Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots (3 page)

“It is,” Joe said.

“Oh shit. I love you, man.”

Joe chuckled, “It’s the little things that make all the difference. Here, I’ll pour you a cup.”

Terry scurried out of his sleeping bag and grinned. “Thanks, Joe, I knew it was a good idea to go with you.” The coffee was delightful after four days without. Making his living as a trucker, Terry drank copious amounts of coffee and energy drinks. He’d had a dull headache since the world ended and now he felt it letting up for the first time. They sat in silence for a moment, Terry savoring the delight in his cup.

“I can’t help but think, we need horses,” Joe said.

“Yeah, that would be great, but how in the hell are we gonna get horses?”

“Well,” he began, “what if we just
took
them?”

“Took them? I don’t know…. I have a feeling the new world might not take too kindly to horse thieves. Probably be a pretty good way to get shot.”

Joe nodded. “I know what you’re saying, I do, but it might be the only chance you’ve got to get back to Katherine and your little niece and nephew—before it’s too late.”

Terry agreed, he had a point there, but he had always prided himself on his honesty. He was no thief. Once, when he was five, he stole a pack of gum from Miller’s Market and Dad had royally tanned his hide. The next day he had to go back into the store with his father and apologize to Mr. Miller and hand over the entire contents of his piggy bank. It was a lesson he never forgot and he never laid hands on that which did not belong to him again.
But, this was different, wasn’t it? Could be a matter of life and death….

“Maybe you’re right, Joe. I mean, I hate to take something that’s not mine, but maybe you’re right.”

Terry and Joe sat by the small campfire on the edge of the river, drinking their coffee, eating a modest breakfast and Terry pondered the ramifications of stealing a horse.

Taking a horse could potentially save his sister’s life and the kids’, but what if it also ended someone else’s?
Maybe they’re relying on that horse too.…

“So how do we go about stealing horses?” Terry questioned.

“I don’t know exactly. Never done it before…but I was thinking we find a horse ranch or whatever, wait till dusk and saddle up. If it’s a decent size operation, they’ll never even miss the horses—we’d practically be doing them a favor—less to feed.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Terry said though he wondered if that was a line of self-justifying bullshit.

As he wondered and worried, rain gathered on the horizon—good news. Rain meant fresh water, a cleansing shower, and cooler temps. Today’s walk would take them away from the river so any rainfall would be most welcome.

CHAPTER THREE

D
aniel Wheatley struck a match and lit his propane camping stove. He set the tea kettle over the flame and stepped outside to feed the chickens and gather the eggs. The hens clucked noisily anticipating feed, then shut up just as fast when he threw them the scraps.

“Hmm, good job today, girls,” he said, gathering their eggs—seven this morning.

Daniel walked back to the old farmhouse. The stairs creaked under his weight, old wood fibers long since broken down, held together by old age and stubbornness only. White paint flaked from the body and loose panels of metal roofing flapped in the wind when it blew, but she was a good old house that had sheltered many families; full of love and fond memories.

The Wheatleys had lived there seven years now and though fixing up the old house had kept slipping to the bottom of the to-do list, there was no place Daniel would rather be. They had a spring-fed artesian well with a backup hand pump behind the house. A large vegetable garden and a small orchard of fruit trees flanked the right side. On the left, they had horses, chickens, goats and a hog. Along the road frontage, he grew hay, and behind that, five acres were fenced for pasture and the horse barn. All in all, it was a damned fine place to weather the apocalypse…or whatever this was. All he knew for sure was nothing electrical worked anymore, and neither did his cars or the tractor.
Well shit, I guess we’re Amish now, haha.

The whistle of the tea kettle greeted him as he walked through the door. Daniel turned off the burner and dumped grounds in a French press, then poured the water in and waited. It sure took a lot longer than the Bunn.

A few minutes later, Brandee walked downstairs in her pink robe and yawned.

“You’re up early, babe,” she said.

“Oh yeah, I couldn’t sleep.” It was a quarter to five.

“Why not? Worrying again?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Aw, honey…my little worrier. You need to get some sleep. Leave the worrying for the Lord. He will provide. He always has.”

“I know,” Daniel replied, “I know—it’s just a lot to swallow all at once.”

