Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots (11 page)

The headaches seemed to be gone and he was grateful. He had taken feeling good for granted, too. He stopped and thought,
was there anything…anything at all, that he had not taken for granted?
No, he decided, there was not.
Well, that shit is changing now.
Terry would be grateful for everything from this point forward. Today, he would even be grateful for his shitty job. With gratitude in mind, he walked to work.

An eighties model Chevrolet, one-ton pickup with a twelve-foot flatbed and lumber sides was the bio-sanitation work truck. It hadn’t been affected by the solar flares. It still had the name of an old concrete finisher’s business on the doors,
Able Concrete Inc.

You could stack a lot of bodies (just like cordwood) in a twelve-foot bed. When the truck was full, it sort of resembled some images Terry had seen of Nazi Germany during WWII. It was eerie.

The truck sat there idling waiting for its handlers to begin their macabre duty. Bodies were, at least, becoming scarcer. They’d made some progress in clearing out the city, but then what?
Who knows?

Vince tilted his head back and dumped the coffee in. “So…how ya’ feeling? Better?”

“Yes, much. It’s just too bad they had to go and put another one in.”

Vince smirked. “Yeah. So, what did they say then? How do you know this new one isn’t just going to cause problems too.”

Terry wasn’t sure but Alisia had said the replacement chip ran on a different frequency…that hopefully it wouldn’t cause any issues. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Yeah,” Vince said, “I guess you will.”

It was Austin’s turn to drive today and Terry was somewhat pleased by that. It meant, one: that Vince could help him move bodies—Vince was a good deal stronger than Austin. And two: it meant he might have a chance to talk to Vince…about conspiracy stuff. About Anti-Patriot stuff.

“So, your head’s feeling better?” Austin asked as Terry got into the truck.

“Yes, I think I’m done with that, thank God.”

“What’d I tell you about the doctor?” Austin said. “Cute, right?”

Terry smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s cute.”

They pulled up to the house the other crew had marked with an ‘
X
.’
X
s meant casualty inside. Vince and Terry were in their Tyvek suits and rubber boots while Austin was enjoying street clothes. “Have fun, you two,” Austin said. A large smile graced his face.

“Fuck you,” Terry and Vince said in unison, and they slid out of the truck.

Terry was waiting for the right way to bring it up, the right moment when Vince spoke. “Listen, man…I heard about a new group forming up, and there’s this meeting tomorrow tonight….”

“Oh?” said Terry “What kind of group?”

“Well,” Vince said, taking a furtive glance over his shoulder, “there’s an anti-movement starting up…you know…people who can see what’s going on around here and are trying to figure out what to do about it. They’re meeting tomorrow tonight at the corner of Queen Anne and Republican Street. It’s an old theater, and it’s empty. It’s called the SIFF. We ought to go and check it out. What do you say?”

“Uh, yeah…definitely. Where did you hear about it?”

“Ah, one of my roommates is of sound mind. He told me about it.”

“Okay…yeah…let’s go,” Terry said. “What about Austin? Do you think he would want to go at all?”

Vince arched his thick, black eyebrows and tilted his head slightly. “Are you serious? No. Besides, I wouldn’t trust him.”

Just then, Austin walked up behind them. “Wouldn’t trust who?”

Terry and Vince both startled just enough to tell Austin
exactly
who.

“What the fuck, you guys?” Austin said, and he stomped off back to the truck.

“Shit,” Terry said under his breath and shared a glance with Vince. “I think we should tell him—invite him. It might not be his thing, but I don’t think he’s a snitch or anything either. He’s a decent guy.”

Vince shook his head. “It’s your funeral, man. Do what you gotta.”

Terry wasn’t sure what the big deal was or why Vince despised Austin so much, but he thought it best to mend fences, let Austin in. No one was entirely comfortable with the “New Patriots” after all.

Vince and Terry cleared the house and loaded back into the truck.

It was Austin who broke the silence first. “You know, if you guys are whispering about that Anti-Patriot meeting tomorrow,” he paused and gauged their response. “I already know about—and I’m going. So…
fuck you,
two.”

