Charlie's Requiem: Democide (36 page)

“You aren’t supposed to go anywhere without your tags!” He said back. “I’ll have to report this.”

“Be my guest,” Kramer continued to bluff. “But let Dr. Chase now where we are. He’s expecting us to be back by now and I’m sure he’ll be upset if we’re late. He has some government big-wig coming in for me to look at and I don’t think he’ll be too happy if he can’t find us. Just give him a call, would you?”

The agent hesitated, obviously confronted with his first real challenge of the day, and possibly since he had been assigned here. Having worked at the hospital and having staff privileges, Kramer continued.

“Look, just check with Chase. Dial #343 and he’ll be right down.”

The agent pulled out a binder and checked his paperwork. The surprised look on his face indicated that the extension must have checked out.

“OK, doc.” the agent replied. “Just don’t forget your ID badges. You can get in a lot of trouble if you do.”

“Thank you, son. I appreciate that.” Kramer replied and moved through the loading dock area and into the hospital.

“Ballsy!” Trey said with some admiration as they walked the halls of the receiving department.

“You’d be surprised what a little knowledge and a lot of moxie can get you.” Kramer said back.

Using the doctor’s knowledge of the hospital, they snuck through the various departments and eventually made it to the administrator’s section of the building.

“Here we are,” Kramer said. “Let’s hope we continue to be lucky.”

Walking like they belonged there, Kramer and Trey strode confidently through the hallways, making to the director’s office without incident.

The secretary immediately recognized Dr. Kramer and jumped from behind her desk to give him a hug.

“Oh God,” She said as she disengaged from the cardiologist. “It’s so good to see you! Dr. Chase will be thrilled.”

“Can you let him know I’m here?”

“Oh, just come on right in. There’s no need for protocol these days!”

The woman led them to the back of the room, and after a quick but perfunctory knock on the president’s door, the three entered his office.

“Well I never would have believed it!” Rick Chase said as he moved from his desk to greet his friend.

“Ruth,” Dr. Chase said to the secretary. “Could you get us some coffee?”

“I’d love to!” She replied.

“Hey Ruth,” Kramer added before she could leave. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here yet.”

The woman raised an eyebrow then nodded.

“What was that about?” Chase asked.

Kramer and Trey spent the next ten minutes explaining what they had been through and the concerns Claire had. During that time, Ruth had returned and after distributing the Styrofoam cups filled with black coffee, she joined in the discussion.

When Kramer finished with his story
, leaving out any reference to Ed Grafton and who Vernon Bragg was and where he lived, he sat silently while Chase and Ruth digested what he had said.

“I don’t know what to say,” Chase started. “Other than we’re seeing the same thing here that Claire is observing in Nashville. The chronically sick are being transferred out of the hospital to other facilities.”

“You didn’t think that was unusual?” Trey challenged.

“Not at all,” Chase replied. “We are an arm of a regional hospital system and some of our sister facilities are better suited to handle the chronically sick. All I know is that several white busses with a red cross showed up at or E.D. door, and within an hour, all our chronic patients were loaded up and whisked away. It was sudden, but with no reliable electricity, it was a God-send.”

“Well, where are they being transferred to?” Kramer asked.

“Ruth, find out where our chronic patients are transferring to,” Chase instructed his secretary.

Ruth left the room, leaving the three behind to continue their discussion.

“By the way,” Kramer began. “Have you seen Rabbi Vetter? We stopped by the Congregation and the note directed us here.”

“I haven’t seen him in days,” Chase admitted. “He came in with several others from the temple and I haven’t seen him since. Last thing I heard him say was that he was going to Brightside retirement home to check on some of his friends from synagogue. You know him, always taking care of the helpless.”

“Yeah,” Kramer said with a smile. “He had them hauled over to the temple every Saturday from the extended living facility in that Ford Transit van he bought.”

“Did he get you for a donation too?” Chase smirked.

“What do you think?” Kramer laughingly replied.

“What do you need Vetter for?” Chase asked. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“No, my friend. I just needed to bare my soul. His advice and counsel is what I want.”

“Well,” Chase mused. “You might want to check with Mr. Jacobson. Those two are inseparable.”

