Sol Survivors | Book 2 | Nashville Nightmare

by Benton, Ken

  The Colonel noticed and ordered his men to shoulder their weapons. Joel spotted a pistol in the colonel’s sidearm holster under his coat, but it was not the same Glock 19 model he’d given Joel.

  “Well I do recall something about a dinner invitation?” the colonel answered. “And I’m hoping you have room for three guests for one night, in either of your homes, even if it’s in the barn.”

  “Of course,” Joel said. “We have lodgers in the house up the street now. But if you guys don’t mind sleeping on thin camper mattresses in the loft, you are most welcome to stay over in my cabin.”

  “Hell, that sounds like a four-star hotel to us.”

  “Great. Let me work on dinner, then.” Joel turned and yelled for Ricky Danson.

  Ricky eyed Joel in response, and formed a hesitant expression. He almost appeared as if he wanted to run away. It was an unfortunate moment that reminded Joel of not only the mutual distrust between diurnals and nocturnals, but of the natural divide between the younger and older generations, especially between youth and authority. Ricky stood out from the rest of the crowd as the best dressed, perhaps in an effort to get the highest possible price for his fish. That kind of planning scored points with Joel. Of all the Dunn residents he’d met, Ricky was the one he disliked the least. This evening he wore a stylish zip-up hoodie that complimented his Panama hat nicely.

  Joel smiled and urged him forward with rapid hand-motions.

  Ricky cautiously approached.

  “I have unexpected dinner guests,” Joel said. “How old is this fish? I sure as heck know you didn’t catch it today.”

  “I caught it last night,” Ricky replied. “And it’s been in a tub of saltwater all day. This thing is as fresh as you are going to ever get one, unless you catch it yourself—which isn’t likely, since the big ones only bite at night.”

  Joel could not help beaming. In a different reality, he might hire this kid to sell cars for him.

  “What’s the best offer you’ve gotten, Ricky?”

  “Not something you could match.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well,” Ricky said pushing the brim of his hat, “a guy from a nearby hood offered me a pair of Air Jordan 1’s. I was about to accept the deal.”

  “What is that?” Joel said. “Shoes?”

  He nodded. “Sneakers. An OG colorway. Serious fire.”

  “In your size?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Do you need shoes?”

  Ricky thought for a second. “Maybe I need those shoes.”

  Joel laughed. “What do you really need, man? I mean, in the current world. No one is going to appreciate how those classic sneakers look at night, right? And you’d just get them all muddy when fishing. Think. Is there something you wish you had above all else? Keeping in mind there is no electric power, of course.”

  Ricky looked at his fish in an almost absent-minded way and responded, “More fishing tackle. Especially line and hooks.”

  “Great. Let’s do some business.”

  Joel took the walkie-talkie out of his jacket pocket and radioed Debra. He instructed her to have Red bring the old blue tackle box from the shed out to the trading post.

  While they waited, the colonel and his men perused the marketplace. Joel took the opportunity to ask Ricky several loaded questions about how things were going living at the Dunn property, hoping to get a little scuttlebutt on Jessie and Archer. Ricky skillfully deflected the questions. Old man Dunn stepped closer during the questioning and acted concerned about it, but stood ten yards off and remained silent as usual.

  Red shortly showed up with the tackle box, his bushel of fiery hair mostly tucked up under a baseball cap. He spoke in his typical short, polite sentences to Joel before waiting for further instructions.

  Joel thanked him and invited him to hang around the marketplace if he wanted, but Red chose to go back home after fearfully recognizing some of the Dunn house residents. Joel didn’t stop him. There was no warmth between he and Red, and Joel couldn’t imagine there ever being any. Their relationship had at least settled into something routine, with a mutual understanding. Red was like a bumbling hired hand who was fully aware of his expendability. Unfortunately, he was also like a child who needed to be provided for. Joel couldn’t simply discharge him into the cruel world without his conscience—and his woman—castigating him for it.

