Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots (8 page)

Shit….
Jasper would be no ally in Terry’s rising civil disobedience. Not that he was planning a riot or anything, but someone to commiserate with might be nice. A small comfort in a world upside down.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. For the greater good.” Terry had to bite his cheek. Spewing snippets of the mantra didn’t sit well with him. Terry thought he should let the issue die, but he could not seem to help himself.

Terry lay down another three card run, “But doesn’t it feel a little like Nazi Germany to you?”

“No, man. It don’t feel that way at all.” Jasper’s eyes betrayed him, darting back and forth as he said the words. They weren’t the confident eyes of a man stating his truth. “Listen, man. I’m’a tell you this one time. Don’t be talkin’ like that. A man be sayin’ things like you be sayin’ right now, not be lastin’ long up in here. You got me? We’s all gotta do what we’s gotta do.”

Jasper’s eyes bulged, and his nostrils flared. Once again, Terry was astounded by the whites of his eyes against the backdrop of his skin. Like flashlights in the dark.

“Yeah. Yeah, I got you.”

“You keep talkin’ like that an’ we don’t hang no more. I ain’t gonna get strung up for no white man’s mouth.”

“I got it…. Are we cool?”

“Yeah. We cool. Now discard. It’s still your turn.”

Terry lay in his bunk that night, mind racing. What if he couldn’t find Kat? What if he did? How the hell would they get out of here with the chips in their heads? What if she wouldn’t leave with him? Suppose she had turned into one of the
sheeple,
like Jasper?

He didn’t know how, but he knew he had to get out, and God willing, Kat and the kids with him. He thought of his Bible again, stashed away in a hedge along with his small armory. Terry wished he had it to read right now, or anything to read right now. Reading was always good for sleep. What he wanted, though, were answers, and he wondered if he could find his in
the Book,
or anywhere else for that matter….

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep with limited success. In the morning, his work assignment began and with any luck, he would find Kat.

At the transfer station, he spotted her. Kat was in the makeshift kitchen area making sandwiches. Wheat bread, skim of mayo, bologna slice, Velveeta, bread topper, repeat. The food was almost worse than not eating at all. Almost.

“Kat! Katherine!” Terry called out when he got to within thirty feet.

Katherine turned toward him, “Terry? Oh my God, Terry!” She dropped the knife; it clattered to the plywood counter. “Oh my God, Terry! I thought you were dead.” She leapt at him and wrapped her arms tight around his neck.

“I’m okay,” Terry said. “
I’m okay
. What about Jon and Tabby? Where are they?”

“Oh, Terry. Jonathan got so sick, but he’s better now—after the vaccine, and Tabitha never got it,
thank God.
They’re at school right now.”

“School?”
Was it school, or was it an internment camp?

Katherine just looked at him, puzzled, then said, “Yes—school.”

“I don’t like this place, Kat. I don’t like it at all. Something’s not right; I can feel it.”

Katherine put her hands to her hips, and she reminded Terry of their mother for a moment. “Well, it sure beats the alternative. Wouldn’t you say? You don’t know how bad it was, Terry. People were killing each other over a loaf of bread. No water, no power, and sewage was running down the streets. Then, people started getting sick. We’d all be dead by now if they hadn’t shown up when they did.”

Terry shook his head. “I know exactly how bad it was, Kat. I walked here—rode a horse
part
of the way—I’ve seen plenty, but I’m telling you, these
Patriots
are trouble. Big trouble.”

“What would you have me do then? Just let the kids die? Huh?”

“No. No, of course, not…. That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is I found you. We can figure out the rest later.” Terry gave Katherine another hug.

At the end of the day, all the good, little worker bees clocked out, migrated back to the hive and Terry acquired the necessary permission to stay at his sister’s.
Un-fuckin’ believable. I need to ask permission for a sleepover. Go Patriots. The new “freedom.”
They said location services were, ‘strictly for his own safety.’
Right….

Kat and Terry walked the six blocks home with arms linked as they sometimes had as children. Despite the Orwellian circumstances, it was good to be back with family.

