Sol Survivors | Book 2 | Nashville Nightmare

by Benton, Ken

  Sammy’s eyes softened. “I want to, boss. But you know how it is. I haven’t had any contact with my family at all. Maybe they need me. Maybe I’ll meet a girl. We’ll have to see what happens. I’ll get word back to you, some way or another.”

  “An Idaho girl, huh?” Joel said.

  Sammy shrugged.

  “After living in DC a few years,” Mick said, “those farm girls start to look pretty good.”

  Joel’s two questions confirmed to the guys that they had the green light to take off. Joel would not hold back on provisions. Mick went inside to pack while Joel began filling the tank of Archer’s truck with the two yellow 5-gallon cans of diesel fuel which magically appeared with Callaway today. Sammy checked the air in the tires.

  “They say mail service is already delivering again in some areas,” Sammy said, “so I can probably at least write. Heck, if the mini-grid rumors are true, we might even get cell service again soon.”

  Joel shook his head. “Cellular service is technically still there. It’s just radio waves, you know. The problem is the equipment has to be rebuilt. All the towers are fried. Can they be fixed? Sure. But the network contracts have to be renegotiated with the equipment providers, which is difficult when there are no communications. It was a luxury, and luxuries do not become priorities when cities aren’t even safe to enter. Speaking of which, your route won’t take you through any, right?”

  “Cheyenne and Pocatello,” Sammy replied. “We can’t see a practical way around those two, but will stay on the interstates, and in Cheyenne it goes through the southern outskirts.”

  “Use the truck stops to your advantage,” Joel said. “There are some large ones on I-80 near Cheyenne, and I imagine there will be other travelers seeking protection. I would try to organize convoys for safety, like I hear the teamsters are doing. Of course, they have military protection as well, but there is safety in numbers. If law enforcement sees civilian convoys forming, they might be persuaded to provide an escort here and there.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Sammy stood and looked around the yard. “I’m sorry for leaving, Joel, with so much work still to be done.”

  “It’s all right. I have Red, and now Callaway if he can find his shoes, at least until he disappears again, and some tenants down the street I may be able to put to work.”

  “You don’t have people you can trust, though,” Sammy said.

  “I think rural diurnals in general are fairly trustworthy.” Joel finished pouring the gas and screwed the cap back on. “It’s not like they are coming back at night to rob you.”

  Sammy nodded. “I was hoping the nocturnals in this neighborhood were becoming more trustworthy.”

  “I was, too. Maybe they are. Or at least, maybe they were. Or maybe I was fooling myself thinking that involving them in a community cooperative would turn them into good neighbors. Instead, I managed to even make enemies of a diurnal neighbor.”

  “Ricky’s dad?”

  “Yeah. Not sure if I am currently Hal’s favorite person, either.”

  “That’s another thing,” Sammy said. “I hate leaving you knowing you might be facing new trouble in the hood.”

  Joel smiled. “It is what it is.”

  “I thought you hated that cliché.”

  “I do. Listen, Sammy. You have been a Godsend to me. Mick, too. But you guys have to go. You have families to check on. I knew you would be doing everything in your power to make this trip possible. In some ways, I wouldn’t respect you otherwise. And now you’ve done it, with a little divine help perhaps. Good for you. Don’t worry about me or the house. Most of the hard work with the garden and goat pen is already done. Same with the trading post. Whatever happens in the neighborhood from this point, I can handle. I just want to know that you guys will be safe.”

  “We will be.” Sammy took the map out of his pocket again. “With the new plan, the blunderbuss, the new .38 special, and the gas vouchers from your colonel friend, we suddenly have everything we need, dropped in our lap as you say. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

  “Don’t forget the care package Debra is making,” Joel said pointing at the house.

  Sammy laughed. “I owe you. I know.”

  “No. You earned it.”

