Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots (12 page)

October brought with it complications, beyond that of just the cold weather. Vaccine supply had run low. Getting the power back on had taken longer than expected. It was beginning to look like the only survivors would be the ones already in camp. Not many people seemed to show a natural resistance to the flu. Chances were, if you weren’t already vaccinated, then you were dead.

Much of the vaccine had gone bad prior due to insufficient refrigeration. Now the weather was cool enough to preserve it. Getting another shipment, however, was problematic.

People were still flocking to Seattle to blindly accept their microchip and to get the vaccine that
could
save their lives. To join a community again, to get off the road, to continue. Terry was skeptical as to what that continuance entailed. The meeting had offered more food for thought. Maybe the flu was set intentionally…. Could that really be? It did sound at least possible, bordering on plausible.

Sick people were being turned away. Set out to die, no doubt. Healthy people, people without fever or other symptoms, were allowed in, at least temporarily. Most people had been set up in housing of their own, so the Key Arena was, once again, the quarantine center.

Cheers filled the air as the massive generators churned to life, bringing the transfer station online and bringing power to peoples’ homes. Weeks and weeks of replacing transformers, stringing wire and retrofitting houses were finally coming to a close.

It may not be such a bleak winter after all. This was cause for celebration. Previously, most of the power came from a large bank of solar panels. This was all well and good, but without a battery bank, it meant the power that was available, was only available during the day when the sun was out. Now, things could go back to almost normal. Well, not exactly. Sensitive electronics were all still fried, most of the cars were still dead, but if you had something to plug in, there was, at least, juice to run it. Portable generators no longer had to be relied upon to pump water.

The commissary passed out portable space heaters to those in need of them. Most did as modern heating systems microcomputer brains were fried during “the event.” The cost of said space heaters was conveniently deducted from one’s own account balance, conveniently stored on the microchip in their heads.
What could possibly go wrong?

It had been another long day of hauling bodies around, and Terry headed to the market after work to pick up a six-pack. Drowning his worries for the night sounded like just what he needed.

Alisia had scarcely left Terry’s mind since he’d met her. It had been some time since Terry had felt anything like affection for anyone…anyone besides family that is. She had a certain grace and confidence that was positively alluring. He wondered what her stance would be on the whole Anti-New-Patriot movement that was starting.

She had perhaps dropped a hint or two, that she also, was against the tyrants. If so, she could be an extremely valuable asset in the days and weeks to come.

She’s a doctor, she’s beautiful, and she knows how to deactivate the microchip. Triple threat—triple win.

Terry mustered his courage and approached her. It wasn’t easy. He’d never been much of a ladies’ man. Terry was usually too shy, too reserved. He decided then and there that the stakes were too high to sit around and wait. The stakes were too high to leave it to chance. Alisia Casswell could be the key to getting out of here in one piece.

There were perhaps thirty feet between the two of them, but it could have been thirty miles. It was a long walk, Terry’s stomach floated and rolled.

My God, am I really this big of a chickenshit? I need to get out more….

Terry cleared his throat. “Alisia?” She turned to face him. “Hi…it’s Terry…from the other day….”

“Of course. Hi, Terry. Feeling better?” Her green eyes looked up to his, but they made him feel small all the same.

“Yep,” and Terry lightly knocked on the side of his head. “All better. Thank you.”

“Good,” she said. An awkward pause followed, neither knowing quite what to say to the other. “Well, it was nice running into you, Terry. I had better get back to it.”

“Uh, yeah, you too,” Terry said, and he turned and walked away.

I ought to kick my own ass for being such a coward….
Next time….

“It’s just a little further. C’mon, sweetie. You can do this.” Actually, it was still miles further, but compared to all the days of walking they’d already done, it was just a little further.

Norma Carter and her son, Jason had been on the road for the better part of two weeks. Two weeks ago, there had been seven of them in the party. The flu had reduced their number to two.

“Mom…I can’t…I just need to rest,” Jason moaned. His eleven-year-old frame was not accustomed to this level of physical activity. He just wanted to play Xbox and have a snack, like back in the good old days—before.