“Here it is,” Kat said. It was a simple, three-story brownstone, turned patriot housing for those with families. Katherine keyed the entry open, which opened to a small hall. Her apartment was on the left, another on the right, communal laundry and a stairwell straight ahead. LEDs rigged to a small, salvaged solar setup provided dim illumination.

“Uncle Terry!” Jonathan and Tabitha cheered as he walked through the door. Tabby leapt into his arms and Jonathan squeezed his waist tight.

“Oh my God. It’s so good to see you, munchkins!”

“Where have you been, Uncle Terry? Did you have to walk here?” Jonathan asked.

“I did have to walk here—well, mostly. I had a horse for a little while. This is the only place I’ve seen in two hundred fifty miles with power—or any kinda vehicle that actually runs.”

“Wow,” Jonathan exclaimed, and his eyes grew wide like he was contemplating the vastness of the universe. “We’re pretty lucky!”

“Yes, we are,” Terry agreed and ruffled Jonathan’s fine, sandy blond hair.

“What about you, Miss Tabby? How are you?” Terry lifted her above her head, spun around, and she giggled in delight; a gleeful sound that only little girls can make. Terry gave her another squeeze and set her down. “C’mon. Let’s help your mom make dinner.”

The next morning, Terry's ruse, posing as an electrician, lasted all of an hour.

“You’re no electrician, pal. Why the lie?” It was Terry’s work partner, Shane. He was soldering an electrical connection and glanced over his shoulder at Terry.

“What? Well, I was just getting started when everything happened. An apprentice, you know?” Terry felt his stomach turn.

“No…no, I don’t think so.”

Terry didn’t know what to make of it.
Should I keep digging or come clean?
“Okay, listen. You’re right. I don’t know what I’m doing. Someone told me my sister might be here, so I lied. I
had
to find her.” Terry made a quick, pensive visual sweep to see if anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation. He was relieved to find they were not.

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, good. So, why don’t you get on with it and ask for a new work assignment? You seem like an okay guy and all, but…I don’t have time for the babysitter routine. No offense. What were you really?”

Terry was half relieved but worried at the same time to have his secret out. “I drove truck, but there’s lots of other things I can do. And I can learn this, I can.”

“I’m sure you could, but I’m no teacher. Why not just ask to be transferred to transport? Or sanitation, or salvage, greenhouse duty, whatever.”

Terry looked down, shuffled his feet and said, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Relax, bro. I’m not mad, no one’s mad. I’m just sayin’, go do something you’re actually good at.”

Terry considered the suggestion for a moment, then asked, “So, how do I get—reassigned or whatever?”

“The same place you signed on. Back at the Command.”

“You mean…at
Key Arena?
”

“Yeah.”

“Should I go now?”

Shane laughed. “No, you’re fine. Wait till the end of the day. Or go at lunch if you want.”

“Okay.”

They worked in relative silence until Terry needed help. That didn’t take long. Shane put him back on task and went back to his.

“Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“So, you know all about electricity and such.”

“I suppose I know enough.”

“Is everything fried? From the flares? I mean, does anything work now—other than what the government has?”

“Well,” Shane began, “certain things will still work. Anything that was plugged into the grid or too close to the CME blast won’t, but I’m sure lots of things have survived. Larger appliances, tools and stuff that doesn’t have micro-circuitry.”

“What about cars?” Terry asked.

Shane scratched his stubbly chin, then replied, “Probably anything before about 1980 ought to still be all right. After that, most cars started going solid-state ignition, fuel injection, computer modules and such. All that stuff is fried for sure. I guess if you found something old enough with a carburetor that ran before, then it should still be able to run now. Getting fuel…that and getting the roads cleared would be the tricky part.”

“Huh, I see,” Terry said, trying to sound disinterested. What he really thought was, I’m going to find an old truck, and we are getting out of here.

At lunchtime, Terry got the permission he needed to move in with Kat and the kids. It still rubbed him in all the wrong ways, asking for permission, but so be it. He also got a new work assignment—not the one he wanted, but a new one—bio-sanitation.

“What is bio-sanitation?” Terry asked.