  * * *

  If there was one thing Joel found certain comfort in, it was Debra’s touch. Hers was unlike that of any woman he’d known. He wondered if she was aware of her power. It seemed like she was. Her left forearm and fingers interlocked firmly with Joel’s right hand and transmitted a synergy he needed at this moment. Her right hand rubbed his upper arm, shooting reassurance deep into his being as the two of them stood at the head of the driveway watching the dust cloud move down the street and gradually out of the neighborhood.

  And then they were gone.

  Joel was surprised at the lengthy goodbye exchange between Mick and Red. Perhaps those two had gotten friendlier than he noticed. Likewise, Sammy paid Callaway much respect and attentiveness during a rambling bit of farewell advice which couldn’t have made much earthly sense to anyone. But Sammy knew perfectly well that Callaway’s graceful appearance was the reason he and Mick could take off on an adventure together that had only been fantasy mere hours ago.

  “Amazing,” Joel said to Debra after she coaxed him inside to sit on the couch together. “This time yesterday the idea of them leaving was as far away as the moon was in 1950. Then the colonel comes for dinner, and suddenly they have fuel for the trip. Even this morning formidable obstacles still lay in their path. And then some horses come trotting up—”

  “And suddenly it’s 1968,” Debra said leaning on his shoulder.

  “Right. Nice history recall.”

  “I’m a scientist.”

  “I keep forgetting. Damn it!”

  “What, babe?”

  “The spare tire,” Joel said. “And the jack. We didn’t check them.”

  “With all Sammy knows about cars, I’m sure he did, or else will check it all at that first gas station they have the purple voucher for.”

  Joel let out a snort. “I’m still not convinced that thing is legit.”

  “If it’s not, they’ll be back by dusk. They have enough gas, right?”

  “Yes,” Joel replied.

  “You don’t sound cheered by that prospect.”

  “It’s not what they want, and those two will simply find a way to do this to me all over again—within a matter of days, most likely. Ah, damn.”

  “What now?”

  “The night vision goggles. I should have given them my night vision goggles.”

  “Joel—”

  “And the camping spade! They don’t even have a shovel!”

  “Callaway made it to Kansas and back without any of those things.”

  Joel put his hand on his forehead and leaned back. “You don’t understand. It all happened so fast. I got flustered and couldn’t think. Now they are out there underprepared.”

  “Oh I understand,” Debra said in a condescending tone.

  “You think you understand.”

  “I understand,” she repeated. “Today is the first day of kindergarten and you just dropped off your only child.”

  Joel straightened up and thought for a moment.

  “Yes,” he said kissing her head. “You do understand.”

  Chapter Five

  Bert looked back and forth repeatedly. Lanny was slow in perusing his records. It felt to Bert that Lanny’s mannerisms were intentionally intimidating. This wouldn’t have been as nerve-racking if it weren’t for the four henchmen he brought with him on this trip—even with one of them now gone, another fact setting everyone on edge. When Lanny finally folded the receipt book and lit one of his thin cigarettes, Bert decided not to wait for the imminent castigation to put forth his defense.

  “We’re too damn close to the city,” Bert said. “No one wants to come here. Sometimes you can smell the horrid odor of flesh cooking when the winds drift, although today it might be
from your man hanging on the wires. We can’t get any traffic. Tell Baker he is selling vouchers in the wrong territory for us. I got him a couple diesel pickups like he asked for, but if he expects us to move gasoline we need customers from Murfreesboro and points south who aren’t afraid of coming this close to the demon’s dump. Not to mention the fact we get harassed by soldiers who are in a bad mood at least twice a week. If it were up to me, I’d close this godforsaken location.”

  By the way Lanny stared at him from behind the desk, Bert knew he was upset—apparently more so now than before Bert spoke.

  Bert fidgeted. “I’m just saying…”

  Lanny blew smoke in his direction. Bert watched the cloud dissipate against his white shirt and attempted to suck in his gut. Ned stayed quiet, as he usually did when the mob guys visited. He was a smart business partner, but not much help when it came to negotiating with thugs.