Terry got Austin alone a little later and began to apologize. “Listen, man—I’m sorry. Vince, he’s just a little, you know, hard to get to know. He doesn’t trust anybody. Sometimes he barely trusts me, I think. We should have included you in the conversation, and I’m sorry…okay? Are we cool?”

Austin shuffled his foot a bit, looking down at his boots, then looked up. “Yeah, man. We’re cool.”

“Good. I’ll see there then, tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.”

Terry walked home and pondered whether he ought to tell Kat or not. He decided after Austin, he may as well just talk to Kat about it. He’d like her to go. Hell, it was important she go. Especially now, with her seeing that sonofabitch, Rick and all. Didn’t want him getting his claws too deep into her mind, turning her over to the dark side, so to speak.

The sun was going down, and it was getting cold. He hoped against hope that the heat would finally be on at home. Thus far, it had been candles and oil lanterns for heat. It wasn’t enough, and October loomed on the horizon. Her icy grip chilled his flesh. Or was it tomorrow?
Was October tomorrow?
He wasn’t sure. He’d have to ask Kat.

Kat was preparing dinner when Terry walked in. The little propane camp stove offered some heat too, but Kat always opened a window for ventilation, thus rendering any potential heat gain moot.

“Hey, smells great,” Terry said. “What’s cooking?”

Kat stirred the saucepan on the stove and said, “Oh, you know…just some of the finest cuisine available…from a can. Actually, it’s Pork and Beans…. And, I was going to make a side of rice.”

“Sounds just fine to me.”

“So,” Kat said, “is your head feeling better then?” She already knew it was, just by how Terry was acting but wanted to be sure.

“Yeah, I mean—the pain, it’s like—all gone now. It’s great.”

Kat put the spoon down and turned to give Terry a big hug. “That
is
great! This calls for a celebration. I’ve got a bottle of wine. Maybe we crack it open tonight.”

Terry couldn’t believe his ears. “A bottle of wine? Where did you get that?”

“One of the guys at work. He works part-time salvage and part-time Infrastructure. He gave it to me. I think he’s sweet on me. It’s actually kind of cute.”

“Nice! Well, I’m game, uncork that bad boy,” Terry said.

Kat went to the cupboard and pulled it out from behind their canned goods. “I’m going to leave that to you. There’s no corkscrew in this kitchen.”

“Not a problem,” Terry said. “I’ve got a screwdriver and a terrible thirst.” Terry worked on opening the wine, Kat worked on dinner, and the kids worked on their homework.

CHAPTER TEN

T
he wine was good. It was red wine, not Terry’s favorite, (he was more of a beer man) but that warm, friendly buzz was a most welcome sensation. Kat and Terry sat in the living room, warmed by the three candles on the coffee table and the wine in their bellies.

“So, how’s work going at the transfer station?” Terry asked.

Kat swirled the wine in her glass. “Oh, it’s going, they’re getting close. I don’t really know. I just make sandwiches.”

Terry smiled. The wine was working. “I like sandwiches.”

Kat slanted her brow. “Are you drunk?”

Now Terry laughed. “The sad thing is, I think I might be. Drunk...on half a bottle of wine. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“How’s work going for you?” Kat asked.

“Well, I carry dead bodies around all day. It’s not all that great…but, there is one silver lining.”

“And, what would that be?”

“I work with this guy, Vince—good guy.” Terry tipped his glass, taking another sip. “Anyway, he told me about this meeting that’s going on tomorrow tonight. I thought it might be something we would be interested in.”

“Oh? And, what is this meeting tomorrow night about?”

Terry gulped down the last of his wine. “It’s about our future. About getting out of this place and away from these so-called
New Patriots.
”

“Hmmm,” Kat said, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea I’ve ever heard, Terry. You know, there’s people on the lookout for groups like this starting up.”

“All the more reason to go,” Terry said.

“Maybe, but it’s not a real safe move. Besides, what is it that you think they’re going to do? Overthrow the new government?” Kat started laughing. The wine was working on her too.

“Living here is like committing suicide, Kat. You’ve seen all we’ve had to give up,
our freedoms
, to even be here. It’s only going to get worse. I don’t know what the end game is, but I don’t intend to stick around to see it, either.”

