Sol Survivors | Book 2 | Nashville Nightmare

by Benton, Ken

  “Night.”

  “Good.”

  “Bad.”

  “Helios.”

  Ricky hesitated. “We’re all screwed.”

  “It doesn’t work when you think about the answer,” Dr. Morgan said. “And just one word please.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Cat.”

  “Dog.”

  “Tennessee.”

  “Volunteers.”

  “Interesting,” the doctor replied. “Are you a sports fan, or a former student there?”

  “I applied but was rejected,” Ricky said. “I go to Knoxville City College. Or at least, I was going.”

  “What was your major?”

  “Socioeconomics.”

  “Are you messing with me?”

  “Kind of. I didn’t have a major. But I liked my socioeconomics professor.”

  “Were you getting good grades?”

  “Yes. Well, better than my parents thought I would get. I still hoped to transfer back to Tennessee-U and finish.”

  “Very good. Okay, back to the test. Sun.”

  “Moon.”

  “Vinegar.”

  “Joel.”

  “What’s that?”

  Ricky laughed again. “You know you’re right, doc. It does work better to just respond with the first thing.”

  “Did you say Joe? A name, like Vinegar Joe?”

  “Joel,” Ricky replied. “A man in my neighborhood. He’s the one I had the incident with that got me arrested.”

  “Why do you suppose vinegar reminds you of him? Do you associate him with bitterness, or a sour taste?”

  “No. It’s because of a box of vinegar someone brought to the trading post one evening. Joel traded for it, and he gave me a bottle to take home, before he hurried inside because it was getting dark. He’s a diurnal.”

  “Interesting,” Doctor Morgan said. “Tell me about this trading post.”

  * * *

  The colonel in the cowboy hat now sat conspicuously at the other table when the courtroom reconvened. Ricky took encouragement from it. That colonel was not the least bit mean when they brought him in, and had even tried to talk Joel out of having Ricky arrested. Sort of.

  But Tom quickly diffused his optimism.

  “They’re going to railroad you Ricky,” Tom said in a low voice as Lieutenant Colonel Temple read through more paperwork. “I’m sorry. I should have seen this coming.”

  “What do you mean?” Ricky asked. “Dr. Morgan is satisfied I’m not faking it, and doesn’t think I belong in the mental ward, either.”

  “They are going to invent a way to keep you as a lab rat,” Tom replied. “If you passed the psychiatric exam, they will simply give you the harshest possible sentence for your minor infractions. A lengthy imprisonment, most likely, for petty theft. They will attach some ridiculous ‘extenuating circumstance’ to justify it. The magistrate was right when he said it would have been better for you to stay inside the rest of the day.”

  Ricky shook his head violently. “No, no, no, the doctor is cool.”

  “He may be, but the scientist sitting with him is not.”

  Ricky glanced up front. His eyes briefly met those of the man sitting next to Dr. Morgan. They were chillingly cold.

  “And the magistrate,” Tom said, “this lieutenant colonel, doesn’t need much convincing when it comes to issuing severe sentences at the prodding of one of his court officers. That’s why I am still in this place. They need my services, and an absurd sentence for trumped up charges is how they can keep me here without having to pay any compensation.”

  “My tribunal is scheduled for tonight, right?” Ricky asked. “There will be a different judge in night court, right? I’ll just keep that schedule and take my chances.”

  “No, it’s too late.”

  The lieutenant colonel suddenly spoke in a loud voice.

  “All right, this court will now consider the case of the defendant Ricky Danson on charges of private property invasion and theft. How does the defendant plead?”

  Tom stood up. “Invasion? There was no invasion charge, sir.”

  “There is now. It’s a matter of simple logic, counselor. If the homeowner had him arrested for stealing items in a shed, the only way he could have been there was as a home invader.”

  “It isn’t,” Tom replied. “The defendant pleads no contest to the theft of five eggs from a chicken coop, and not guilty to the fishing tackle theft charge because of special circumstances which will also negate any charge of home invasion.”

  “Because of an alleged prior permission granted by the victim, which is missing from the arrest report?” the lieutenant colonel said.

