Sol Survivors | Book 2 | Nashville Nightmare

by Benton, Ken

  “All right,” Joel said searching for the window button. The soldier who was driving must have been listening, because the window came down a few inches by itself.

  Joel’s vision continued through the window towards the medical tent Sammy and Mick were inside of. A part of him hated to leave them again after all this, especially only a quarter-mile from the gas station where all the problems originated. But right now they couldn’t be safer. The military presence here was impressive. They had fully taken over the area in the span of a few hours. Joel didn’t think any of the gas station gangsters saw the three of them come in, since they arrived in an army truck directly to the medical tent. Nor were the gangsters in a position to do anything even if they spotted them. They sure as hell couldn’t accuse them of anything without opening Pandora’s Box upon themselves. It was known to the soldiers that the rescued civilians were friends of Colonel Matheson, so Sammy and Mick would get special treatment—including a ride to the greater Knoxville area in another army vehicle headed that direction after Sammy was treated. Joel had his own nagging loose end to tie. Ultimately, he was forced to release those two for their second day of kindergarten, after they’d been beaten up on their first day.

  Joel’s eyes moved and landed on the silver SUV, now parked near the crossroads amongst a growing sea of army equipment. A soldier drove it there after Joel “turned it in” to them as a working abandoned vehicle they found near Nashville. There was a fitting level of satisfaction in knowing it would drive the gangsters batty when they saw it, reminding them they’d met their match at the hands of two twenty-something year olds.

  The major who led the patrol they surrendered to didn’t ask too many more questions about what they were doing coming out of Nashville with a local cannibal “in custody.” He accepted the explanation that the three of them had been stranded while trying to travel north through the city on the interstate, and were fortunate to have fought their way out alive. He wanted to know if they’d encountered any additional innocent civilians, and if the fate of the cannibal who ran was of any concern to them—both of which Joel replied no to. Sammy didn’t react with words or any expression beyond being in pain, so Joel figured he was regaining his full senses.

  The Humvee now pulled onto the road as the other passenger lit his cigarette. His head turned when they reached the intersection with the SUV on the corner and he became suddenly animated, stretching to look out all the windows. This man wasn’t one of the gangsters, was he? All that preaching to Mick about the importance of every scrap of information and here Joel failed to get a description of the bad guys. Too much stress and too little sleep, he supposed.

  But then the smoker sat back as if in thought. He eventually turned to Joel.

  “Is it okay?” he asked calmly holding up the cigarette.

  Joel only nodded.

  The smoker seemed to take the hint that Joel wasn’t in the mood for conversation. This was especially true without knowing who he was talking to coming from this location. The smoker didn’t speak again until the two soldiers in the front seat became engaged in their own conversation, in response to operations chatter they were listening to on their radio. By that time the Humvee was several miles east on I-40 and the sun had risen above the eastern horizon, though it was still partially hidden behind storm clouds.

  “You’re a civilian,” the smoker commented.

  “Technically,” Joel decided to answer.

  “Oh, then you’re a federal contractor like me?” His voice rang with a sudden enthusiasm.

  “Um … I doubt it. What do you do?”

  “Electrician. More specifically, a high-voltage electrical engineer. I’m doing consulting work for the federal power grid reconstruction project.”

  “How’s that coming?” Joel asked.

  The smoking man shook his head. “Gonna take years. For most people to get power back, that is. Months for some, if we are lucky with the mini-grids. It doesn’t help that…” He looked at Joel and seemed to think better of completing his sentence. “What do you do?”

  Joel thought for a second. “Not much at the present, to be honest. I was driving north to try to get to family east of Lexington. Bad route choice. Lost my car to hijackers. Lucky to be rescued and catch this ride as far as Three Point.”

  “Oh, good,” the smoker said with relief. “For a second I thought maybe you worked at the gas station back there. I understand that one has been … troublesome to authorities. I was going to say it doesn’t help that someone has been vandalizing power company substations, which means we have to keep replotting the mini-grid.”