  Joel opened the tackle box for Ricky and then held the fish by the stringer for him while he rummaged through it.

  “It’s a trade,” Ricky said.

  “Whoa, hold on a second,” Joel replied. “Not the whole box. I was thinking the one spool of ten-pound test in there and one box of hooks, plus if you worked me over enough I’d throw in a package of weights, but I need to keep some of that back for the next big fish you decide to trade.”

  “I can use all this now, Mr. McConnell. How about I credit you a few fish from my future catches? I got a sweet hole dialed in. We’ve been eating catfish for a week straight.”

  “Call me Joel, Ricky. I’d rather you come back when you need more tackle and we can talk about it then. I have a couple rod and reel rigs I’d be willing to loan you as well, in exchange for a piece of your catch. For now take the line, hooks, and weights, plus any other item you feel you really need, like that knife you are holding, in exchange for this day-old cat. Then when you need more gear, come see me and we’ll work out an arrangement.”

  “All right.” Ricky stood and shook Joel’s free hand.

  * * *

  “No hot sauce, huh?” the colonel asked before taking his first bite. His soldiers sitting at the table next to him were already on their third bites.

  Joel decided not to answer right away. An unlikely moment of silence occurred in the suddenly full house where the only sound to be heard was the barely-perceptible low hum of the large propane generator running. This was a special enough occasion for it.

  “Never mind,” the colonel said after swallowing. “Doesn’t need it. Nicely spicy and perfectly cooked. What’s your secret?” He lifted his glass of wine.

  Debra spoke. “Goat’s milk, fresh egg, and, thanks to their trading savvy,” she motioned to Sammy and Mick sitting at the counter, “a crusting of Carolina chilies and Georgia peanuts.”

  “Mm,” the colonel replied. “I’ve got to go civilian hopping more often. You had peanuts and peppers show up at your flea market, huh?”

  “Yes,” Joel replied. “Along with all kinds of other surprising stuff.”

  “You ain’t kidding there,” Mick commented from the counter in a way that made Joel turn and frown at him. Sammy then whispered something in his ear.

  The colonel kept shaking his head. “It’s inspiring, McConnell. I’ve heard about loosely organized rural swap meets, but not one where noctos trade with diurnals. This is something they’ll be interested in at HQ.”

  Joel pointed his fork at the colonel. “Speaking of that, what’s happening with the prisoners in that camp I was in?”

  “I knew you’d be concerned about them, and wouldn’t have come if I couldn’t report some good news. Well, good news for some, anyway. Tribunals are now in session. We have a backlog to get through, but once we catch up all new inmates should see their hearing date within a week. Best we can do for now.”

  “I guess that’s progress. Who is it bad news for?”

  “Why, those who receive strict sentencing, of course. Especially capital cases.”

  “You mean … the death sentence?”

  The colonel hesitated and looked at Debra before replying. “Yes, but perhaps that’s not the most pleasant dinner conversation.”

  Debra spoke. “How are things going in the cities, Colonel?”

  The colonel choked on his food laughing in response.

  “Ma’am, you managed to change an ugly subject into the one possible uglier subject. Thank God I’m a colonel and don’t have to go into one often. Last time I did I lost my dang hat in a chase. God help that one if
I’m on his tribunal board.”

  “How terrible,” Debra replied.

  The colonel tilted his head at her.

  “I mean about the conditions,” she giggled.

  “I think you’d be more accurate if you were referring to his hat,” Joel said.

  During the after dinner coffee, Joel came up behind Sammy and Mick at the counter and put his hands on their shoulders.

  “All right guys, what did you get this evening that is so interesting? Besides the canned corn we just ate.”

  “I told you,” Sammy said to Mick. “Go ahead and show him. We’ll have to break it to him sometime.”

  Mick produced a purple piece of paper, cut in the shape of an asymmetrical star with a symbol stamped on it that looked like an eagle’s head.

  Joel read it.

  “A gas voucher?” he said. “For where?”

  “Here’s the map.” Mick unfolded a larger white sheet of paper and handed it to him.

