Free Solaris Mortem: The New Patriots by Rusty Henrichsen Page B

blast won’t, but I’m sure lots of things have survived. Larger appliances, tools and stuff that doesn’t have micro-circuitry.”
    “What about cars?” Terry asked.
    Shane scratched his stubbly chin, then replied, “Probably anything before about 1980 ought to still be all right. After that, most cars started going solid-state ignition, fuel injection, computer modules and such. All that stuff is fried for sure. I guess if you found something old enough with a carburetor that ran before, then it should still be able to run now. Getting fuel…that and getting the roads cleared would be the tricky part.”
    “Huh, I see,” Terry said, trying to sound disinterested. What he really thought was, I’m going to find an old truck, and we are getting out of here.
----
    At lunchtime, Terry got the permission he needed to move in with Kat and the kids. It still rubbed him in all the wrong ways, asking for permission, but so be it. He also got a new work assignment—not the one he wanted, but a new one—bio-sanitation.
    “What is bio-sanitation?” Terry asked.
    “It’s body cleanup,” the man behind the counter told him. “You will be a part of the crew scouring the city for bodies and taking them to the crematorium.”
    Terry grimaced, but it bothered the man none. “Ya’ know, I’m a truck driver, not a mortician.”
    “You’re hardly being asked to perform the duties of a mortician. Think of it as loading sacks of potatoes on a truck. You can do that, can’t you?”
    Terry nodded, but his face still showed his distaste for his orders.
    “Besides, I’m sure you’ll get to drive the truck occasionally too.”
    “Do I have any say in this?”
    “You don’t. Thank you, Mr. Burrows. Report back here at 7 am and do have a pleasant evening.” He shut the sliding glass window that separated him from the minions, and that was that.
    Fuck …. Now Terry wished he really was an electrician. He could only imagine the dark sights and smells his immediate future held.
    Terry walked to the hostel to gather his things and bid Jasper farewell. Jasper was at work, so Terry penned a note.
Hey Jasper,
I found my sister, so I’m off to live with her and the kids.
Take care, Terry
    Terry walked to Kat’s place, but not before making a detour to where he’d stashed the wheelbarrow. New Seattle was quieter now that FEMA had pulled out. There were no longer soldiers everywhere you looked and with more permanent digs, he wanted to get possession of the rifle and shotgun he’d left behind before someone else did. He had stashed it in the cellar of an old place that had already burned. The kind of place that didn’t look like it had anything left in it worth salvaging. You better hope you’re right.
    It was a few blocks off the main thoroughfare and thus far, looked the same as he had left it. He took a quick peek around and saw no one peeking in on him, so he pulled back the heavy cellar doors. That and the heavy concrete bulwark they were framed into were about all that was left. Some of the charred posts and floor beams remained standing as well, keeping the rest of the burnt, collapsed framing off of the basement floor and if luck have it, off of his head.
    In one corner the wheelbarrow still stood right where he left it. A good sign…. In the other corner, buried in a pile of rubble and broken lumber, he dug out the rifle and the shotgun. Relief filled him, but also dread. The thought of being caught with the contraband, the thought of digging a mound of flesh from his forehead, the thought of fucking it all up and getting Katherine or Jonathan or Tabitha killed. No. Unimaginable. It’s not going down like that.
    He took a long, clearing breath, then dragged the wheelbarrow out from the depths of the cellar. Thump, thump, thump, the wheels bounced up the concrete steps matching the rhythm of his heart. You sure you wanna do this? Yes. I must.
    He set the wheelbarrow down, looked around and again, and saw no one. Terry