by Ken Benton
“You can wait,” Roller said. “I’m going out to do a recon.”
“Now don’t be a fool, Roller. You need the team. Remember how I came looking for you like I said I would. Hit every podunk gas station and truck stop until I found you.”
“I’ll come back, Clyde. Won’t engage them without you. I promise. Let me out.”
Roller was gone before they even had the truck parked. Once it was reasonably hidden, Clyde and Tito joined Red in the cargo hold—or at least they tried to. Red slipped outside before they could stop him. Tito rolled the door down to just a crack. Finally getting away from the sunlight washed him with a great sense of relief.
“I don’t know how Roller stays out there,” Tito said.
Clyde lit a cigarette. “Unrelenting determination, I guess.”
“Or unchecked emotion. You know this isn’t the smartest mission.”
“He’s a good soldier, Tito. A productive team member. We need him. And this is as good a place as any to reacquire trading supplies. Better than most, in fact. Nice quiet neighborhood away from town that figures to be well stocked, as these people don’t go to the market often.”
Tito fired up a smoke himself, despite the already-stale air. Before he could finish it, Roller returned. He left the door a little higher after sliding into the hold.
“I didn’t spot their vehicles,” Roller said, “but the first property is interesting. Looks like they may be throwing together makeshift cabins for guests. The driveway runs out to the cross street. No one is outside now, so they might be sun-avoiders like us. Maybe we can approach them later with some of our gold, and ask about lodging.”
“Now you’re thinking,” Clyde said. “The best thing to do tonight may be to assess the local situation and, if we find the assholes we are after, devise a good attack plan. I still wouldn’t mind taking those two chicks alive, especially the redhead. Always did like redheads. Except for Red, of course.”
* * *
The colonel never cared for the way regulation army caps fit his head. But for this meeting, he knew to dress appropriately. At least two generals were going to be present, and for something of this magnitude you never could tell who else might show.
Security was high at the U.S. Army Base of Three Points, Kentucky, this early evening. The colonel himself had to wait for multiple ID verifications at multiple checkpoints. But he kept his cool. He well understood the country he swore to protect was in bad shape, and that it was his job to fix it again. Exactly what measures he was allowed to use in so doing was the topic of the night.
The meeting took place in a classroom setting. The colonel was used to round-table meetings with fewer attendees, and hadn’t been to anything like this in years. He had to sit through several speakers, but at least the important business was covered first by the base commanding officer. The colonel quickly had his answers. He was free to use whatever means he deemed necessary in keeping peace, restoring order, and enforcing law wherever he saw fit to do so.
Civilian laws no longer mattered. The President had declared a state of complete military justice. The military was now over all local law enforcement departments, and even over all federal agencies saving the Department of Homeland Security. Military law ruled for the time being, and that meant, for all practical purposes, that laws could be interpreted and even invented on the spot by the highest ranking officer involved in any incident, melee, or developments of concern anywhere in the country.
Habeas corpus, the President additionally declared, could be suspended at the convenience of the military in their keeping of the peace and pursuit of justice. Congress was not expected to ratify that portion of the declaration, but it hardly mattered. By the time this mess resolved itself, there would likely be big changes in the system anyway. The army would be blameless when it came to civil rights matters during the state of emergency. And word was, the Supreme Court themselves had advised the President before the decision to declare absolute martial law was made.
The second speaker, it turned out, held the attention of the attending brass as much as the first. Dr. Wynn wasn’t your typical army doctor. His accomplishments in the field of psychology were renown even among the civilian medical community.
“We have no satisfactory explanation yet for the psychological aberrations everyone is experiencing in the aftereffects of the solar storm,” he began. “We have some theories based on a small amount of study data. Regardless, it is a fact people everywhere are quickly developing what on the surface resembles an irrational fear to either the nighttime or the daytime. If we were not all affected by it ourselves, it would be difficult to believe.
“We have observed some individuals who appear to be immune to it. They are rare, and, in every case we have seen so far, these individuals have been positively diagnosed with a mental or physical disorder connected with what is considered abnormal brain function.”
“So only the crazy people aren’t suddenly crazy,” someone near the front interjected. Uneasy laughter rippled across the room.
Dr. Wynn pointed at him. “That’s not an accurate conclusion, either, I’m afraid. The anxiety the nocturnals are experiencing during daylight hours, and vice versa, is the symptom of a medically observable nervous disorder. It’s the cause we are unable to pin down thus far, which is also preventing us from determining what factors are responsible for turning a person nocturnal or diurnal. Some of our theories suggest a natural divisiveness has always been in us, and is now manifested in an extreme condition as a result of the current magnetic disturbance in our atmosphere, or possibly the resulting damaged ozone layer. Most individuals are able to overcome the disorder for brief periods, we have found, especially if a strong outside factor is present, most notably a higher overriding basic need or desire, such as a life-threating situation.
“How we need to deal with this for our own personnel is our primary concern. As you know, we have already been reassigning duties and patrols to every soldier in accordance with whether the disorder is affecting them nocturnally or diurnally. This includes commanding officers and goes right down to squad leaders.”
