“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.
He eased himself down into the crawlspace and wished he had a light. Terry grabbed the guns and no sooner than he began to crawl, he ran face first into his first spider web.
“Ah, Jesus!” he cried and wiped the sticky silk from his face. He wanted to stash the guns perhaps twenty feet from the access just to be sure no one would find them, but a couple more spider webs convinced him that ten feet was ample.
Terry tucked his gun roll beneath the heavy, black, plastic vapor barrier and crawled back toward the daylight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bio-sanitation was a nasty job. House by house, they checked every one. About half of them were empty. About half of them were not. Those were the bad ones. Inside were the dead or the dying. If they were dead, they were loaded into the back of a covered truck for their appointment with the incinerator. If they were dying, they were put on the list of houses to re-check the following week. If they were just sick, but not too far gone, they were given direction to receive the vaccine and the chip. Some refused, but most wanted to live.
“Hey man, gimme a hand in here.” It was Terry’s new work partner, Austin. “You’re gonna love this one.”
Terry grimaced. He caught the sarcasm. “What is it?”
“It’s goddamn whale, that’s what it is. A whale of a woman!” Austin laughed and turned back into the house. Terry wished he could find amusement in all of this, but he could not.
“Coming,” he muttered and climbed the steps up to the whale’s tomb.
Seeing the woman, who had been dead perhaps a week, Terry decided, whale, was accurate.
“Good God, man! We should boil down the blubber for lamp oil,” Austin mused. Terry couldn’t help but chuckle at that one. Sense of humor, check.
It was all the two men could do to roll her onto a bed sheet and drag her out of the house and onto the porch.
“Aye, Captain. She’s a big’un. Four hundred pounder, this lass. Me reserves are spent. Permission to return below deck to me hammock?”
“Haha,” Terry said, “I’ll grab Vince to help us.” Vince was the driver and so far had been perfectly content not to touch any bodies.
Terry rapped at the door. “Hey, Vince. We need your help.”
“What?” Vince said with a mouthful, “I’m eating a sandwich!”
“Well, that must be very nice—but we still need your help.”
Vince swallowed and wiped crumbs from his face. “Aw, Gawd…okay, I’m comin’.”
“We need to get gone,” Vince said, still wiping crumbs from his lip, stepping out of the truck. “This place is bad news. Bad news.”
“It’s not so bad,” Austin was quick to reply. “C’mon, help us with the whale already.”
Vince was the biggest among them so he grabbed the woman beneath the arms while Austin and Terry both grabbed a leg.
Vince began to groan, “This is such bullshit, man.”
“It could be worse,” Austin said, “You could be one of the ones we’re cleaning up out here.”
“I guess,” Vince said, then trailed off with, “At least they’re free.”
Austin chuckled at this, but Terry’s ears perked. Here was perhaps someone else with a bad taste in their mouth about all of this. About this perverted situation and all the sheeple accepting it, being grateful for it even. Sure, it was true—maybe they would all be dead if the New Patriots weren’t here, if the vaccine hadn’t come along, but Terry was the kind of guy to look at
who was benefiting from a bad situation. To question what is and what might be. To look at who was working it like an oppurtunity? It appeared Vince might be that kind of guy too, and Terry made a mental note to talk to Vince alone later.
After some finagling, they managed to get the deceased woman loaded, mostly due to Vince’s extraordinary strength. They continued their day with none so heavy as she had been. Vince drove the truck while Terry and Austin continued to canvas the neighborhood.
* * *
“Hey, I know what you mean, Vince,” Terry started, “About them, at least, being free.”
“Huh? Oh—yeah.” It appeared Vince was not as eager to commiserate as was Terry.
“Something just doesn’t sit right with me. Do you know what I mean?” Terry asked.
Vince stroked his goatee and grimaced, seemingly sizing Terry up. Was he just another Pollyanna, like Austin and fishing for information? Sure, things are bad, but look at the bright side? Vince decided Terry was legit and made his reply after some consideration. “Nothing about any of this sits right with me,” he said as he made a wide sweeping gesture with both arms. “All of this is a big setup. Mark my words. Mark my words.”