“You’re going to have to count me out,” Kat said, “I’ve got too many little people relying on me to risk getting locked up or killed for some silly meeting.”

Terry scoffed at this. “No one’s getting locked up or killed, Kat. It’s just a meeting, for
Chrissakes.”

“It’s treason,” Kat said.

The meeting was about to start. Excitement was palpable in the air. So was the rank smell of body odor. Without enough electricity for hot water, personal hygiene was mostly on holiday. After a while, one got used to it, though. People shuffled about the old cinema, about forty in all. Terry spotted Shane from when he was working at the transfer station and gave a wave.

Kat had decided not to come, so Terry went with Vince. Austin was there too, as promised. Or threatened. It all depended on how you looked at it. Vince still saw him as a threat, but Terry welcomed him. Otis Kearns, the orderly from the clinic, was there, too, and Terry gave him a nod.

A call to order was made, and people took their seats. Candles and a few oil lanterns cast a dim glow, shadows dancing. The theater was a pretty good place to assemble, Terry supposed. No windows, walls well-insulated for sound. He wondered what would happen if they were found out. Maybe Kat was even right. The First Amendment, along with all the rest had been thrown out. They said it was for the safety of the people, for all of us. It was just too dangerous of a time for people’s words to get other people’s minds riled up. It just wasn’t safe. For the good of us all, we were under martial law. Under the thumb of the New Patriots.

A man in his late forties, maybe early fifties, stood up and introduced himself. “Hello, and thank you all for coming. My name is Duncan Whyte, and I think we all know why we are here.”

There was a general murmur of approval, and he continued, “These New Patriots, or so they like to call themselves, are nothing but a power-hungry group of corrupt individuals looking to force feed their idealism down our throats, all the while conditioning us to be their slaves.”

With that, a round of applause broke out. “I know, I know,” Duncan said, “It’s good to hear it voiced, to hear your point of view validated, but remember…and this is deadly serious…we have to be careful. When we assemble as we are here tonight, we’ve got to be quiet about it. And outside of here…we’ve got to be very careful. Spread the word, yes, but only with extreme diligence and care. Remember, loose lips sink ships, and this is our one and only way out of here. It is only through careful planning and group cooperation that any of us, our children, their children, will ever live as free men and women again.”

Another round of applause, more hushed this time.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about and we will, but first: I’d like to go around the room, introduce yourself and tell us your brief history. Cliff notes only.”

At this, there was some laughter. It was good to hear. People hadn’t been doing so much laughing in the last couple of months.

Austin stepped outside into the cool, night air and gentle sprinkles fell on his face. He pulled his collar snug and did his best to ignore the chill. What he could not ignore was Rick’s voice behind him.

“
Pssst
, Austin. Come here.” Rick crept behind a dumpster in the alley that Austin was walking by. “What were you doing in there?”

“Rick?” Austin said. “What are
you
doing?”

“I am doing some re-con on these trouble-makers, these dissenters…they’re in for a world of hurt. This is not your day, pal.”

“Whoa, hey…I was just checking it out is all,” Austin said, his face scrunched with worry.

Rick smiled his smug smile. “And that is all it takes to get yourself branded as a traitor to the New Patriots. Now…that’s not what you want—is it?”

“No, God, no. I was just curious is all, I swear it!”

Rick crossed his arms, looking steely at Austin. “There might be a way out of this for you, now that I think about it. Come…walk with me.”

Austin followed, though begrudgingly. His heart told him not to follow Rick down the alley. His head told him he was as good as dead if he didn’t.

He and Rick had known each other for a long time. They’d been classmates at West Seattle High School, and though never close, they did know each other the way that classmates do—maybe not in specifics, but in a general sense. He knew what kind of a man Rick was. Rick was always the cool kid, part of the in-crowd. Austin was always outside, on the fringe. Truth be told, he never particularly liked Rick—he was a mean sonofabitch—but he had sought his approval nonetheless. He didn’t think this was like that, though. This was do or die.
What have I done?
Austin asked himself as he followed Rick. He had no choice in the matter. None whatsoever.

Rick led him to an abandoned warehouse three blocks north of the theater. “Let’s go, Austin. I’m not going to bite you.”

No, Austin feared it would be much worse than that….