“Old Barry’s around?” Kramer smiled. “I’d have thought he’d be in Brightside by now!”

“Yeah, well at 84 he’s still as tough as nails.” Chase said.

“That he is, and more.” Kramer agreed.

“Say, why don’t you check in on him.”

“Where does he live now?” Kramer asked. “I heard he sold his orange groves to some national home builder chain a couple of years ago.”

“Same place. The old coot sold everything except his house and the surrounding 20 acres.” Chase said.

“You’re kidding! That’s the most valuable piece of the entire spread.”

“Yeah, well you know Barry, he could sell snow to an Eskimo. Why don’t you ask him when you see him?” Chase concluded.

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation, and as before, Ruth slid into the room without waiting for a reply.

She moved to Dr. Chase’s desk and handed him several sheets of paper.

“Here they are,” she said with a confused look on her face. “I just can’t decipher what the paperwork means.”

Dr. Chase scanned the papers and handed them over to Kramer who looked just as confused.

“What do you think, Trey?” Kramer asked as he passed the government documents over to the young Marine.

Trey scanned the papers and after a moment or two, put them on the administrator’s desk.

“Having been an officer in the Maintenance wing of the United States Marine Corps, I am thoroughly versed in Government “Bravo Sierra” when it comes to paperwork and other important things.” He said, bringing knowing chuckles from the other two men.

“Bravo, Sierra is the military phonetic alphabet abbreviation for B.S.” Chase told Ruth, who had a confused look on her face.

“Oh!” Ruth replied. “So working for you would be Sierra, Sierra, Delta, Delta.”

The three men roared with laughter at the feisty woman.

“Got you there!” Kramer chided his friend.

“Well,” Trey continued. “The orders are to transfer the patients to a location with the abbreviation of
COV
, whatever that means.”

None of the other three could think of where that was since it didn’t correspond to any of their sister facilities.

“Well, I’ll see if I can make some discrete inquiries with our government friends,” Chase said as they wrapped up their conversation. “It’s good to see you, Gerry.”

“Same, Rick.”

“Say, any chance you could help out here,” Chase asked. “That is, if we ever need it?”

“Slow, huh.”

“No one can drive, and with DHS ordering everyone to their relocation facilities, I don’t see us needing you anytime too soon. But who knows when the people will be back. All I can say is we get diesel delivered daily and it’s enough to power the Emergency Department and one floor of beds.”

“I’ll check back with you soon,” Gerry promised.

Trey and Kramer left Chase’s office, but the two of them were stopped by Ruth.

“Dr. Kramer,” she began. “I’m worried. We’ve had people disappear from here, mostly the ones who question what’s going on.”

“Hasn’t Rick noticed?” Kramer replied.

She motioned them to come closer and continued in a whisper.

“Dr. Chase is a good man, but he got his job by getting along with everyone.” She answered. “It’s not that he’s ignorant, but he’s just spent too much time kissing butt to see who he’s cuddling up to.”

She moved behind her desk, and opening a locked side drawer, she pulled out several blank I.D. cards.

“Here,” Ruth said as she gave the documents to the two of them. “Take these to the personnel department.”

She sat at her desk and filled out some more papers, handing them over to Kramer.

“This will get you a hospital I.D. It’s good outside the campus grounds as far as DHS is concerned.”

“A “get out of jail” card, huh.” Trey said as he examined the papers.

“As good as gold!” She replied. “Just come back here in one piece!”

With their own identification cards in hand, the two men switched lab coats so that Dr. Kramer had his original monogramed jacket.

Kramer gave the woman a hug and the two men left to have their IDs made.

“What should I be?” Trey began as they walked down the nearly empty hallway. “I don’t know anything about medicine other than how to stop someone from bleeding out.”

“I have an idea,” Kramer said as they stopped at an empty nurse’s station.

Kramer filled in some of the blanks that Ruth had left and handed one of the forms to the young Marine.

“Trey Williams, Epidemiologist?” He said inquisitively. “What the heck is an epidemiologist?”

“A disease doctor,” Kramer replied. “Someone who tracks an epidemic and how it spreads.”

“What do I do?” Trey asked, still unsure about his role.