“What kind of setup?” Terry asked.
“Damned if I know, but I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. This is some serious New World Order bullshit. I wouldn’t be surprised if the government put this flu on us on purpose…to get us to take the chip. To control us—absolutely. We’re fucked.”
Terry didn’t like what he was saying, but he couldn’t discount it either. Was it even possible that his own government could be behind something so sinister? Couldn’t be….
Terry saw what the sun did. There was no way Man was behind that. Impossible. But was it possible they had just been waiting for the right moment? Or that they knew the solar storm was coming and shaped their plans around its arrival?
Maybe they had some crazy technology where they could cause the sun to lose its shit. Maybe blast EMPs at it and it responded in kind?
“I don’t know, man. You may be right, but I sure as shit hope not.”
“Yeah. You and me both,” Vince said, pushing his glasses up a little higher on his nose.
“So…what do you suppose the other shoe dropping looks like exactly?” Terry asked.
“How in the hell would I know?” Vince said. “But think about it. There is nothing they cannot make you do now. Nothing. If you refuse, you’re dead. New Patriots, my ass.”
Neither one could believe just how much the world had changed in three short weeks.
* * *
When Terry arrived home that night, Kat was already fixing dinner. Jonathan and Tabitha were sitting on the living room floor playing games. “Uncle Terry!” they both cheered. This is my kind of homecoming, Terry thought.
“Hey guys, how was school today?”
“Fine,” they said in unison.
“What did you learn?” Terry asked.
Jonathan and Tabitha shrugged their shoulders and went back to the game of checkers they were playing.
“Well, my day was pretty good,” Kat said from the kitchen. Terry set his hat down on the small table beside the door and walked to the kitchen.
“Is that so?” he asked. “What happened?”
Kat continued to stir the soup she had on the stove as a smile brightened her face. She did have a beautiful smile.
“I think I may have met someone,” she said. “Today, on my shift.”
“Really? Well, that’s good. What’s his name?” Terry asked.
Jonathan’s ears perked. “What did you say, Mom?” he called from the living room.
“Nothing, sweetie. Play with you sister,” Kat called back. She continued to stir the soup, and when she was sure little ears were no longer eavesdropping, she turned back to Terry. “His name is Rick, and he is the Chancellor’s Second.”
Terry groaned. “Kat, that’s not the kind of guy we need around right now. We need to get out of here. Remember?”
Kat’s smile transformed into something closer to a scowl. “What is it that you think is out there exactly, Terry? You were out there. I think you’re the one who needs to remember. Besides, it’s just a job. Rick’s not like that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything,” Terry began, “He might be a great guy. I’m just not sure we need any extra eyes on us right now. He works for the New Patriots, for the Chancellor, Kat. That’s…maybe not such a great idea.”
Kat’s scowl deepened. “I’m not having this conversation right now, Terry. Go wash up for dinner.”
They sat in relative silence at dinner with the offbeat chorus of spoons clanking against bowls.
“What were you saying to Uncle Terry in the kitchen earlier, Mom?” Jonathan tried once more.
“Nothing, sweetie. Eat your soup, okay?”
* * *
Terry lay in bed that night struggling for sleep and thinking back to the methods Thomas Collins, that crazy wheelchair veteran had talked about for chip removal. He knew he had to get out of the FEMA camp, had to get his family away from this place and whatever the future held. Whatever it was, he was certain it wouldn’t be good. A life resembling slavery. People may not realize it, or they may not realize it at first, but that is what it was, what it would be. No matter how you sliced it, packaged it, or sold it, it was not for Terry.
Fear crippled him, and a tightness grew in his chest as he fought for a deep calming breath that would not come. How was he to get Kat away from Rick? She’d always had the worst taste in men, and there was little to no point in trying to talk any sense into her.