  “Baker is right about you,” Lanny said in a flat tone.

  “How so?” Bert asked.

  Lanny pointed his cigarette at him. “You cause more trouble by your mouth than by your actions.”

  Moment of silence.

  “Baker doesn’t care about the receipts from this station right now,” Lanny said. “He knows why it doesn’t get much traffic. But it’s still a strategic location. One day the city will get cleaned up, and because we are currently able to divert some of the gas shipments here we will be well-positioned when that happens. So your books are fine. In the meantime, we want to use this station’s proximity to chaotic lawlessness to our advantage, and try to acquire a supply of certain items if we can. First on the list are quality-condition diesel-powered vehicles, especially pickups.”

  “Oh.” Bert heard the relief in his own voice. “So we’re good, then.”

  “No. We’re not good. If you hadn’t opened your mouth, we would have been okay, perhaps. But now we are not even okay. Of the two diesel vehicles you personally acquired, one is usable, barely.”

  “I can’t control what shows up,” Bert said.

  “But you can control what comes out of your mouth, and you can try not to be a blabbering fool. And you know what Baker wants. He appreciates people who take some initiative.”

  “I’m sorry, Lanny.”

  “Sorry for what, exactly?”

  “For … being a blabbering fool.”

  Bert could tell his answer wasn’t satisfactory by the way Lanny and the three henchmen, who had come to full attention and were now also frowning at him, remained still.

  “What can I do to show I’m sorry?”

  Lanny finally stood up. “We aren’t happy about you disrespecting Dusty’s memory. So you can get him down.”

  One of the henchmen walked into the garage.

  “Get … get him down? How am I going to do that without electrocuting myself?”

  “Maybe with this,” the one who went in the garage said through the open doorway. He now held an extendable pole used to hang belts and hoses up on high wall hooks.

  “That’s metal,” Bert objected.

  “Take it.”

  * * *

  “I wonder if we forgot anything,” Mick said, mostly from a desire to break a longer-than usual span of silence. He shifted positions in the passenger seat.

  Sammy chuckled. “I’ll bet dollars to donuts Joel is kicking himself by now over three things he forgot to give us.”

  “Even donuts like those homemade ones old man Dunn brought to the trading post last week?”

  “No bet,” Sammy answered. “Those were terrible. I’ll tell you what sounds good, though, are some real donuts. Maybe we’ll find some along the way. If commercial trucking traffic has partially resumed, you know there’s gotta be donuts somewhere.”

  “Now you’re talking. I, um, sure hope this gas station materializes soon. I’m starting to catch glimpses of the Nashville skyline and it’s giving me haunted house feelings.”

  Sammy pointed ahead. “This might be it here.”

  Mick sat forward and squinted. “Hope you’re right. Maybe we should take this next off-ramp?”

  “You just want to get off I-40 as quickly as possible,” Sammy said laughing.

  But he did take the off-ramp, which put them on an indirect route to the gas station ahead. After forcing them on a curved road around an abandoned warehouse building, it took them by a power company substation.

  Sammy pointed again, this time at what appeared to be a man up in the wires.

  “Hey, an electrician! Maybe they’re starting work on that mini-grid we heard about!”

  Something about it didn’t feel right to Mick.

  “Why isn’t he moving?” Mick asked. “And what’s with all the blackened sections, like there’s been a recent fire?”

  Sammy drove slower.

  “He does seem to just be hanging there,” Sammy said.

  “Sammy, I think that’s a dead body. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Sammy frowned, but kept his slow pace. And then, as they watched, a vulture landed on a metal tower next to the man. The man still didn’t move.

  “Yeah,” Sammy said. “I think you’re right.”

  The vulture walked across a wire and next to a round electrical component the dead man’s hand may have been caught in. The large bird’s curved beak appeared poised to take a peck at him when sparks flew and the bird suddenly caught fire.

  “Whoa!” Mick and Sammy both shouted.

  The flaming vulture flapped three times before falling on the man, and then to the earth.