“Five minutes,” Norma said. It was longer than she wanted to stop. She figured every minute spent on the road was another chance to catch the flu, another minute without the vaccine, another shot at
being shot.
People had not been in their finest form of late. People were fucking terrifying. They would kill you for a can of beans or a bottle of water. If you were a woman, then it was worse.

People lay dying in the streets and other people walked by and stole what they had. There was no help for the weak, injured or sick. If you got sick, well…
you were done.
Some people took the expressway when they got sick. Rather than wait, they would blow their brains out, slit their wrists, hang themselves—whatever. It was grim.

“We have to keep moving, Jason,” Norma reminded him.

“I know, Mom.” He rolled his eyes and plopped down to the ground.

“You watch your tone with me, young man.”

“Okay. Sorry, Mom.”

“Here—drink some water.” She ruffled her son’s hair and smiled, then focused her attention on keeping guard. A watchful eye was your only shot for survival. Let your guard down for one minute and you were dead.

Another hour and a half of walking brought them to Seattle. Norma and Jason arrived late. The sun had been down for at least thirty minutes and the cold set in. It had been hard to shake the cold lately. It rained everyday for most of the day, and they were soaked to the bone. It seemed they never had a chance to dry off…warm up. Not if they wanted to keep moving and Norma wanted to keep moving. She wasn’t going to let her son die out there, no way.

They took their place in line, but Refugees were filing into Seattle faster than they could be processed. Hordes of people were backed up for block after block with no end in sight, hoping to secure a cot for the night. Hoping to have a chance at some kind of future. A life off of the road.

“We made it, hun,” Norma said, and she clasped her hand on the back of Jason’s neck. “We made it.”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “When’re we gonna be able to go to bed?”

“Soon, hun, soon.” She didn’t know if that was the truth or not—if they would have a bed tonight—but it seemed closer than ever now, and Norma thanked God for their good fortune.

“We’ve got to do something, Chancellor,” Rick said. “Start turning them away…something. We’re getting overrun.”

“And how do you see that going for us?” Charles said. “If we start turning people out, they’ll riot. Next thing we know, we’ll be shooting them. Do you really think you’re ready for that?”

“I don’t see that we have much choice. I mean, look outside. More people are waiting to get in than we have food for. And there’s
way more
than we have the vaccine for.”

“So, we keep doing what we’re doing. Take ‘em in if they’re healthy—get ‘em chipped. More vaccine will arrive soon enough.”

“And what about food?” Rick said.

“We’ve got food.”

“For how long? There are more people lined up to get in the city than we already have in the city.”

Charles shook his head. “And what would you have me do? Just turn them all away to starve and freeze?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Rick said, “for us to make it…then, yes.”

Charles just stared at the man before him for a few moments. This guy is an asshole, he thought. Rick the Prick was a well-deserved moniker, no doubt.

“We are not there yet, Rick, and I am not ready to make that call.”

“Well, somebody better,” Rick muttered.

“Oh, and let me guess, you think you’re just the guy to make that call. You think everything would be better if you were in charge. Well, let me tell ya’ something—you’re not in charge. Now, get back out there and do your damn job.”

“Yes, Sir,” Rick said. He closed the door and fought the urge to punch a wall.
How dare that motherfucker talk to him like that? You’re goddamned right things would be better if I were in charge!

Perhaps, just perhaps, Charles’s period of usefulness was coming to a close. The thought put a smile on Rick’s face. He walked, his boots clomping noisily on wet pavement, and he thought, what would it take to get rid of Charles? Not much, he decided. Seven grams of lead ought to do it.

And what about this new anti-movement growing up? What was Charles going to do about that?
He’ll probably just let it grow and fester out of control
. We can’t have that. No way. Dissenters must be quashed where they stand. The New Patriots are the way, the future.

The second meeting of the Anti-Movement was coming to a close. Old theater seats rattled and creaked. Laughter. Apprehension. Excitement. No longer would they be under the boot of the New Patriots. A new day was dawning. Freedom would be theirs once again. Maybe soon.