  Joel decided this guy was okay. He laughed. “I had the same concerns about you.”

  “You did?” the smoker asked. “How do you know anything about that gas station, if you were only passing through Nashville?”

  “I may have altered my testimony a little. But I’m also friends with some of the soldiers, and they told me about it.”

  “So what’s your real story, then? If you don’t mind my asking. Just to pass the time.”

  Joel leaned back. “I’m a used car salesman, truth be told. Or at least I used to be. These days I run a crossover trading post, and try to keep the diurnals and nocturnals from killing each other.”

  “A swap meet?”

  “Yes.”

  “A crossover time swap meet,” the smoker mused. “That’s good to hear of, actually. Whereabouts?”

  “Of course,” Joel said continuing his last thought, “it would make things easier if our area gets hooked up to that mini-grid. We’re living in the old west right now. With old west rules for settling disputes, unfortunately.”

  “That’s what we want to help fix,” the smoker said. “Most people are going to have to keep living like the old west for the next few years. But there will be a lucky minority who gets hooked up soon. Heck, you might be one of them if you don’t live too far away. I’ve got to plot a new route, now that East Nashville is no longer an option. And to hear about a place where diurnals and nocturnals are cooperating is encouraging. I might give that knowledge weight in my decision. So what locality do you need it to come through?”

  Joel pointed east and was about to answer West Knoxville, but the sergeant in the front passenger seat—apparently during a lapse in their conversation—suddenly interrupted.

  “McConnell, you’re not listening to his bullshit are you? You know he’s a prisoner, right?”

  Joel frowned at the sergeant.

  “We’re bringing him in on racketeering and destruction of public utilities charges.”

  Joel scowled at the smoker, who had taken on an annoying smugness. Dammit. Joel was really off his game.

  “Connell, huh?” was all the smoker said, half to himself, turning to his window.

  In a split second Joel realized the smoker was the enemy after all, and that Joel’s identity and address had nearly been compromised. By a stroke of fortune the smoker might have misunderstood his name.

  “In that case,” Joel replied to the sergeant, “I would appreciate you continuing to address me by my first name only. Or better yet, no name at all.”

  The sergeant shrugged and turned forward again.

  * * *

  Ricky took some consolation in the fact his assigned cot was not in the rear portion of the barracks. Unfortunately, it wasn’t too near the front, either.

  Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe this Vern guy was all bark and no bite. But if that was the case, wouldn’t he have accepted the hat when Ricky finally offered it to him free of charge? One thing was sure: Ricky should have gotten more sleep last night.

  It wasn’t like the other inmates were shunning him. During the morning crossover meal, they treated him more or less cordially. But not noticeably friendly like some were to each other. Ricky realized those inmates had time to make friends by now, though, and he was new.

  They apparently all had certain places claimed where they sat to eat. Ricky chose a different
spot for the morning meal so he didn’t have to be near Vern. By then it had started raining, so tarps were pitched over the tables. That meant he couldn’t be next to Tom’s table and eavesdrop on his entertaining wisdom. He may not have been hearable anyway with the rain and nearby thunder. Once again Ricky didn’t see Carlin anywhere during the meal, only afterwards talking at another table.

  Carlin. What a crybaby. Couldn’t he understand that Tom had a certain charismatic quality? Like a hip comedian and your favorite professor combined into one person. Perhaps Carlin suffered from petty jealousy.

  The latter portion of the night, before the morning meal, had also gone without incident. Ricky made small talk with several other inmates, about nothing too personal, and didn’t feel like they were in league against him. Whatever influence Vern had here was probably limited in scope. Everyone had their own problems to worry about. If Vern did plot some violent action against him, it would likely take at least one more night to orchestrate. By that time Ricky would hopefully be gone.

  That’s what he told himself as he drifted off to sleep. And there were guards around, although they weren’t always inside the barracks.