He lay awake most of the night until finally drifting off into a short, restless sleep.
And so it went for weeks. Work the day away, carting cadavers to the incinerator, and worry the nights away, trying, desperately trying to figure a way out from this mess. There had to be a way to remove the chip without removing one’s own head, but how? That was the quandary, now wasn’t it?
Terry and Vince discussed much as Vince began to trust him. Well, trust him enough to commiserate in misery and swap complaints anyhow. For now, that was enough. After all, misery loves company.
Terry's mind went back to the water bath idea and thought it was probably the best method available. It could work. It had to work. It was going to work, by God.
As Terry lay awake that night, he sharpened Kat’s kitchen knife to a razor’s edge. He would go first. If it worked, the rest of the family would follow. Maybe tomorrow he would talk to Vince. See if he was interested in actually leaving, actually doing something to get out of New Seattle. There were risks, sure, but what were you really risking? Losing your slavehood? Live or die, Terry figured it was a win either way when you looked at it with a little distance.
* * *
She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t mind it. It had been a long time since she had been with a man or thought about letting one into her life. Dale Hodges, her ex from hell, had taught her to think twice before letting anyone in. Men were needy. Unreasonable. Abusive. But Rick was different. She could tell. He had a kind heart and a gentle tongue. He was not the kind of guy to raise a fist to a woman.
“Can I get you anything else?” Kat said, smiling the words.
Rick scratched his chin and grinned. “No. No, I’m good. Thank you, Kat.” Rick walked away toward the tables, and she admired his form. He walked with confidence, but not cockiness. I’m a little bit smitten, Kat thought. And why not? Why shouldn’t I be? Nice and slow she had to remind herself. Nice and slow. And those first couple of weeks were nice….
* * *
Terry awoke to the shrill cry of his wind-up alarm clock. It almost made him miss the road—almost. Another glorious day of dragging cadavers awaits, he thought. At least, there’s coffee. It tastes like shit, but it’s coffee, by God. And what about God? Did he believe in God yet? Undecided. What kind of God subjects his people to such abject misery? Oh yeah—the God of the Bib
le.
Terry shook off sleep and peeled back the covers. His feet hit the floor, and he rubbed his forehead—the injection site. There was a twinge of pain there. He forgot about it soon enough, though, as every muscle hurt from over exertion. All this lifting, pulling and hauling bodies around was a bit different from the sedentary lifestyle enjoyed by a long haul trucker. He struggled with his jeans, then rubbed his eyes.
“Up and at ‘em,” he muttered and trudged to the kitchen. The rest of the house still slept, so Terry made instant coffee to-go, grabbed a bagel and headed out the door.
The sun was bright. Too bright. His sunglasses did far too little to stop the glare this morning. The pain in his eyes almost made him feel as if he’d been drinking the night before. If only, he thought.
Vince and Austin were already waiting for him in the truck. The motor was running.
“Good morning, Sunshine!” Austin chortled.
Terry looked up to return the salutation and the sun beaming from behind the truck threatened to explode his eyeballs in their sockets. He shielded his eyes with his left hand and groaned something like, “Morning….”
“What’s up, buddy?” Austin said. “Too much party last night?” He grinned from ear to ear. Vince sat idly by, gripping the steering wheel and nearly cutting the filter off his cigarette between nicotine stained teeth. Something ate at the man.
“No—nothing like that,” Terry said. “I just woke up with a little headache. Didn’t sleep worth a shit.”
Vince turned his head now. “Are you two ready or what?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’m comin',” and Terry climbed into the truck. Soon, the headache passed, but made sudden reappearances, then disappearances throughout the day.
Later that afternoon, Austin asked, “Hey, you okay, man? Seems like that headache keeps sticking it to you.”
Terry thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure. It’s kinda’ strange. It’ll go away for an hour or so and then all of sudden, just sneak up on me like a ball-pein hammer.”
Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots Page 7
