King of Tennessee

By David Alan Shorts

It was an ordinary day in Tabersville, Tennessee, until nearly everyone in town disappeared. Middle-school trouble maker, Stewart Rainquest, soon turns this nightmare into a dream come true as he sets about living like a king in his small southern town. Things take a turn for the worse as members of the biker gang Stewart idolizes commit murder before his eyes. While doing his best to keep his distance from the killers, Stewart learns how to drive a car and meets Gina, a high school student battling cancer. Their friendship leads them through wild adventures, but only time will tell if Stewart will learn the truth about what happened to everyone in his town.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: May 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781489727473

David Alan Shorts

David Alan Shorts has a passion to teach kids things which matter for a lifetime, rather than just the next test or Sunday School lesson. He has written many books, short stories, and magazine articles, along with musicals, plays, and songs. His three children keep him busy and constantly evaluating life through the eyes of youth. He has taught music to thousands of kids in Northern California for more than twenty years. When he’s not doing what matters most, he enjoys flying model airplanes and working out.

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Copyright © 2020 David Alan Shorts.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

LifeRich Publishing is a registered trademark of The Reader’s Digest Association, Inc.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-2751-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-2748-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-2747-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020907064

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 05/6/2020

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty one

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Endnotes

MAP OF TABERSVILLE

Map%20of%20Tabersville.jpg

CHAPTER

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ONE

The sky blazed like a nuclear bomb. There was no boom, no shake, and no gust of hot wind. I looked at my grandma. Panic struck me like a boot to the gut. She was not behind the steering wheel anymore.

She was gone.

Grams!

I lunged over against the pull of the seat belt to grab the wheel as the car continued toward the oncoming red light. A large semitruck pulling a McDonald’s trailer cruised through the intersection ahead of me. You Deserve a Break Today, the trailer announced as it rolled directly into a moving van, creating a boom of glass and dust. The collision brought the semitruck to a stop and sent the moving van rolling slowly backward. I pulled the steering wheel towards me as Grams’s sedan banged into the sidewalk and around the intersection already filled with glass and debris.

Ahead of me, cars were slowly drifting into yards and crunching into parked cars while others slowly idled down the center of the four-lane thoroughfare. Each one had the same horrifying puzzle: no drivers or passengers.

I unbuckled to get behind the wheel. I froze, looking down at what caught my eye moments earlier. Grams was in the car. In the center of her seat sat a pile of gray dust amidst scraps of charred clothes. It was as if she had been incinerated. This can’t be right.

One of those jogging baby strollers slowly rolled across the street from left to right. Because of where I sat, I couldn’t reach the brake pedal. I pulled the wheel towards me to avoid the stroller, but it kept rolling towards my path. I cursed. My only option was…I pulled the wheel farther and smacked into the back of a parked van at a few miles per hour rather than hitting the stroller. The slow crash still sent me into the dashboard as airbags popped out from either side of me.

I guess that’s why you’re supposed to wear a seatbelt, I groaned, rubbing my ribs.

I maneuvered around the airbag and went to inspect the stroller as it rolled into the side of the same van—just the remains of a diaper and a pacifier.

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Ms. O’Ney, Principal Mackey said just twenty minutes earlier, it is my job to see to the welfare of Stewart, but it is also my responsibility to protect the rest of the students at Roosevelt Elementary.

I was just defending myself, I pleaded.

Mr. Mackey lowered his glasses and peered over them. How many times had I seen that dumb expression? Stewart, let’s see if we can find a pattern here. Today, you stabbed a boy with a pencil—in self-defense? Not sure how that works, but let’s move on. Two weeks ago, he looked at his computer, reading the exhaustive record, you threw a boy’s backpack in the toilet—you said it slipped.

I began to smile but wiped it away before either Mr. Mackey or my grandma could notice.

"Okay, back in April, it was writing on the mirror in the bathroom with a felt pen because another boy made you do it. March you were in my office for having Mrs. LaVene’s cell phone in your desk, but you said you didn’t know how it got there. February you punched a second grader. January…oh, nothing in January."

Nothing that you know of.

Let’s see…racial jokes, bullying, talking back to your teacher. Everything but stealing candy from children—no, that’s right—November you stole a first grader’s Halloween candy.

He looked back at me. Now, the pattern I see here is not the same pattern that follows the other sixth graders at Roosevelt.

Grams shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. Her yellowed fingers were shaking, and I knew she wanted a smoke.