“It’s body cleanup,” the man behind the counter told him. “You will be a part of the crew scouring the city for bodies and taking them to the crematorium.”

Terry grimaced, but it bothered the man none. “Ya’ know, I’m a truck driver, not a mortician.”

“You’re hardly being asked to perform the duties of a mortician. Think of it as loading sacks of potatoes on a truck. You can do that,
can’t you?”

Terry nodded, but his face still showed his distaste for his orders.

“Besides, I’m sure you’ll get to drive the truck occasionally too.”

“Do I have any say in this?”

“You don’t. Thank you, Mr. Burrows. Report back here at 7 am and do have a pleasant evening.” He shut the sliding glass window that separated him from the minions, and that was that.

Fuck
…. Now Terry wished he really was an electrician. He could only imagine the dark sights and smells his immediate future held.

Terry walked to the hostel to gather his things and bid Jasper farewell. Jasper was at work, so Terry penned a note.

Hey Jasper,

I found my sister, so I’m off to live with her and the kids.

Take care, Terry

Terry walked to Kat’s place, but not before making a detour to where he’d stashed the wheelbarrow. New Seattle was quieter now that FEMA had pulled out. There were no longer soldiers
everywhere
you looked and with more permanent digs, he wanted to get possession of the rifle and shotgun he’d left behind before someone else did. He had stashed it in the cellar of an old place that had already burned. The kind of place that didn’t look like it had anything left in it worth salvaging.
You better hope you’re right.

It was a few blocks off the main thoroughfare and thus far, looked the same as he had left it. He took a quick peek around and saw no one peeking in on him, so he pulled back the heavy cellar doors. That and the heavy concrete bulwark they were framed into were about all that was left. Some of the charred posts and floor beams remained standing as well, keeping the rest of the burnt, collapsed framing off of the basement floor and if luck have it, off of his head.

In one corner the wheelbarrow still stood right where he left it. A good sign…. In the other corner, buried in a pile of rubble and broken lumber, he dug out the rifle and the shotgun. Relief filled him, but also dread. The thought of being caught with the contraband, the thought of digging a mound of flesh from his forehead, the thought of fucking it all up and getting Katherine or Jonathan or Tabitha killed.
No. Unimaginable. It’s not going down like that.

He took a long, clearing breath, then dragged the wheelbarrow out from the depths of the cellar.
Thump, thump, thump,
the wheels bounced up the concrete steps matching the rhythm of his heart. You sure you wanna do this?
Yes. I must.

He set the wheelbarrow down, looked around and again, and saw no one. Terry went back down into the cellar and fetched the firearms. He placed them in the wheelbarrow, then went back down again. He would gather whatever lumber he could and bury the guns beneath it, along with his Bible and water filter. With any grace, he would look like a guy salvaging a little building material rather than a gun runner. Gun runners would be shot, or worse—forced out of the zone so their chips could explode.

It was all part of the New Patriot Charter:
No man, woman or child shall keep or bear arms unless specifically called upon to do so by assignment to the New Patriot Militia. Ignorance or willful infringement of the Law shall be considered treason and punishable by death.

Terry thought on this provision of the new law and debated now if he had done the right thing at all, unearthing the guns again.

Maybe I should just put them back and wait….

Wait for what? Someone to steal them?

No, I don't think so.

Terry brought the guns home to stash them and stash them
well
. He could not afford to lose them. All it would take is a salvage crew or one of the bio-sanitation crews to go nosing around in the wreckage of that old house, and that would be it. That
was
their job after all.

Kat’s apartment was on the ground floor, and Terry began to search for the crawlspace access. It seemed the best place to hide his guns; away from Katherine and the kids, and more importantly, away from any authority types.

He found the hatch in the kids’ bedroom closet and carefully pulled back the lid. It was dark and smelled damp.
Shit.
This will rust the guns in no time.

Terry looked around for some oil to protect them, but cooking oil was all he could find.

“This will just have to do.”

He wiped the guns down generously then dampened a bath towel with the vegetable oil and wrapped them up in an oily cocoon. Terry used almost the entire bottle and putting it back in the cupboard he thought, Kat’s going to be pissed.