Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots

by Rusty Henrichsen

  “Fuck you,” Terry and Vince said in unison, and they slid out of the truck.

  * * *

  Terry was waiting for the right way to bring it up, the right moment when Vince spoke. “Listen, man…I heard about a new group forming up, and there’s this meeting tomorrow tonight….”

  “Oh?” said Terry “What kind of group?”

  “Well,” Vince said, taking a furtive glance over his shoulder, “there’s an anti-movement starting up…you know…people who can see what’s going on around here and are trying to figure out what to do about it. They’re meeting tomorrow tonight at the corner of Queen Anne and Republican Street. It’s an old theater, and it’s empty. It’s called the SIFF. We ought to go and check it out. What do you say?”

  “Uh, yeah…definitely. Where did you hear about it?”

  “Ah, one of my roommates is of sound mind. He told me about it.”

  “Okay…yeah…let’s go,” Terry said. “What about Austin? Do you think he would want to go at all?”

  Vince arched his thick, black eyebrows and tilted his head slightly. “Are you serious? No. Besides, I wouldn’t trust him.”

  Just then, Austin walked up behind them. “Wouldn’t trust who?”

  Terry and Vince both startled just enough to tell Austin exactly who.

  “What the fuck, you guys?” Austin said, and he stomped off back to the truck.

  “Shit,” Terry said under his breath and shared a glance with Vince. “I think we should tell him—invite him. It might not be his thing, but I don’t think he’s a snitch or anything either. He’s a decent guy.”

  Vince shook his head. “It’s your funeral, man. Do what you gotta.”

  Terry wasn’t sure what the big deal was or why Vince despised Austin so much, but he thought it best to mend fences, let Austin in. No one was entirely comfortable with the “New Patriots” after all.

  Vince and Terry cleared the house and loaded back into the truck.

  It was Austin who broke the silence first. “You know, if you guys are whispering about that Anti-Patriot meeting tomorrow,” he paused and gauged their response. “I already know about—and I’m going. So…fuck you, two.”

  * * *

  Terry got Austin alone a little later and began to apologize. “Listen, man—I’m sorry. Vince, he’s just a little, you know, hard to get to know. He doesn’t trust anybody. Sometimes he barely trusts me, I think. We should have included you in the conversation, and I’m sorry…okay? Are we cool?”

  Austin shuffled his foot a bit, looking down at his boots, then looked up. “Yeah, man. We’re cool.”

  “Good. I’ll see there then, tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Terry walked home and pondered whether he ought to tell Kat or not. He decided after Austin, he may as well just talk to Kat about it. He’d like her to go. Hell, it was important she go. Especially now, with her seeing that sonofabitch, Rick and all. Didn’t want him getting his claws too deep into her mind, turning her over to the dark side, so to speak.

  The sun was going down, and it was getting cold. He hoped against hope that the heat would finally be on at home. Thus far, it had been candles and oil lanterns for heat. It wasn’t enough, and October loomed on the horizon. Her icy grip chilled his flesh. Or was it tomorrow? Was October tomorrow? He wasn’t sure. He’d have to ask Kat.

  Kat was preparing dinner when Terry walked in. The little propane camp stove offered some heat too, but Kat always opened a window for ventilation, thus rendering any potential heat gain moot.

  “Hey, smells great,” Terry said. “What’s cooking?”

  Kat stirred the saucepan on the stove and said, “Oh, you know…just some of the finest cuisine available…from a can. Actually, it’s Pork and Beans…. And, I was going to make a side of rice.”

  “Sounds just fine to me.”

  “So,” Kat said, “is your head feeling better then?” She already knew it was, just by how Terry was acting but wanted to be sure.

  “Yeah, I mean—the pain, it’s like—all gone now. It’s great.”

  Kat put the spoon down and turned to give Terry a big hug. “That is great! This calls for a celebration. I’ve got a bottle of wine. Maybe we crack it open tonight.”

  Terry couldn’t believe his ears. “A bottle of wine? Where did you get that?”

  “One of the guys at work. He works part-time salvage and part-time Infrastructure. He gave it to me. I think he’s sweet on me. It’s actually kind of cute.”

  “Nice! Well, I’m game, uncork that bad boy,” Terry said.

  Kat went to the cupboard and pulled it out from behind their canned goods. “I’m going to leave that to you. There’s no corkscrew in this kitchen.”

  “Not a problem,” Terry said. “I’ve got a screwdriver and a terrible thirst.” Terry worked on opening the wine, Kat worked on dinner, and the kids worked on their homework.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The wine was good. It was red wine, not Terry’s favorite, (he was more of a beer man) but that warm, friendly buzz was a most welcome sensation. Kat and Terry sat in the living room, warmed by the three candles on the coffee table and the wine in their bellies.

  “So, how’s work going at the transfer station?” Terry asked.

  Kat swirled the wine in her glass. “Oh, it’s going, they’re getting close. I don’t really know. I just make sandwiches.”

  Terry smiled. The wine was working. “I like sandwiches.”

  Kat slanted her brow. “Are you drunk?”

  Now Terry laughed. “The sad thing is, I think I might be. Drunk...on half a bottle of wine. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “How’s work going for you?” Kat asked.

  “Well, I carry dead bodies around all day. It’s not all that great…but, there is one silver lining.”