  “There are…” Joel counted as he studied it “…nine gas stations on this. Only four in Tennessee.”

  “It’s good for a fill-up at any of them,” Sammy said. “Or any others we find that display that eagle’s head symbol in the window. The guy said they are adding them daily, and will have them all over the south soon.”

  “This has to be phony. I think you got scammed.”

  Sammy shrugged. “Worth the gamble. I judged the man to be honest, and not someone who would want to cut himself off from our marketplace. He walked here, so lives local.”

  “Or parked two blocks away to make it look that way,” Joel said.

  “Can I see that voucher?” the colonel asked from the table.

  Joel brought it to him.

  “It’s real,” the colonel said after three seconds of study. “At the moment, anyway. Whether it stays real is another matter. This is an unsanctioned network that started up around Montgomery, the best we can determine. Found out about it just the other day. I wouldn’t hold that ticket too long. It’s not like one of these.”

  The colonel reached back into a coat pocket hung on his chair to retrieve a thick cream-colored card to hand to Joel. This was a much more official-looking gas voucher, with an embossed army stamp and a general’s signature in ink.

  “That will get you a fill-up at any of our controlled interstate truck stops,” the colonel said, “gas or diesel. You can go from coast to coast with a handful of these, assuming you avoid highway bandits, have a reliable vehicle, and aren’t stupid enough to drive through any cities.”

  Sammy and Mick both jumped out of their seats to come gawk at the voucher in Joel’s hand.

  “Why are you guys drooling at this?” Joel asked. “And what was it you are afraid to break to me? That you’re thinking of trucking it to Idaho?”

  “Yes,” they applied in unison.

  “Heck, I already figured you would do that to me as soon as it becomes practical, forgetting how good I’ve been to you and leaving me high and dry. But your dodgy purple tickets aren’t likely to get you there, even if they add locations to the top of Missouri on their little treasure map. You’d need the black truck and at least three of these military vouchers for that trip.”

  “Archer’s truck?” Sammy asked.

  “He traded it for a shotgun, remember? Though it isn’t signed over to me yet.” Joel handed the voucher back to the colonel.

  “Are those available, Colonel?” Sammy asked.

  “Depends on how you define available. For savvy traders like you guys, I would think yes. But you can’t exactly walk into an army base and buy one. We’ve only been distributing them to drivers who convince us they need them for commercial purposes. Even so, I’m sure it won’t be long until one finds its way to your trading post. How’s the shoulder, son?”

  “Still hurts when I do this.” Sammy stretched his arm at an angle over his head.

  “Don’t do that,” Sammy then said in perfect timing with Mick and Debra.

  Debra stood up from the table. Mick slipped into her seat and Sammy took Joel’s.

  The colonel, acting amused, asked Sammy and Mick about Idaho. They began telling him the story of their coincidental friendship, with both of them having families on farmland within a hundred miles of each other near Idaho Falls. Neither had been able to communicate with their families since Helios.

  Red, who had also been eating at the counter, and remained silent the entire meal as usual, stood up. After the two of them dropped their plates at the sink, Joel followed Red out to the front porch.

  “Could you do me a favor and sleep on the living room couch tonight?” Joel asked him. “Shut the pen up and come in before it gets dark. Bring Jules in with you.”

  Red formed a confused look and glanced at the goat pen. “What about the birds?”

  “No one is going to steal anything tonight with this army Humvee here. They’d have to be crazy. The Dunn noctos won’t know you aren’t in there as usual.”

  Red reluctantly agreed. Joel went back inside and took a direct path to his bedroom closet. He shortly returned to the dining room, beating the dust off his old bronze cowboy hat.

  When the colonel saw it his face lit up.

  Joel tossed it to him. “Try it on.”

  “Hot damn, McConnell. This isn’t too far off the genuine article.”

  It fit. The colonel was unable to hide his elation. In another sixty seconds, Mick and Sammy possessed the military-authorized gas voucher.

