wonder. I guess I’m just a cynic at heart. He always had been. Mother and Father had tried to raise them right, or at least, Mom had. Sunday school and Bible study. Katherine hadn’t minded, but Terry never could quite see the point. I think the point was to make Mom happy….
Maybe he should have paid better mind. Daddy too, for that matter, but Terry always was his father’s son. Good men, but simple men. Theology was just outside of their grasp if they ever grasped at all. ‘Why do we go to church, Daddy?’ Terry had asked his father.
‘Because it makes your mom happy, son.’ Terry guessed that was as good a reason as any, but when Dad had stopped going, so did Terry. I guess Dad didn’t care about Mom’s happiness anymore? No, that wasn’t it. Dad got sick around the time Terry was eleven or twelve. He kept going to work for a couple more years, but some of the extracurricular stuff, like church, fell away. That didn’t bother Terry any, but he missed the other things. Things like playing catch with his old man, taking bike rides to the park or visiting the cabin on the Peninsula. Those were the things he missed.
Just before Terry got his driver’s license, leukemia took his father. Those were hard times for Terry—for everybody.
A hot tear streamed down his cheek. Even after all these years, he thought and wiped it away. He was getting close to home. Terry would be back in Seattle by morning so he put his mind on the living. He couldn’t wait to see Kat, Jonathan, and Tabby again.
CHAPTER SIX
J ack boots, Humvees, and covered army trucks ruled the streets in Seattle. Terry wondered what the hell was going on. Where did the power come from? I thought all the machines were dead? Well, he thought wrong, because sure as shit, here they were: FEMA, Department of Homeland Security, Army, and Marines, and all of them had implements and gadgets galore. Dean had been right all along. He had half expected the whole thing to be a fabrication woven from a sick and road-weary man’s mind.
He heard an unfamiliar sound in the sky and turned toward the noise. It was a chopper. A goddamn chopper. What the fuck is going on?
It was true; FEMA had set up camp here, sheltering the shelterless and vaccinating people before they got sick and helped them if they were among the unfortunate ill. But on one condition….. They had to accept certain terms. Certain unconstitutional terms. Terms like: surrender your guns so we can keep everyone safe. Terms like: no more currency. Accept this implanted microchip so you may buy and sell. ‘It’s more secure,’ they said. ‘You can never be robbed,’ they said. ‘Though what has happened is terrible, we will make the best of it and rebuild America, a better America.’
Terry wasn’t so sure. Was all of this planned out? It sure was fitting into place nicely. Suddenly, some of the conspiracy wackos were making a lot more sense. Not that he could step right in line with those types, but man, oh man. If Orwell could see us now.
He had to find Kat, and he looked first at home, the duplex they shared, but she wasn’t there. No one was. The place was literally burned to the ground. Just a pile of ash, charcoal, and nails in the middle of an asphalt parking lot. Jesus, man. Please, let them be all right.
Terry followed the signs to the FEMA shelter and hoped he would find them there. It was being put on in Seattle’s Key Arena. When Terry approached the doors, he was surprised to see them guarded by two men in flak jackets donning fully automatic rifles. They informed him that no weapons were allowed and frisked him thoroughly. Terry had already stashed the wheelbarrow with his other guns, but they confiscated his revolver. They emptied the contents of his backpack onto the sidewalk. Finding only his personal effects and a change of clothes, they allowed him to re-gather his items and put them back in his pack
“Am I going to get that gun back?” Terry asked.
“I’m
Maybe he should have paid better mind. Daddy too, for that matter, but Terry always was his father’s son. Good men, but simple men. Theology was just outside of their grasp if they ever grasped at all. ‘Why do we go to church, Daddy?’ Terry had asked his father.
‘Because it makes your mom happy, son.’ Terry guessed that was as good a reason as any, but when Dad had stopped going, so did Terry. I guess Dad didn’t care about Mom’s happiness anymore? No, that wasn’t it. Dad got sick around the time Terry was eleven or twelve. He kept going to work for a couple more years, but some of the extracurricular stuff, like church, fell away. That didn’t bother Terry any, but he missed the other things. Things like playing catch with his old man, taking bike rides to the park or visiting the cabin on the Peninsula. Those were the things he missed.
Just before Terry got his driver’s license, leukemia took his father. Those were hard times for Terry—for everybody.
A hot tear streamed down his cheek. Even after all these years, he thought and wiped it away. He was getting close to home. Terry would be back in Seattle by morning so he put his mind on the living. He couldn’t wait to see Kat, Jonathan, and Tabby again.
CHAPTER SIX
J ack boots, Humvees, and covered army trucks ruled the streets in Seattle. Terry wondered what the hell was going on. Where did the power come from? I thought all the machines were dead? Well, he thought wrong, because sure as shit, here they were: FEMA, Department of Homeland Security, Army, and Marines, and all of them had implements and gadgets galore. Dean had been right all along. He had half expected the whole thing to be a fabrication woven from a sick and road-weary man’s mind.
He heard an unfamiliar sound in the sky and turned toward the noise. It was a chopper. A goddamn chopper. What the fuck is going on?
It was true; FEMA had set up camp here, sheltering the shelterless and vaccinating people before they got sick and helped them if they were among the unfortunate ill. But on one condition….. They had to accept certain terms. Certain unconstitutional terms. Terms like: surrender your guns so we can keep everyone safe. Terms like: no more currency. Accept this implanted microchip so you may buy and sell. ‘It’s more secure,’ they said. ‘You can never be robbed,’ they said. ‘Though what has happened is terrible, we will make the best of it and rebuild America, a better America.’
Terry wasn’t so sure. Was all of this planned out? It sure was fitting into place nicely. Suddenly, some of the conspiracy wackos were making a lot more sense. Not that he could step right in line with those types, but man, oh man. If Orwell could see us now.
He had to find Kat, and he looked first at home, the duplex they shared, but she wasn’t there. No one was. The place was literally burned to the ground. Just a pile of ash, charcoal, and nails in the middle of an asphalt parking lot. Jesus, man. Please, let them be all right.
Terry followed the signs to the FEMA shelter and hoped he would find them there. It was being put on in Seattle’s Key Arena. When Terry approached the doors, he was surprised to see them guarded by two men in flak jackets donning fully automatic rifles. They informed him that no weapons were allowed and frisked him thoroughly. Terry had already stashed the wheelbarrow with his other guns, but they confiscated his revolver. They emptied the contents of his backpack onto the sidewalk. Finding only his personal effects and a change of clothes, they allowed him to re-gather his items and put them back in his pack
“Am I going to get that gun back?” Terry asked.
“I’m
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