Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots Read Free Page A

protested; he hoped to find Neosporin and bandages.
    Terry didn’t get far enough to find those things, but he did find an apple tree in an alley. He plucked one from the branch and took a big, juicy bite. It was a Red Delicious which he didn’t usually care for, but it was pretty damned good today. Terry held the apple in his teeth and started picking more when he was interrupted.
    “What’s your business here?” Someone barked, behind him, “Hands where I can see ‘em.”
    “Don’t shoot, I don’t want any trouble,” Terry said and raised his hands slowly to the sky, “I’m just looking for a little food is all.”
    “Sorry, stranger. We have none to spare. What have you got to trade?”
    “Trade?” Terry asked.
    “Yes, trade. What have you got? Guns? Ammo?”
    “Well…nothing.” Terry turned slowly to face the voice behind him. It was just a guy, a regular guy trying to survive like everyone else. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this guy. He was in his forties, balding, short, fat and frumpy. I guess I was picturing more of a Terminator type…. This guy was wearing Dockers and polo shirt.
    Terry extended his hand, “Hi, I’m Terry, Terry Burrows.”
    The man just waved his gun, “I suggest you get back to the highway, Terry Burrows.”
    “On my way.” Terry did an about-face, thankful at least he didn’t get robbed of what he did have.
    “Leave the apples.”
    “Right…sorry.”
    Well, that was a fantastic failure. At least, I wasted a bunch of time….
    Hopefully, he would have better luck further up the road. One can of pork and beans wouldn’t get him too far.
    Terry walked on and began to wonder if he would ever see Katherine, or Jonathan, or Tabitha again. Suddenly the two-hundred and fifty miles felt like he may as well be walking to the fucking moon.
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    It was a lone outpost with very little in the way of shops or stores, but Millersburg had a Methodist church with a big American Red Cross emblem on the front that caught Terry’s eye straightaway. He slipped off the freeway.
    A little help? He dared to hope. Terry approached cautiously; he was getting a little gun shy after all, and to his relief, this was the real deal. He was greeted with a sandwich, some apple slices, and a tall glass of water. Nirvana.
    Inside this small church were about a hundred people. Most of them were locals with about half a dozen other travelers besides Terry. They had assembled for mutual comfort and strength, and he hoped his sister had found such a respite in Seattle. He had spent most of his life looking out for Little Sis, and it pained him to be away now. Of all the lousy times to be away and on the road, the apocalypse would have to rank as the worst.
    When that boy on the playground pushed Kat down back in grade school, who was there to pick her up and kick his ass? Terry was. When Kat’s husband left her and the kids, who was there to pick her up and kick his ass? Terry was. Actually, the ass-kicking was on hold until he could find the son of a bitch, but the point was: Terry took care of his sister, and that went double since their parents had passed.
    Terry sat down amongst his fellow travelers and ate ravenously. His sandwich, just an ordinary peanut butter and jelly, was heaven today.
    “Never thought a PB&J could be so good,” the man across the table said. “I’m Joe, nice to meet you.” He extended his hand.
    “Terry. Likewise.”
    “So, where you headed, Terry?”
    “North, up to Washington,” Terry said. “You?”
    “I’m on my way to Everett, myself. Gotta get back.”
    “What do you do in Everett?”
    “I’m a biologist for the Department of Fish and Wildlife. Only now, I wish I was a farmer,” Joe chuckled.
    “Yeah—you and me both. I drive truck and I’m trying to get back to Seattle. That’s home, family, you know?”
    “Well, I hope your family is okay, Terry,” Joe said and took another bite of his sandwich.
    “What about you? You got