  The man then fell as well.

  “We better tell someone,” Sammy said. He looked at Mick, but must have noticed the scowl on his face.

  “Mick, snap out of it, man.”

  Mick shuddered, half intentionally, and uttered, “Do you believe in omens?”

  “No. I don’t believe in haunted houses, either.”

  Mick opened the glove box and moved the revolver to one of the center cup holders in the truck, covering it with a small rag. He then reached into the extra cab and positioned the short shotgun, the one Joel called the blunderbuss, in a place where he could easily grab it.

  “You’d make Joel proud,” Sammy said.

  Mick scratched his ear. “That didn’t shake you up any?”

  “Of course it did. But you’re rattled enough for both of us. Someone needs to keep their cool. I’m sure it was an accident. Could have been a power company employee, or maybe some knucklehead trying to mickey-rig an extension cord for charging his Prius.”

  “All the same,” Mick replied, “let’s use caution approaching this place.”

  Sammy grunted an agreement as the road curved again and took them around the far side of the gas station. It had a fenced lot in the rear where several vehicles were parked, including two rusty old pickup trucks, but no cars were at the pumps. As they pulled in, a group of men came into view standing outside the open garage door. One held a long pole. Another who wore a business suit was smoking a cigarette.

  Sammy’s voice suddenly turned excited.

  “This is it! Look in the window!”

  Mick peered past him to see the black outline of an eagle’s head.

  Sammy pulled up to the men and rolled his window down. The one with the pole started to wave him back, but before any of them could say anything Sammy spoke out.

  “We have a voucher for a fill-up. Which of these pumps is diesel?”

  One of them now came forward while the others all looked at each other. This one was shorter than the rest and wore a sports jacket over a mock-turtleneck shirt. To Mick’s great relief, he could see there were two manual well-pumps rigged near the standard pumps. One had a yellow rag tied around it.

  “Can I see the voucher?” the short man said in a squeaking voice leaning into the window.

  Sammy almost uncovered the revolver rummaging for the voucher from the center console. He handed it to the attendant.

  “This is diesel?” the attendant said stepping back ey
eing the truck. The other four men stepped forward and also appeared to have become more interested.

  “Yes,” Sammy replied.

  “Pull up next to the hand pump there behind you, the one with the yellow flag.”

  Sammy gave Mick a huge smile as he swung the truck around. Mick breathed an even bigger sigh of relief.

  * * *

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” Bert muttered to Lanny.

  “Shut up now,” Lanny said. “Watch Squeaky work and maybe you’ll learn something.”

  The driver of the truck, a young man with curly black hair, got out and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “We saw a body hanging on an electrical tower back there,” he said pointing with his thumb. “Do you know about it? Is it something that should be reported?”

  “A body hanging from an electrical tower?” Squeaky repeated glancing at Lanny.

  “Well it was hanging, but it fell to the ground as we drove by.”

  Bert, still holding the pole, turned to Lanny. “Some problems resolve themselves.”

  Lanny scowled at him and replied in a low voice. “Pull the Toyota out, next to the truck.” He then issued quiet orders to his other two henchmen to take shotguns out the rear exit and block the eastward road.

  Those two followed Bert inside, and were shortly out the back, armed. Bert decided to take the remaining shotgun from the gun locker into the old yellow Celica, to show Lanny—and Baker—he was capable of some initiative. When he pulled the car outside and behind the black pickup, Lanny and Ned had joined Squeaky talking with the driver. Bert rolled the window down but stayed put. The passenger in the truck, another young man but with short sandy hair, remained inside as well.

  “Idaho is a long way,” Bert heard Squeaky say. “How are you getting the rest of the fuel for your trip?”

  The driver shrugged. “We know people in Kansas and can figure something out from there.”

  “So you are really only going to Kansas, then, for all you know,” Squeaky replied.

  “I guess you could say that.” The driver pointed at the pump. “We need to get going, though. Do you want me to pump the gas myself?”