  Chapter Two

  Joel failed at not disturbing Debra when pulling the blinds back to peer at the early gray light. She must have been sleeping light.

  “Anything wrong?” Debra asked.

  Joel came back to sit on the bed. He put his hand on her arm. “No. Bad dreams.”

  “About what?” she moaned.

  “I’m sure it has something to do with seeing Jessie and Archer on the street yesterday evening.”

  That woke her some. She propped her head up. “And how did that make you feel?”

  “Not good. I wish they would leave this neighborhood, one way or another. I don’t need the turbulence.”

  “Maybe struggling with the moral dilemma of having Red sleep inside can help you forget them.”

  “Why would I have a moral dilemma about that?” Joel asked.

  She lay her head back down. “The hypocrisy of only doing it to not look bad in front of your soldier friends.”

  “That’s exactly why I did it. There is no moral dilemma.”

  Joel left the bedroom to find Red making a pot of coffee in the kitchen, his jumble of hair uniquely matted on one side from the couch cushions. Jules paced back in forth in a disturbed fashion before the front door as if desperate to get outside. No other sounds could be heard inside the house yet.

  “Red,” Joel said at a volume above a whisper. “We could sure use some extra eggs this morning. Why don’t you run down to the Maddock barn and take whatever you find?”

  Red nodded. “I thought the same thing, and was about to go.”

  Joel smiled and followed him and Jules out the door. Perhaps a working brain resided somewhere in there after all.

  “So how was the couch?” Joel asked him on the porch, making an extra effort to be friendly. He wasn’t sure if his motivation was pure or the result of Debra’s chiding.

  Before Red could answer, both their attention was drawn by a clanging sound from the shed. Jules barked. Joel’s eyes shot through the thick morning air to see the form of a thin man rushing out of the shed holding differently-shaped objects. Joel instinctively took one step backward towards the front door where his shotgun leaned against the wall just inside.

  But then he recognized the Panama hat.

  “Ricky!” Joel yelled.

  Incredibly, he froze in place.

  Jules seemed to recognize Ricky and calmed down.

  “Ricky, wait!” Joel stepped off the porch.

  Ricky turned and acted unsure of what he wanted to do as Joel took la
rge strides towards him. Before he made up his mind, Joel was with him.

  The objects in his hands turned out to be Joel’s favorite fishing rod and the blue tackle box.

  Joel stood dumbfounded. Then the sound of Red entering the shed jolted him to life.

  “Ricky what the hell are you doing, man?”

  Ricky scowled, looked at both items in his hands, and replied, “We have a deal, right?”

  Joel reached for the rod. “That’s what I was about to say to you. Damn! Of all the jackasses in that house you live in, I thought you might be the one hope.”

  The sound of Joel’s front door opening didn’t even cause him to glance in that direction as he took the fishing rod from Ricky. He knew it would be the soldiers.

  “Don’t call us that, Mr. McConnell. Maybe to us, you guys are the jackasses.”

  “How do you figure that?” Joel said. “Only by a badly infected thought process could you draw such a conclusion. We produce everything needed for living, and when we go to sleep, you scoundrels come steal it. I have produce growing now.” Joel pointed to his fledging garden, a 200 square foot area surrounded by a mickey-mouse fence constructed of various scrounged materials including old car parts, and which featured a homemade greenhouse in one corner. “How are we ever going to eat any of it if you guys come steal it every night?”

  “We need vegetables too,” Ricky immediately responded. “You know that. Would you have us die of malnutrition? You di’s and your holier-than-thou attitude! As if you are the only ones entitled to consume what the sun grows, just because you can stand to be out in it. If you thought for two seconds about the situation, you might understand that while you tend the crops in the daytime, we could—”

  “Rob us blind at night!” Joel said.

  “Any trouble?” Colonel Cowboy’s voice boomed from behind Joel. He was slightly behind schedule by Joel’s expected timing.

  “Caught a thief in the act,” Joel said without taking his eyes off Ricky.