  A new voice answered from the chairs behind Ricky and Tom.

  “That’s a mistake, sir.”

  Everyone in the courtroom reacted in a surprised manner, including the cowboy-hat colonel at the other table. When Ricky and Tom swung their heads around, Ricky’s eyes fell on a lone, familiar figure now standing near the back of the room.

  It was Joel.

  “Who are you?” the lieutenant colonel asked in an aggravated tone. “When—and just how—did you get in?”

  “My name is Joel McConnell. I’m the property owner in question. The victim, so to speak. The guards let me in, seeing as I am a party to this case and received an army escort 270 miles to get here.”

  Murmuring between the officers on both sides of the lieutenant colonel commenced.

  The cowboy-hat colonel spoke to Joel. “Come on up here, McConnell. I had a feeling you’d show somehow.”

  The lieutenant colonel conferred with the officers on his right in hushed tones as Joel joined the cowboy-hat colonel at the other table. After the officers made exasperated faces to each other, the lieutenant colonel finally looked forward again and addressed Joel.

  “Very well, Mr. McConnell. You wish to add something to the record?”

  “Yes. I wish to drop all charges and withdraw any complaint, with my apologies to the court.”

  “It doesn’t work like that here, Mr. McConnell. We do not need a victim ‘pressing charges’ in a military tribunal. Once a crime is reported and an arrest is made, it’s enough for us to act on. The matter is now entirely up to us.”

  “Well in that case,” Joel replied, “I want to confirm what the defendant said about him having permission to be on my property, and that he was acting on a prearranged agreement in regards to borrowing the fishing tackle.”

  “Then why was he arrested on a charge of theft of the tackle?” The lieutenant colonel looked at both the cowboy-hat colonel and Joel.

  “I was confused at the time and made a mistake, because I didn’t see the catfish he brought until later. The kid doesn’t belong here. He’s actually a good neighbor. This is my fault.”

  “Mr. McConnell, falsifying charges in the arrest of a citizen is a serious crime. Much more serious than the charges Mr. Danson is facing, especially since I have been informed that this is not your first visit to this facility. Are you certain you want to go on record with that statement?”

  “No,” Joel said. “I’m not going on record that I falsified charges because I didn’t. I made an honest mistake.”

  “Honest mistakes are not acknowledged as justification for falsifying arrest charges any more than ‘forgetting that stealing is illegal’ is justification for theft. I strongly urge you to consider your testimony carefully.”

  The cowboy-hat colonel spoke. “Oh, hells bells. We’re talking about a fishing pole and a few eggs between next door neighbors, Temple.”

  The lieutenant colonel glared at him. “Colonel Matheson, I will remind you that you are in a court of law, and are displaying contempt for the proceedings as well as disrespect for the duly appointed magistrate. Furthermore, your presence here was not requested, nor is it desired.”

  Colonel Matheson. So that was his name. He stood up in response.

  “Point taken, Lieutenant Colonel, and I do apologize. I understand
that this is your show, and that I am a guest. But out of respect for my rank and tenure, the fact I am the arresting officer on the case, and the further fact that I am stuck here on piss-ass tribunal crap for upcoming cases instead of being deployed with my unit in a major operation, I will ask you the courtesy of hearing me out. I’ll just speak once to have my say and be done. Fair enough?”

  Lieutenant Colonel Temple hesitated but then nodded in frustration, making a conciliatory hand motion towards Colonel Matheson.

  “Thank you. While Dr. Morgan was examining the defendant, his counsel informed me on what he heard the rest of you discussing. Now you can mince this thing like a cayenne pepper and assign whatever fancy terms and cooked-up justification you want, but we all know that what this proceeding boils down to is you are about to incarcerate this fine young man for one reason only, that he is a nocturnal who decided to go out in the sunlight.”

  “Colonel Matheson!” the lieutenant colonel retorted in indignation.

  “Please let me finish!” Colonel Matheson said in an even more commanding voice, one which could not be refused by many human souls—especially soldiers of lower rank. Ricky saw Joel lean forward and look at him with an expression of dismay. Ricky gave him a slight nod.

