home, using three bicycles, two of which were towing wagons filled with canned goods and water. His brothers, Francisco and Edwardo provided the group with weapons, both young men having embraced firearms as many young men often do. Two AR-15s, several handguns and several .22 rifles were spread among the large group. All were grimly determined to make the trip as quickly as possible, having witnessed the beginnings of societal breakdown in their neighborhood. Several nights of looting combined with a few local house fires along with the anticipated safety of the ranch, all made the decision to leave a little easier. They left heading south, all except for one. That is how Jorge found himself staring down the road at the young, blonde girl who was sitting on the curb. He continued to watch her as she slowly looked down each side of the street as if waiting for a date to pick her up for the movies.

Jorge had made the decision to travel downtown to find his girlfriend Maria. Having confirmed that she never made it out to her parent’s house, Jorge had begun his downtown trek at dawn that morning to find her apartment and hopefully bringing her back with him. Eventually, Jorge wanted to make their way to Francisco’s farm (as they liked to call it, even though it wasn’t really his farm).

“That poor girl,” Tammy whispered as she looked over the top of the same Explorer Jorge had been looking under.

Tammy and Wayne Hargrave were his new temporary companions. They met on route 436, the Hargraves having joined up with Jorge behind a looted and burned-down McDonalds. Both of his new companions sported a nice external-frame Kelty® backpack, while Jorge was using a simple, cheap book bag his youngest sister had used in high school. The couple also used fiberglass walking sticks and had camelback water bladders. High end hiking boots peeked out from under their jeans.

The couple had landed at OIA just before the lights went out. They had flown in from Indiana to hike several of the state’s beautiful hiking paths, the first one being the Citrus Hiking Loop, a 40-mile trail through the heart of the Withlacoochee State Forest. Having stayed at the airport for the following week, they soon learned from a growing DHS presence that the country’s power was down and that it wouldn’t be up again anytime soon. Worse was that the government was going to put them in a local camp for the duration of the emergency. They young couple decided to sneak out of the airport in the dead of night and walk back to Indiana. They were prepared for an extended camping trip and with water filtration, dried food and a willing spirit, they figured they would rather spend their time walking instead of sitting in some camp waiting for the government to fix the problem.

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 apartment.

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.