Trey continued to look apprehensive. Kramer patted the young man on the back and they continued silently to the personnel department.

“Take notes,” Kramer finally replied. “You’re tracking an outbreak of something and you catalog where it’s going.”

“Oh!” Trey replied as the light bulb went off inside his head. “Just like keeping track of supplies and schedules! Heck, I did that all the time when I was in the Marines.”

“Yep,” Kramer said. “Just like tracking supplies, only this time, you will be tracking people and diseases.”

A half hour later, they walked out the front door with identification cards clipped to the front of their jackets; Dr. Gerry Kramer, M.D. and Dr. Trey Williams, PhD.

“Now where?” Trey asked as he retrieved his rifle and replaced the coil wire.

“We go visit Barry Jacobson,” Kramer said. “I still want to find Vetter, and Barry would know where he is.”

They jumped into the buggy and Kramer looked down once again at the copy of the transfer orders the hospital had been given. Still, nothing jumped out at him as he mentally reviewed all the long-term care facilities and hospital wards that were within a 50-mile range. Shaking his head, he stuffed the papers into his coat pocket and they rocketed off to the Jacobson property, which sat in a rural area a few miles north of town.

With their official identification cards in hand, they didn’t need to worry being stopped by the government, but looters and other ne’er-do-well criminals were still a concern. Trey maintained a constant vigilance as they roared up the northbound lane of the highway. Passing the synagogue, they shot through the small town of Mineola and made their way north.

“Where are we headed?” Trey shouted over the wind that was whipping about in the open compartment.

“We’re taking a right a few miles ahead, then a five-minute drive to the Jacobson’s property.”

They made good time, the road having been clear of stalled cars that were pushed into the open drains on the side of the road.

“I haven’t seen any looters!” Trey shouted.

“Maybe because of this!” Kramer yelled back and pointed ahead.

About a thousand yards ahead, a government roadblock had been set up. Two large military vehicles that looked like armored cars on steroids sat on either side of the road, effectively blocking passage other than through a small space they left between the two vehicles. However, even this opening was blocked by a wooden sawhorse barrier.

Kramer slowed down and looked at Trey.

“What do you make of it?” Kramer asked his companion.

“Those are MRAPs, doc. Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected vehicles. They replaced the HUMVEEs because of all the IEDs that Haji was using on our convoys back in the Middle East.”

As they drew closer, two black-clad men with M4 assault rifles appeared with one man holding up a small handheld stop sign while the other took cover next to their MRAP, aiming his rifle down at them.

“Put both hands up so they can see them.” Trey said as he raised his hands. Kramer kept his grip on the steering wheel at the 10 and 2 position.

Kramer stopped where indicated and was approached by the first agent.

Decked out in full black military gear, one of the officers walked slowly to the side of the car, his right hand gripping his sidearm that was tucked into his holster.

“ID please,” he commanded.

Kramer produced his new laminated hospital card and handed it over to the agent. Trey followed suit and waited for the nervous young man to inspect them. A small clipboard appeared from the agent’s side MOLLE pouch and he jotted down some information, likely logging their names and time.

“State your business.” He said, handing the cards back.

“We’re investigating a report of possible Cholera outbreak out on Route 561, just up the road and to the right.” Kramer said with conviction. “We need to assess the risks to the water table.”

Kramer was about to add more to the story, when he heard the sound of engines coming from behind him.

“OK,” the agent said as he stared down the road behind the buggy. “Just report back when you return.”

The sawhorse was pulled to the side by the other agent, and Kramer gunned the vehicle through the opening. Looking in his rearview mirror, he could see a line of busses pulling up to the roadblock. Kramer moved ahead a few hundred yards and pulled to the side of the road.

“What’s going on?” Trey asked as they came to a stop.

“The convoy behind us, that’s what.” Kramer replied.

Both men craned their heads back and watched as a dozen busses passed through the opening. The first nine were green and grey prison busses, their windows covered by expanded metal or slats of flat iron. Passing by, Kramer couldn’t help but notice that several windows had young kids staring out at him.

“Boy, that sucks having to take a prison bus!” Trey said. “You can’t even open the windows.”

“Yeah,” Kramer replied contemplatively. “But where are they going?”