  “And, what would that be?”

  “I work with this guy, Vince—good guy.” Terry tipped his glass, taking another sip. “Anyway, he told me about this meeting that’s going on tomorrow tonight. I thought it might be something we would be interested in.”

  “Oh? And, what is this meeting tomorrow night about?”

  Terry gulped down the last of his wine. “It’s about our future. About getting out of this place and away from these so-called New Patriots.”

  “Hmmm,” Kat said, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea I’ve ever heard, Terry. You know, there’s people on the lookout for groups like this starting up.”

  “All the more reason to go,” Terry said.

  “Maybe, but it’s not a real safe move. Besides, what is it that you think they’re going to do? Overthrow the new government?” Kat started laughing. The wine was working on her too.

  “Living here is like committing suicide, Kat. You’ve seen all we’ve had to give up, our freedoms, to even be here. It’s only going to get worse. I don’t know what the end game is, but I don’t intend to stick around to see it, either.”

  “You’re going to have to count me out,” Kat said, “I’ve got too many little people relying on me to risk getting locked up or killed for some silly meeting.”

  Terry scoffed at this. “No one’s getting locked up or killed, Kat. It’s just a meeting, for Chrissakes.”

  “It’s treason,” Kat said.

  * * *

  The meeting was about to start. Excitement was palpable in the air. So was the rank smell of body odor. Without enough electricity for hot water, personal hygiene was mostly on holiday. After a while, one got used to it, though. People shuffled about the old cinema, about forty in all. Terry spotted Shane from when he was working at the transfer station and gave a wave.

  Kat had decided not to come, so Terry went with Vince. Austin was there too, as promised. Or threatened. It all depended on how you looked at it. Vince still saw him as a threat, but Terry welcomed him. Otis Kearns, the orderly from the clinic, was there, too, and Terry gave him a nod.

  A call to order was made, and people took their seats. C
andles and a few oil lanterns cast a dim glow, shadows dancing. The theater was a pretty good place to assemble, Terry supposed. No windows, walls well-insulated for sound. He wondered what would happen if they were found out. Maybe Kat was even right. The First Amendment, along with all the rest had been thrown out. They said it was for the safety of the people, for all of us. It was just too dangerous of a time for people’s words to get other people’s minds riled up. It just wasn’t safe. For the good of us all, we were under martial law. Under the thumb of the New Patriots.

  A man in his late forties, maybe early fifties, stood up and introduced himself. “Hello, and thank you all for coming. My name is Duncan Whyte, and I think we all know why we are here.”

  There was a general murmur of approval, and he continued, “These New Patriots, or so they like to call themselves, are nothing but a power-hungry group of corrupt individuals looking to force feed their idealism down our throats, all the while conditioning us to be their slaves.”

  With that, a round of applause broke out. “I know, I know,” Duncan said, “It’s good to hear it voiced, to hear your point of view validated, but remember…and this is deadly serious…we have to be careful. When we assemble as we are here tonight, we’ve got to be quiet about it. And outside of here…we’ve got to be very careful. Spread the word, yes, but only with extreme diligence and care. Remember, loose lips sink ships, and this is our one and only way out of here. It is only through careful planning and group cooperation that any of us, our children, their children, will ever live as free men and women again.”

  Another round of applause, more hushed this time.

  “We’ve got a lot to talk about and we will, but first: I’d like to go around the room, introduce yourself and tell us your brief history. Cliff notes only.”

  At this, there was some laughter. It was good to hear. People hadn’t been doing so much laughing in the last couple of months.

  * * *

  Austin stepped outside into the cool, night air and gentle sprinkles fell on his face. He pulled his collar snug and did his best to ignore the chill. What he could not ignore was Rick’s voice behind him.

  “Pssst, Austin. Come here.” Rick crept behind a dumpster in the alley that Austin was walking by. “What were you doing in there?”

  “Rick?” Austin said. “What are you doing?”

  “I am doing some re-con on these trouble-makers, these dissenters…they’re in for a world of hurt. This is not your day, pal.”

  “Whoa, hey…I was just checking it out is all,” Austin said, his face scrunched with worry.

  Rick smiled his smug smile. “And that is all it takes to get yourself branded as a traitor to the New Patriots. Now…that’s not what you want—is it?”

  “No, God, no. I was just curious is all, I swear it!”

  Rick crossed his arms, looking steely at Austin. “There might be a way out of this for you, now that I think about it. Come…walk with me.”

  Austin followed, though begrudgingly. His heart told him not to follow Rick down the alley. His head told him he was as good as dead if he didn’t.

  He and Rick had known each other for a long time. They’d been classmates at West Seattle High School, and though never close, they did know each other the way that classmates do—maybe not in specifics, but in a general sense. He knew what kind of a man Rick was. Rick was always the cool kid, part of the in-crowd. Austin was always outside, on the fringe. Truth be told, he never particularly liked Rick—he was a mean sonofabitch—but he had sought his approval nonetheless. He didn’t think this was like that, though. This was do or die. What have I done? Austin asked himself as he followed Rick. He had no choice in the matter. None whatsoever.

  Rick led him to an abandoned warehouse three blocks north of the theater. “Let’s go, Austin. I’m not going to bite you.”

  No, Austin feared it would be much worse than that….

  * * *

  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.