Dr. Wynn turned towards a chart on a chalkboard before continuing.
“Although our quick fix is being well received, we must remain cognizant of the two factions ostracizing each other with a growing intensity, which early evidence suggests is not only a sociological result, but perhaps inherent to the nervous disorder. In the military community we are advising both factions to eat morning and evening meals with each other during the transition phases at predawn and dusk, when both groups are able to be outside, especially in the evening which is a longer transition period. Studies have long proven that sharing meals forms bonding between humans, going back to ancient times.
“Which is, of course, why we’re having this briefing at dusk tonight. Personally, my ‘day’ is just starting. I’m looking forward to going out in the night air for a good long spell.”
Dr. Wynn’s eyes swept across the room. “But I can see many of you fighting back a look of repulsion at the very mention of this.”
Chapter Twenty One
Joel woke up in the early gray light alone again. This morning he didn’t bother rising until the sun peeked through the window blinds. When he finally did, his nagging suspicion was shortly confirmed.
Neither Jessie nor Archer came back at all from another night at the Dunn’s.
“What are you more disappointed in?” Debra asked on their morning walk together in the yard. “Jessie not coming home? Or your shotgun not coming home?”
“How could they not come back at all?” Joel replied. “And how can we be okay with it, you and I, not even going over to check on them? That should be equally disturbing, don’t you think?”
“I thought about it briefly.” Debra sipped at her coffee. “Did you?”
“Very briefly.”
“Hmm. Neither of us appears to be overly-consumed with worry. I imagine they didn’t make it out before the sun
rise, and got invited to do a sleepover. We didn’t hear any gunshots, so have no real reason to be concerned for their wellbeing, seeing as this isn’t the first night they’ve spent there. They’re adults, making their own decisions. Honestly, Joel, what would we say after going over and waking the residents pounding on the door? I know I should care more than I do. It’s just that…”
“Just that what?”
“I don’t know them anymore. Neither of them. To me they aren’t the same two people from a week ago. The only thing I feel guilty about is not feeling guilty. I find myself genuinely caring less about them every day. I don’t think I would be too tremendously upset at this point even to learn they are sleeping together.”
Joel frowned at her.
“Sorry, Joel. I realize you probably feel differently.”
“No.” Joel shook his head. “I am making a face because you have me dead to rights. I feel exactly the same way, and I don’t think I should. Guilty for not feeling guilty, as you said. But as the owner of the house, there is an added sense of responsibility for the safety of my guests.”
“Even if they freely leave of their own accord?”
Joel carefully considered his answer and found he could not come up with one.
“Come on,” Debra said. “Let’s look at the new pen in the light of morning.”
The two of them meandered to the structure that blossomed yesterday between the shed and house. Much of the woodpile next to the shed had been reduced. It wasn’t the prettiest thing Joel ever built, being pieced together from different shapes and types of wood, and it wasn’t done yet. But it held a gratifying beauty nonetheless.
“You think you’ll finish the roof today?” Debra asked walking inside.
“Easily.” Joel followed her. “The whole thing should be ready by noon. I still need to get a rod from Parker to use as a roosting perch.”
Debra poked around at the nest bins a few minutes, lingering there longer than seemed natural. Joel reflected on the close moment they shared yesterday morning and contemplated how he might make another bold move like that. But he felt uncomfortable in it. He stepped up behind her, not too close.
She spun around. “Tell me Joel, do you miss Jessie at all?”
“Miss her?” Joel furrowed his brow. “Not sure. As far as I’m concerned, she’s been gone since the trip began. But I honestly don’t know how much we ever really … what I mean to say is, I’m not sure if I miss Jessie so much as I miss a certain type of companionship. Ah, shoot, these words aren’t coming out right at all.”
Debra turned a sad gaze toward the ground. Joel stepped nearer, reached, and swung an arm around her. Once again she responded, pushing her head into his chest.
Joel kissed the top of her head. “I would miss you a lot, though. Please don’t go anywhere.”
* * *
The finished goat pen stood magnificently in the midday sun. Not only had it been completed by then, the new occupants were moved in and appeared to like it—well, perhaps the chickens more than the goat. Even Mick demonstrated a patent pride about it as everyone gobbled their pork-and-vegetables lunch. The only better-looking thing on the property today was Debra’s wide smile as she carried an armload of veggies which had started showing signs of spoilage out to the goat.
Joel then set up his portable solar generator. Tonight they would test to see how well half a day’s charge provided for their needs. If all went well, tomorrow he would flip the breaker to turn the big generator off.
At some point tonight Jessie and Archer would have to come back, wouldn’t they? If not for food, at least for a change of clothes. But probably for food as well. Dusk was the most likely time to encounter them, as they knew it was the one period when everyone could be outside together.
Jessie did have a key to the cabin with her. In retrospect, Joel viewed his giving it to her as both a good and bad idea. Good that she and Archer could come and go late at night without Joel having to deal with them much anymore. Bad that those two would surely wake everyone in the house in so doing.
