Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots

by Rusty Henrichsen

  “Excuse me, I need some information,” Terry said.

  “What kind of information?”

  “My sister is here, and I need to find her.”

  “Okay. Let me just verify your identity,” He said, and produced a pen-sized scanner from his breast pocket. Terry had actually thought it was a pen. The guard waved it over Terry’s forehead and then his right hand.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but that information is classified. We don’t give information to non-patriots about anyone in our zone.”

  “Non-patriots? I’m an American, and it’s my sister I’m talking about!”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you until you’ve been verified, now back up.” He didn’t look like he was joking, and Terry didn’t relish the thought of a rifle slug in his chest.

  He pinned his elbows to his sides and raised his hands slightly. “Okay…what do I need to do?”

  “Hold on.” He closed the door, it latched loudly. He returned a moment later with a clipboard full of paperwork and a pen attached by a short lanyard. “Come back after you’ve got this filled out with your identification.”

  I don’t have any identification, Terry thought to say, but the door was latched tight before the thought was given breath.

  * * *

  “So, here’s what you do—you get the chip, find your sister, you dig the chip out and implant it into a dog or something.”

  Terry kept scribbling and barely lifted his head.

  “Or—you could take it out in a warm water bath…. That actually might be better…. Hmmm….” Thomas was deep in thought now, granting Terry temporary quiet.

  “What the hell is this?” Terry began, “They want to know how I’ve voted in every election.”

  “Yup. Think liberal. You put down conservative candidates, and you might not even get the chip…which would actually be doing yourself a huge favor.” Thomas trailed off with the last part, but Terry heard him just fine.

  “Okay, then—it’s Gore, Kerry, Obama, Obama?” The first Obama vote was even true. He had gotten pretty tired of Bush and the neocons waging war all over the planet. Some change had sounded pretty good. By the time 2012 rolled around, Terry had resigned himself to the truth: change, or at least positive change, was an absolute myth in the political arena. Same bullshit, different packaging. Maybe conservatives drove slower, but they were all heading to the same place, funded by the same corporations.

  Thomas nodded his head. “Just tell ‘em what they wanna hear, and then you pledge allegiance to the New Patriots.”

  “Jesus. They want to know everything, but the last time I took a dump. Gun control, healthcare, welfare, abortion, immigration, education….”

  “They’re just trying to see if you’re gonna be a problem. Sing the tune that fits their ear, you got me? And when you get to the part about occupation, put down that you’re an electrician. Or a lineman…something like that.”

  Terry interjected, “But I don’t know anything about that stuff.”

  “That’s not the point, Terry. The point is finding your sister.”

  “Well, yeah but….”

  “Trust me.”

  Terry couldn’t believe it, but here he was, trusting some guy who looked like he would be holding a cardboard sign on the Seattle streets, begging for change. At this point, what did he have to lose?

  * * *

  The flu shot wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. It put Terry under the weather for three days. What sort of irony was it that he, a survivor of the flu thus far, would catch it by being vaccinated against it? The microchip, on the other hand, was bad. It hurt like a bitch. It was injected into his forehead with a horse needle, wide as it was long. Once it found home, it sprung its little micro-tentacles like roots, locking it in place. Thomas suspected those tentacles were also part of the triggering mechanism. You break one of those little legs off and—boom…. Those little legs touch air and—boom…. Or those little legs get cold—boom….

  This was a big commitment. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it. Terry was a Patriot now, though he didn’t suppose the word meant the same thing as it had in his old life, in the old world. Now it meant embracing tyranny—technology enforced communism. The New Patriotism. Only Terry wouldn’t embrace it; he would fake it. Just like Sunday school when he was a kid. It was just until he found Kat, got her and the kids out of here, to someplace safe…. But where?

  He thought again of the east side of the Cascades. It was nothing but podunk towns, mountain streams and plenty of game. Maybe there, they would be left alone—forgotten. That would be just fine.

  * * *

  Terry had been put up in a kind of hostel. He was getting over the hump with the mini-flu the vaccine had given him and was glad for it. Glad, because he knew he wasn’t going to catch it full-fledged and glad, because this meant he would be put to work, giving him the opportunity to find his sister. If she’s even here….

  Of course, she’s here, he thought. Where else would she be? She’s not taking to the wilderness on her own with two small children. Of course, she’s here. Unless she’s already dead….

  “She’s not dead!” Terry blurted, surprising himself and the fella on the top bunk.

  “Nah, man. She ain’t dead.” Jasper Ives poked his head over the edge of the bunk and smiled. Bright, white teeth were in stark contrast to his dark face. Like, Southern Sudan dark.

  “Sorry…I guess I was talking to myself.”

  “I guess you was,” he chuckled. It was a booming chuckle. A belly laugh would probably shake the halls. “So who is it that ain’t dead, whitey?”

  Terry blushed a little at being called, whitey. “My sister. I’m looking for my sister.”

  “Ah—well I’m sho’ she be fine. The gubmints been takin’ real good care up in here.”

  “Yeah,” Terry replied flatly. “I’m Terry by the way.”

  “Jasper.”

  “So how long have you been here, Jasper? I mean—are you working?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m a workin’ part-time with Infrastructure, and part-time doin’ salvage. You will be too, I expect.”

  “Good. Yes.”

  The bell rang, and it was time to watch another film. They watched films every day. Films about the new patriotism. Films about global responsibility and obedience. We’re all just cogs in a machine, laboring for the greater good. Some of it, he could sympathize with. The trouble was, who was at the controls of the great machine? What had happened to free will and opportunity?

  Dean was right about this place…. This is a re-education camp….

  * * *

  Back at Command, a new leader took his oaths of office.

  “And do you solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the New Patriot Charter?”

  “I do,” Charles said, right hand upraised, left hand on a small book—The New Patriot Charter.

  “And do you solemnly swear to uphold your duty as Chancellor, watcher over New Seattle, allegiant to the New Patriot Party alone?”

  “I do.”

  “By the powers vested in me by the New Patriot Party, I name you, Charles Price, Chancellor over New Seattle.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Charles said, “I won’t let you down.”

  The officiant extended his right hand. “Congratulations, Chancellor. Name your Second in Command.”

  “I’ve chosen Rick Verdin as my Second,” Charles said.

  “Rick Verdin. Please step forward.”

  Rick was ceremoniously sworn in just as Charles had been and New Seattle had new leaders. Charles would lead until he was either decommissioned or dead. Rick would take over in the event of either scenario and then name his own Second.

  FEMA and all the rest pulled out that night, bound for Salt Lake City to set up another new city.

  Charles and Rick got quite drunk that night, celebrating their new positions.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  They sat at a fold up card-table in metal-backed chairs playing gin rummy.

>   “Do you ever—worry about all of this—training?” Terry asked Jasper.

  “How do ya’ mean?”

  “Well, doesn’t this kinda strike you as…a re-education camp?”

  “Well, sure. Whatchu’ think? Course it is. We made a mess and now we’s gotta fix it.”

  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.”