  “Now as I was saying,” Colonel Matheson continued, “you are responding to an undeniably significant development in the only manner you can think of, and because it may indeed prove to carry important ramifications for society as a whole I wouldn’t actually blame you, despite the injustice of it. But there is a better way to handle this, which has not come to your minds because you have not been made aware of all the pertinent factors. Dr. Morgan, let me ask you a question. These crazy cathemerals we have in custody in the mental ward. Are they cooperative with your studies?”

  Everyone looked to Dr. Morgan.

  “We are gathering helpful data,” he answered, “if that’s what you mean.”

  “It’s not, and you know it. Are they cooperative or not, Richard?”

  “No,” the doctor admitted. “As soon as they understand they are incarcerated, and are not free to wander the countryside as they seem to think they have been commissioned to do by some mysterious force, they shut down and speak mostly in one word answers.”

  “You expect something different from the defendant under a similar circumstance?”

  “He’s unique, Colonel. Yes, I do.”

  “Well I have a more suitable suggestion. You haven’t been to their neighborhood, but I have, on multiple occasions. What Mr. McConnell has accomplished there in the way of open cooperation between nocturnals and diurnals is a thing to behold. It’s something you should see, doctor. You’ll learn more there than in any laboratory. And given your own observations on how wrongfully imprisoned individuals make poor subjects, I propose that you study the defendant in his own natural environment. I guarantee you’ll gather more ‘useful data.’ Call it a suspended sentence pending his cooperation. Call it house arrest that extends to the boundaries his neighborhood. Hell, call it a damn vacation for yourself. With the Nashville operation in progress, we have constant transportation passing through the area which can accommodate you.”

  Colonel Matheson turned back to the magistrate. “I ask y’all to seriously consider my solution not only as a personal favor to me, but as for what is truly best for all involved. Thank you.”

  Colonel Matheson sat down.

  The scientist sitting next to Dr. Morgan shook his head saying, “No, no.” But Dr. Morgan appeared to argue with him.

  The lieutenant colonel, after studying Colonel Matheson for a long moment, called the doctor and other scientist into a private conference. Ricky could not hear anything said, but the other scientist’s mannerisms were transparently still against Ricky.

  Finally, those two sat back down and the lieutenant colonel turned forward again. He flatly announced that he had reached a verdict in the case of Ricky Danson, and asked Ricky to stand.

  Ricky stood. By the way the doctor smiled at him, he knew the result was good.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  “Just a sprain,” Mick said staring deep into a spoonful of egg-mushroom soup. “All this trouble, you couldn’t climb the slope with me, and it’s just a sprain.”

  “Welp,” Sammy replied between slurps, “it’s a bad sprain. And that jump off the bridge didn’t do my shoulder any favors, either. Don’t go dissing until you’ve walked a few miles in my shoes, feeling the pain every step and escorted by people only concerned that your injury may damage a portion of their dinner meat.”

  “Hey!” Debra said from the kitchen. “I thought you were going to spare me unnecessary ugly details?”

  “We are,” Mick said in unison with Sammy. They grinned at each other. It was wonderful beyond words to be safely back in a place with the comforts and feeling of home. But not for too long. This wasn’t truly home. He and Sammy still had Idaho in their sights.

  “You think that Celica can really make the trip?” Mick asked.

  “After Joel checks it out, yeah. Assuming we can get a new tire for it. Or better yet, four new tires. Those soldiers who gave us the ride know we are in the market for transportation, and they were pretty cool. We’ll see what shows up at the trading post. It’ll be another couple weeks before my leg is ready to go.”

  “At least,” Debra chimed.

  “That’s how long the army says it will take them to clean the dump,” Mick said. “But they will have the interstate secure for drive-through traffic within a few days. It will be interesting to see if Joel can handle not having his rifles for even that short a spell.”