Brandee was a devout Baptist and Daniel went along for the ride, mainly because he loved his wife. He was more of an agnostic, honestly. He didn’t see how there could be so much suffering and daily injustice in a world supposedly ruled over by a benevolent
Heavenly Father.
Nonetheless, he saw no harm in going, and he figured the effect on his children was mostly good. Though, in the back of his mind, he ranked God right up there with Santa Claus...and the Easter Bunny. He kept that mostly to himself, though.

Brandee poured Daniel and herself a mug of coffee and sat down at the table. “Don’t worry, Hun. Everything is going to work out according to God’s plan. He’s set us up real nice here, and whatever happens, happens.”

Daniel faked a smile though it must have been transparent at best.

“You might not believe me, but you’ll see.”

“No, no, you’re right. We’ll get through one way or another,” Daniel said, and he squeezed her hand. “I love you.”

They drank their coffee, Brandee prepared breakfast, and Daniel attended to the rest of the animals.

Susan and Ted Wheatley bounded down the stairs at half past 7. So far, they liked recent developments just fine. Well, Ted did anyhow. September was almost here which meant school would be starting, but not this year. Maybe not ever again according to Ted’s friend, Nick. Nick said his dad told him that, ‘The world was never gonna be the same. All the weak people were gonna die off, and only the strongest would survive.’ Ted figured he and his family were probably a part of the latter group. He wasn’t even scared, so that had to count for somethin’. And besides that, mommy and daddy was tougher than nails, so he knew he would be just fine. It was all actually kind of exciting; last man standing and all that. Mommy also said that they would be raptured if things got
too bad.
At first, that scared him. He thought raptured sounded a bit too much like tortured, but mommy said it was a good thing, a
very good
thing. It meant God would come down and scoop up all the righteous and take ‘em back to heaven and save ‘em from the evil doers. It also meant going to heaven without havin’ to die first. That was good, cause dyin’s scary.

“Mommy! What’s for breakfast? I’m hungry,” Ted said, still three stairs up from the bottom.

“Hi, sweetie. How about pancakes and eggs?”

“Yes, please!”

Susie brushed her long, brown hair as she walked and sat down at the table. She was quiet this morning, and Brandee noticed.

“What’s the matter, Susie?”

“Oh nothing—I just miss my friends I guess,” Susie said then sneezed hard enough to bring tears.”

“Whoa, are you all right? That was a big sneeze.”

“I don’t know…I don’t feel very good,” Susie said, looking out the window. “When do you think the power will come back on so we can go back to school?”

“I don’t know, Susie. I wish I did, believe me. Let me fix you some breakfast.” Only Brandee knew it wouldn’t be coming back on; not anytime soon. Call it a feeling or a premonition, but she knew it wasn’t coming back on. That seemed to be the general consensus among everyone she had spoken with. She had ridden her horse to town the day before, and most folks were convinced that Armageddon was here. Technology is dead, modern medicine is gone. Some people said the government was behind it. This was all an elaborate plot to destroy the USA, default on the national debt and put a new dictatorship in place. They also said it was population control, and there was no doubt in Brandee’s mind it would have that effect. She didn’t know about all of the conspiracy talk, though. She had seen the sun exploding. That was God’s hand, not man’s.

There were rumors that the President was dead, and the Chinese had invaded, taking over the country for defaulting on our loans. In a year’s time, we’d all be eating rice and worshiping the Buddha or some damn thing. Not the Wheatleys, though. They put their faith in the Lord. They always had and they always would.

A seed of doubt crept into her mind briefly. She hoped her faith would be enough. She prayed it would be enough.

Ted ate his breakfast with unrelenting urgency. He wanted to get outside and help his dad. Susie tickled her food with the fork and took a bite at last like it was a chore, her burden to bear.

“Susie, eat your food. After breakfast, we can go outside and take the horses for a ride if you like.” Brandee hoped this would cheer Susan up.

Susie nodded, her eyes filled with mist, and she sneezed again. “Thanks, mom, but I think I’ll go back to bed.”

The sky opened up, and heavy rainfall beat on the old, metal roof.

Joe and Terry arrived in Woodburn late in the afternoon. It was still raining, and they ate a quick supper beneath a gas station cover and then began scouting around for horses.

A wrought iron sign set high in the sky between log posts over a driveway drew them in. It read,
WHEATLEY RANCH.
It was a lovely sign; expensive—and in retrospect, a horrible idea.