Terry approached Duncan and cleared his throat. “Duncan, have you got a minute?”

“Sure, Terry. What’s up?”

“Well—I’m getting a little antsy, to be honest,” Terry said. “What is our timeline here…I mean talk is nice, but when are we going to actually get out of here? And where are we going to go?”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Terry, but we’ve got to be smart about this,” Duncan said. “We move too fast, and all we’ll achieve is death—ours, more than likely.”

“Right, but…I feel like all we’re doing here is talking. I’d like to steer this more in the direction of planning.”

Duncan bristled. He didn’t mean for Terry to see it, but he did.

Terry wondered if he had crossed a line.
Too much…slow down, turbo.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off as critical,” Terry said.

“No, no…maybe you’re right,” Duncan said. “Maybe we do need to speed things up a little. I’m new at all of this too, you know?”

“Absolutely, I understand, I do.” And he did, but that changed nothing. The fact was that Terry could not shake the feeling that time was ticking down. Soon, they would be down to zero.
What happens at zero?
Terry didn’t want to find out.

“The truth is, I do have a plan…a place to go,” Duncan said. “I’ve been a little hesitant to bring it up because it’s
my
place and I don’t necessarily want everyone knowing where it is just yet. Don’t want someone else running off and claiming it. You know?”

“Sure,” Terry said. “That makes sense…. Could I ask where it is? I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind telling you,” Duncan said. “It’s my cabin on Lake Kachess, over the Pass. Completely off-grid, wood stove, it’s set up real nice. It’s been my vacation spot for years and also my bug-out location for when the shit hits the fan.”

“If you’ve got a place like that,” Terry said, “what in the hell are you doing here?”

“Good question,” Duncan said and smiled. His grin faded and went out. “I’ve got a son…and…I came here looking for him.” He cast his eyes down.

“I’m sorry,” Terry said.

Duncan rebounded quickly. “It’s okay. Might still find him. I mean, for all I know he’s at the cabin now.”

“Was that the plan? Were you guys…supposed to meet up…like, if anything happened?”

“No, not exactly. I’ve always been, you know, fairly preparedness minded. Him—not so much. I went to the cabin first when the shit hit the fan, and I waited for him, but he never showed up…. I hoped I’d find him here, but….”

“Well, I hope he’s there,” Terry said. “How big is this cabin of yours?”

“It’s small, but there’s lots of room to build more cabins and plenty of logs to build them with,” Duncan said, and smiled. “I’ll tell you what, I’ve been thinking about getting some committees going and maybe you would like to participate in that. Maybe, you would even like to head up one of the groups.”

“What did you have in mind?” Terry said.
Now. we’re getting somewhere.

“I was thinking of a preparation committee, you know, one that’s in charge of gathering supplies. The things we need to live…eat…that sort of thing. And secondly, I was thinking of a planning committee. That one would be in charge of, well—planning. We need a good plan if we’re going to get out of here in one piece.”

Terry nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“So, what do you think? Would you be willing to lead one of those groups?” Duncan said.

“Sure. Which one?”

“I’ll let you choose. You seem capable of leading either. You’ve got the drive.”

“Well, thank you, Duncan. I’ll think on it and let you know tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow then. Have a good night, Terry.”

Austin left the meeting, walked a block and turned the corner toward home.

“Psst…
Austin
…Come here.”

Austin turned and saw Rick.
Creeping.
Austin had his reservations about helping Rick. He also had reservations about dying for not helping Rick.
It was complicated.
He wondered if there was even any chance of getting out of this alive. It was a dangerous game he was playing.

Sure, Rick would probably destroy him if he didn’t cooperate, but who’s to say someone else from the meeting wouldn’t kill him if they found out what he was up to?

“Hey. Hi, Rick.”

“Shut up and get over here.” Rick hissed, waving impatiently with his hand. “So, what did you hear tonight, little birdie? Tell me everything…and don’t leave anything out.”