  Ricky thought he was dreaming when he turned on his side and saw a menacing set of eyes staring at him in the near-darkness. But even in a dream you don’t ignore a threat. He pushed himself up. That’s when he felt the first blow, on his back next to his shoulder blade. It was probably meant for his head a second ago.

  “Ahh!” Ricky yelled. He threw an elbow behind him as he ripped his blanket off. His elbow connected with a face.

  The menacing eyes that had been in front of him swung something at him, like a sock with a heavy object in it. It bounced off Ricky’s shoulder and hurt like hell.

  Ricky dove off the opposite side of the bed, where he’d just elbowed someone, and narrowly missed another heavy sock swinging at him from that side. On the floor, a foot tried to kick him but Ricky successfully deflected it.

  “Help!” Ricky yelled.

  He didn’t plan on actually waiting for help. Being small and wily had its advantages. He performed a half-roll-half-somersault to get past three pairs of legs and scramble almost to his feet.

  Two more attackers met him at the foot of his cot, including at least one who’d now come around from the other side. That one threw a punch, which only brazed his head as Ricky spun in a circle, simultaneously managing to slip the grasp of someone behind him grappling at his arm. He tripped over a leg, but managed to stay upright and stumble his way forward through the main aisle between the beds.

  Some of those beds were empty. Others were occupied with guys watching him from various positions. Still others were occupied with guys ignoring the commotion altogether.

  The attackers were all behind Ricky now. He regained his composure, yelled for help again, and ran towards the exit.

  A guard stepped inside from the smoking room to block his escape.

  “What’s going on in here?” he said. “Why are you out of your bunk?”

  “They attacked me,” Ricky said huffing.

  “Who attacked you?”

  “Them.” Ricky turned around. No one was out of their cot.

  “Who?” the guard asked. “No one else is up.”

  “I couldn’t see who. At least five of them. A couple had clubs made from socks.”

  The guard raised a flashlight and gave the barracks a once-over. No one moved.

  He turned it off. “You sure you didn’t dream it?”

  Low snickering emitted from some of the cots.

  “Positive,” Ricky said rubbing his shoulder.

  “Do you want to see a medic?”

  Ricky thought for a second. “It’s just bruises. I think I’ll sit in the smoking room a while.”

  “Only while you are smoking,” the guard replied. “And no chain smoking. After one it’s back to bed.”

  “I can’t go back to bed there.” Ricky pointed. “Can I have a cot on this side, closer to the exit?”

  “No. The cots are all assigned, and you have to change the bedding after your sleep shift. No cot reassignments until the next shift. So are you going to smoke, or go back to bed?”

  Ricky stood frozen in place.

  The guard formed a smirk. “Unless you want to go outside? That’s the only other alternative. The sun is shining nice and bright for you.”

  More snickering from the cots.

  For a second Ricky considered taking up smoking. But he remembered he didn’t possess any cigarettes. Besides, it would be a reprieve of no more than a few minutes.

  “You don’t strike me as a troublemaker,” the guard said lowering his tone. “So you might make an effort at being friendly with your fellow inmates. Everything is easier when you get along.”

  “I tried,” Ricky mumbled. He turned and began walking back to his cot. He could probably identify at least two beds now occupied that were vacant during the attack. But it didn’t seem worthwhile to point them out. Given the guard’s advice and lack of compassion, it would likely only worsen his predicament.

  Inauspiciously lying on the foot of his cot were the two sock-clubs, on top his zip-up hoodie. Ricky pulled the hoodie out from under them and put it on. He sat down on the cot, put on his shoes, stood and went back to the guard, who was still standing in the same place watching him.

  “One smoke then back to bed,” he reiterated.

  “I’ll take the third alternative,” Ricky said.

  “Oh, really.” The guard crossed his arms and stood aside. “Go ahead, then. Go for it.”

  “Yep.” Ricky walked past him into the smoking room. “Screw these guys.”