  Sammy shook his head. “No, it will eat at him something crazy. We have a total of three handguns now, along with the two shotguns, with precious little ammo for two of the handguns. And a sudden shortage in vehicles and fuel. Joel’s top priority is going to be retrieving those rifles, and he will use all his resourcefulness to accomplish it.”

  “Not without me,” Debra said sitting down with a fresh cup of coffee. “He’s taking no more trips without me. Of course, I told him that before this latest nightmare came up, too. We won’t have urgent need of the rifles if the neighborhood has become safer.” She glanced at Red outside in the garden before directing her vision to Mick. “How did the army justify confiscating your handguns?”

  “Being found armed within a designated military combat zone,” Mick answered. “They can make up rules on the fly. If it wasn’t that one, it would be another.”

  “And the rifles are hidden along the interstate between the airport and that gas station?” she asked.

  “Yep.” Mick took his last spoonful of soup. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I could even find them. But Joel can, that much is certain.” He turned to Sammy. “I still can’t believe Chili let us blindfold him those last few miles.”

  “It was the lessor of two evils for him.” Sammy glanced at Debra as if to indicate they were treading on delicate ground.

  “I have a question,” Debra said. “Why did you guys wait for daybreak to escape the city?”

  “Joel’s ears,” Mick replied. When Debra held her cup in mid-air and tilted her head, he elaborated.

  “Joel discerned that some of the gunfire we heard was moving methodically through certain areas, and he somehow identified it as mostly coming from military M4 carbines. That, the helicopters, and the freaky shouts from the running neighborhood gang members about avenging angels coming to ‘kill everyone’ convinced him we needed to worry about army patrols moving in mistaking us for locals more than we needed to fear the fleeing locals at that point. So we formed a new strategy for exiting in the least threatening manner, during crossover time when the patrols figured to be changing shifts. By that time the locals in the eastern neighborhoods had all scurried west in utter panic, so we only needed to be concerned with approaching the soldiers.”

  “Mm.” Debra took a sip of coffee. “Ears are sometimes more helpful than eyes.”

  At that mome
nt Mick heard a sound he thought he recognized, though it was faint. It came from the head of the driveway.

  “To speak to your point,” Mick said turning that way and back again, “I just heard something that sounds like…”

  But he was suddenly speaking to an empty chair, with a still-steaming coffee in front of it. A quick scan of the kitchen revealed an open front door, swinging from being rapidly flung.

  Sammy laughed. “Well, I guess he’s home.”

  It took an agonizingly long time for Mick and Sammy to make their way out of the cabin, down the porch steps, and on to the driveway.

  “You don’t need to wait for me,” Sammy said. “Run ahead if you want.”

  Mick glanced down at the brace on Sammy’s leg and the cane he used to walk.

  “Think I would only be a third wheel,” Mick replied.

  Sammy motioned ahead. “More like a fifth wheel.”

  When Mick looked to the end of the driveway he saw four people standing in the dust of a departing army truck. Two of them had almost merged into one. Debra’s arms were tight around Joel, and her head stayed buried in the crook of his neck even when Mick and Sammy finally reached them.

  The other two people were Ricky Danson and a man with a white beard.

  “Just a bad sprain?” Joel asked Sammy looking at the brace.

  “Yeah, boss. I’ll be hobbling a couple weeks.”

  Joel nodded and extended a hand towards the stranger. “This is Major Morgan, an army doctor of psychiatry and scientific researcher. He’s going to be a something of a fixture in the neighborhood the next few weeks, our dinner guest tonight, and possible occasional houseguest. Ricky here isn’t afraid of the sunlight anymore, so you may be seeing more of him, too.”

  “You’re not?” Sammy asked him.

  Ricky only smiled and looked the opposite way down the street before announcing, “I’m going to see my dad.”

  “Excellent idea,” Joel said.

  Dr. Morgan spoke to Joel. “I’ll go with him now, but I am most anxious to see this trading post of yours in operation.”

  Joel pointed across the street. “It’s a few hours yet before folks start showing up. I don’t have the energy to set up shop tonight myself, but I will show you around. Just be aware that cooperation in trading doesn’t necessarily equate to being … chummy with each other.”