Several solutions crossed Joel’s mind. The first was to pack their bags and put them out on the porch. The second was a little less vindictive; leave their packed bags outside the bedrooms.
The third solution, less preferable but inarguably more civil, was to confront them about matters and propose a change in room assignments. Exactly what the new arrangement would be was tricky to suggest, to everyone in the house except Mick, who could only be upgraded. Joel certainly had a favored plan in mind, but whether Debra was ready to concede to it was highly questionable and too presumptuous to present.
Joel and Sammy went to work on the driveway gate project later that afternoon. This required additional materials from Parker, who was most appreciative of the gift of propane. Hopefully, Joel wouldn’t need much else from him. But if he did, he noted that Parker’s rifle was chambered for .22LR, so more mutually beneficial trades could be made. Heck, at this juncture if Parker needed ammo, Joel would probably spot him some even without immediate reciprocation.
“The way we are making this thing is going to be a hassle for driving in and out of,” Sammy said leaning on the shovel to take a break.
Joel stared at him in response.
Sammy laughed. “I don’t know if that face is supposed to reprimand me for resting on the job, or for saying something stupid.”
“A little of both.” Joel’s vision then focused beyond Sammy, at the figure of a man approaching on the road beyond, carrying something like a bucket.
Sammy noticed and turned around.
“Floppy hat,” Sammy instantly said.
“Right. If this is that ratfink impersonator, he is the dumbest criminal in the history of—”
“It’s not him.”
“Why so sure?” Joel asked.
“Younger eyes and faster thought processing, I guess. This guy is wearing … well, I’m not going to commit to it, but it sure looks like a hospital gown. And he traded his clipboard for a pail, if that’s him.”
The man soon arrived, acting as though his visit were planned and as if his unkempt brown hair, week-old beard, and overgrown fingernails were fashionable. His clothing indeed consisted of a hospital gown, a pair of sandals too large for his feet, and, as the breeze soon revealed, nothing else.
“A guest should never arrive empty handed,” the visitor said holding the bucket up. “It took me all morning to catch our dinner.”
If the visitor had a weapon, the only places it could be were in the bucket or up his ass, and Joel had already seen his ass. Joel leaned to see in the bucket.
Fish. At least three pan-sized trout, one bigger, and a couple nice bass. Their tails stuck out above the water line, but appeared fresh.
“Been fishing, neighbor?” Joel asked.
The visitor laughed. “I thank our Creator I am not the only person prone to asking obvious questions. I am not your neighbor, sir, but your guest. Where do you want them?”
“I’m afraid you have the wrong address,” Joel replied. “The street sign back there is twisted. Are you looking for the Dunn property? I think they may be accepting lodgers.”
“Heavens no, I can’t stay with those who gather against you. I’m on your side, friend. I can’t eat much yet, and as you can see, don’t have any luggage. I’m happy to stay in your little barn with the goat and chickens, seeing as I’m cathemeral.”
“Your religious denomination makes no difference to me,” Joel said. “But we’re not—”
“Nor should it!” the visitor answered. “Names matter, though. I apologize for my unpolished social graces. Mine is Callaway.”
“Callaway,” Joel repeated.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Callaway said.
Sammy spoke. “Where is your fishing rod?”
“Left it by the water where I made it.”
“Made it?” Joel asked.
“Out of a willow branch, and line I found tangled in the reeds with a h
ook still attached. Had to dig for worms with my hands, which is why they are so dirty, especially under the nails, along with my gown in places. I do apologize for my appearance, too, but am hoping the fish are enough to persuade you to overlook it. Shouldn’t we put them somewhere cool?”
“How do you know who the Dunns are, if you aren’t looking for them?” Joel asked. “And how do you know we have a goat pen with chickens, if you are not a neighbor?”
“I saw it through the trees. Your wife is outside it with your goat presently, feeding the chickens.”
“Girlfriend.”
Sammy shot Joel a wide-eyed look. Joel waved it off.
“And I don’t know the Dunns personally,” Callaway explained, “as I’ve never been in this neighborhood before, though I grew up in Knoxville. But it was obvious which house you were referring to, sir.”
Joel took another look at the fish and another look at Sammy’s amused expression before making an exasperated motion to him and turning back to the strange visitor.
“Where are you coming from, if I may ask, and why did you come here of all places?”
“Knoxville. Had to walk all the way, making a few stops to get my bearings and all. Took me the better part of a week, which isn’t too bad for a man who hasn’t used his legs in seven years. As I said, I came to be your guest, and to help out in any way I can. Sure will be nice to have your goat pen roof over my head tonight. I don’t mind the night air, as I am blessed in that respect—but on the other hand, I’ve already been in the dark longer than any man should ever have to.”
“Mr. Callaway,” Joel said. “Listen. I don’t want to turn you away after bringing these nice fish. So you can stay for dinner, fair enough? I suppose you can use the shower in the cabin and I will even rustle you up some clothes if I can. But don’t make yourself too cozy, please. As far as sleeping in the goat pen goes—”
“Sure, sure, we’ll talk about it. I’ll go say hello to my new roommate. Always did like goats.” Callaway began walking up the driveway.