  On the far side of the room he pulled the exit curtain open a crack, in the same manner he did yesterday before Carlin came in. Looking out into the sunlight didn’t bother him then. But yesterday he’d merely been looking. The prospect of actually having to go out in it was a different reality than hypothesizing about it. Ricky could feel a panic within him attempting to rise.

  He blinked as his eyes adjusted. The diurnal inmates milling about in the yard first appeared as shadowy figures within a bright light. But after a minute they began to take on defined tones and colors.

  “Well?” the guard’s voice said from behind in a manner bordering on mocking.

  As naturally repulsive the notion of going out there was, some part of Ricky suspected it of being a false fear. Like misinformation intentionally implanted in his brain to try to control him. That’s what he’d been thinking about yesterday when Carlin interrupted him, too. Strange to be back again today revisiting that thought. He’d honestly like to test it. Just … on his own terms, not forced like this. But of his two present alternatives, this one definitely represented the lesser of two evils.

  Ricky pushed the curtain aside and walked out.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Tom’s morning exercise routine was consistent if not brisk. He walked in circles around the outer perimeter of the compound at a comfortable pace, stopping to talk with anyone who deliberately placed themselves in his path. Usually those who did so had a hearing scheduled within the next 36 hours, or else were one of the knuckleheads stubbornly insisting they were wrongfully arrested wanting to suggest yet another preposterous angle of defense.

  This morning, so far, everyone was letting him walk. It was a light day on the docket and he wouldn’t be called into court until the afternoon, most likely, primarily for routine follow-up and prep stuff. So when a lone inmate appeared in his path acting disoriented right outside the barracks, he was unmissable. Tom didn’t immediately recognize him, although he looked familiar, which was odd. Could be a new arrival. One thing Tom knew is he couldn’t have just come out from the barracks, with the sun so bright.

  Something about this thin young man held Tom’s interest. He kept an eye on him as he continued circling, allowing curiosity to displace the caseload details which usually occupied his mind during walks. The kid moved about in an unusual manner,
from one arbitrary point to another before changing directions, like a bubble bouncing off invisible walls. He seemed to be talking to himself. This might be someone who should have been admitted to the mental healthcare ward.

  He also appeared disturbed by the sunlight. On Tom’s second time around him, the youth ricocheted to the back wall. There he bent down to pick up the hat on the ground and place it on his head. That hat being there this morning was another bizarre occurrence. No one else took it, avoiding it as if it held some curse. Even Tom felt that way the first few times he passed it.

  Seeing the kid in the hat, by contrast, brought a natural yet perplexing sense of relief, as if two important links of some chain in the universe just latched together.

  That’s when Tom recognized him. It made him stop in his tracks. After shaking himself from the initial shock, he doubled his pace to reach the kid.

  “Ricky?” Tom asked.

  The kid turned to him and smiled. It was perhaps the most genuine smile Tom had seen on any face in this prison camp.

  “Hi Tom,” he said looking up squinting. “I’m sure glad this was still here. My hat, I mean. Makes all the difference—like night and day, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

  “Ricky … what are you doing outside? How is it you are out here?”

  “Oh,” he said. “I had some trouble. One of the other prisoners took a disliking to me, because I didn’t play along with his hassling well enough, I guess. I got attacked in bed.”

  Ricky stopped smiling and rubbed his shoulder.

  “So you ran out?” Tom asked.

  “Tried to. The guard stopped me. But then he said if I wasn’t going back to bed I had to go out in the yard. I don’t think he believed I would actually do it.”

  “No, I assure you he didn’t. And because you defied him, that guard may now also take a disliking to you—which may not go so well for you when you return.”

  “Oh, no.” Ricky motioned towards the barracks with his chin, wincing and rubbing his shoulder again. “I’m not going back in there. I’m hoping you’ll take my case and see what you can do about getting it bumped to today’s schedule, since you don’t do night court. We’d only be moving it up a few hours.”