They peeked between the boards in the barn and saw three horses, a tack room, and an old tractor. The barn was at least one hundred feet from the house, and Joe was pleased. Terry was still apprehensive, but willing. He had to get back to Seattle one way or another.

“This is it,” Joe said, “We wait until dark and then we ride. Do you know how to saddle a horse?”

Terry had only ridden a horse once in his life. “I have NO idea.”

“That’s okay; I can help you.”

They leaned against the far side of the barn, waiting for dark, and trying to stay dry beneath a minimal roof overhang. The wind whipped and sent the drip wherever it pleased. An hour and a half passed and the outlaws were soaked and cold.

“Okay, let’s go,” Joe said, “Cock your pistol and be ready.”

“Cock my pistol? What are you talking about? We’re not
shooting anybody
.”

“Just in case, now c’mon!” Joe said and rushed around the side of the barn.

“Joe,
wait
!” Terry said as forcefully and as quietly as possible, but Joe was already gone. “Fuck!” Terry clicked his safety off, but he didn’t cock the pistol.

Inside, Joe was prying the tack room door open with a bar that had been lying around. It sprung open, and the horses whinnied. Joe grabbed a saddle and a bridle. “Hurry, grab the other one there.”

The first stall creaked open on rusty hinges, and Joe clipped a lead rope onto a spotted Palomino’s halter. “Here, Terry, hold her for me.”

She was a big horse and holding her pretty much scared the shit out of him, but he found she held still if he just held the rope and gave her a small measure of slack.

Joe draped a saddle blanket over her back, then threw the saddle over her. She jumped just a little, but not as much as Terry did. “Relax, she won’t hurt you.”

“Sure…. Sure she won’t.” Terry wished he shared Joe’s conviction. Joe took the rope and hitched the horse to the stall.

“C’mon, we’re almost outta here,” Joe said. He went to the next stall and led a tall, golden Tennessee Walker out. “This will be your ride. Walkers have a nice, smooth gait.”

“Where’d you learn about horses?”

“Huh? Oh. My parents had ‘em when I was a kid, and my wife and I had a couple.”

“You’re married?”

“Nah, divorced.”

“Oh, sorry,” Terry said.

“It was a long time ago, now here, hold him steady.”

Joe was cinching up the flank strap when the unmistakable
cha-chunk
of a shotgun broke the relative silence. It was Daniel Wheatley, and he was not impressed. “Get the fuck outta my barn before I pump your asses full a’ buckshot!” he bellowed.

Terry dropped the lead rope, turned slowly and put his hands in the air. “Oh shit, we don’t want any trouble, sir.”

“A little late for that, don’t ya’ thi—” He was cut short by Joe’s 9mm slug, right in the heart. Daniel fell to the ground, lay there and gurgled.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Terry screamed, “You didn’t have to do that!”

“It was him or
us
—now help me. We have to hurry.”

Terry wanted to run away right then, but he feared Joe might shoot him if he did. He was in it now. He’d been in deep shit before, but not like this. Terry didn’t pull the trigger, but he felt just as guilty as if he had.

Brandee came out onto the porch and cried, “Daniel! Are you okay?—Daniel!”

Terry and Joe raced away on the Wheatleys’ ill-gotten horses.

It was still raining hard, and Terry and Joe rode much of the night. The horses' feet sank into the rain-drenched soil of the median, but they kept on under their new riders' direction. Terry wondered what the horses must think; being stolen away in the night, gunshot and a dead owner, being forced to plod through this downpour. He concluded they must not think much at all.

They rode for hours though he wasn’t sure how many now that timekeeping was dead. He was doing well if he could keep track of the days, which he tried to do, but forget the hours. In time he would lose track of the days, then the months and then keeping track of seasons would be the best that he could do, but for now, he knew it was Friday….
Or maybe it was Saturday if midnight had already come and gone.

He and Joe didn’t talk much. It was too loud to talk with the rain beating down on the pavement beside them. Terry was half thankful for that. He was beginning to question his choice of companions. Joe had just shot that poor bastard without a moment’s hesitation. Keeping company with Joseph Hughes meant trouble and Terry intended to make his exit sooner rather than later. He had a feeling he would wind up dead himself if he didn’t split.