Apparently, it was time for a new strategy: I cried. It worked last month with Gram’s boyfriend, Floyd. I turned my head away from her like I didn’t want her to notice as I added a loud sniffle. Did I mention I was good at this kind of stuff? Grams seemed to be buying it. At least she began patting my back. I just needed to find some tears fast.

A world without TV—no video games. It wasn’t working. Dad. Tears flowed down. Stupid, Stewart! It was too much. I shook the memory away and got the tears back under control—success!

Mr. Mackey paused for a moment, like he was going to say some consoling word to me, but then he saw through it. He’d probably seen kids cry puppy dog tears five days a week for decades, maybe centuries. He could smell a fake. Darn!

Now, I have typically left the parenting to the parents, Ms. O’Ney, Mr. Mackey continued, but I have to ask: what actions are you taking at home to direct Stewart in the right direction?

Actions at home? I all but gasped. He’d better not be talking about grounding me from video games!

Well, I… Grams stammered as she switched from consoling me to defending herself.

Come on! I’m crying here!

Mr. Mackey stole the effect of my hard-worked tears. There wasn’t a kid at the school who had seen me cry, and if one did, I’d blacken both of his eyes if he even dreamed of blabbing a word.

Ms. O’Ney, Mr. Mackey interrupted, this time, Stewart is getting a full five days. We do not take assault lightly, and I must warn you that after twenty days of suspension, he will be recommended for expulsion.

Expulsion. Seriously? My face must have shown something different because Mr. Mackey looked satisfied. That’s cheating. Just kicking me out was against the rules…wasn’t it?

The walk to the parking lot wasn’t as fun as usual. I mean, I had fun in class, I got sent home, and I had more fun at home. That was the routine. I tried to shake off Mr. Mackey’s warning. After all, didn’t he say I still had five more days? It was almost summer anyway. I just needed to dial it back a little bit.

I sat in the car while Grams ran into the post office. The radio was talking about the earthquake of the week. The last was in Asia, and this one was in Taiwan. That stunk. Exciting stuff happened everywhere except in Tabersville. I switched to my personal favorite, classic rock.

In the rearview mirror, I saw the entrance to Gary’s, the only bar in town. It looked pretty quiet. I guess drinking people had day jobs. That kind of spoiled the fun of it.

I had to take off of work to get you, Stewart! Grams complained as she climbed in. What makes you act like this? I give you video games, buy you a cell phone, and let you watch TV whenever you want. I’ve done everything for you. What more can I do? Don’t you ever ask yourself, ‘What would Jesus do?’

There it was: the classic What would Jesus do? line.

I don’t know. Turn water into wine, I guess.

Grams made some sort of muttering that was too quiet to understand.

I looked out the window at the Old Brick Church. I’d always wondered what was inside the building. It looked like a castle almost. None of my friends had a clue what the church was really called, so we all called it the Old Brick Church. It looked like it should have cannons sticking out from the four towers at each corner.

Now, I’m only going to say this once… Grams continued. If this was the same only gonna say this once that I suspected, it would make at least the twentieth time I’d heard it. …because she’s my daughter too… Yup. That was the one I suspected. …but just because your mother is in jail doesn’t mean you have to act the same way… Blah, blah, blah…

At the stop sign, a silver and black chopper rattled up beside us. A heavyweight biker man looked at me through the window and gave a nod followed by a smile. Just underneath the spikey German style helmet, I could see a lightning bolt zigzag behind his ear. Zigzag.

…After all, your daddy was a hero.

Shut up, Grams! Don’t talk about my dad.

I’m just saying he gave his life helping other people.

Yeah, that’s stupid. And here I am without a dad because somebody in Afghanistan was more important. I’d never help anyone I didn’t know.

I took a few deep breaths and looked out the window as the biker took off with a roar. I focused on my breathing, trying to calm down. The biker stopped at the light in front of us. He spit on the street as a couple used the crosswalk to the movie theater and then gave his bike a loud rev that made the couple jump. I watched the boyfriend or husband to see what he’d do. He didn’t even look back. Hah! I didn’t think he would.

Well, Stewart? Will you?

What? Was Grams still talking to me?

Um, yes, Grandma. I’ll try harder.

Zigzag roared off from the light, leaving us in the dust.

It’s just so hard when everyone in class is a better reader than me. I cried and began digging my knuckles into the bottom of my eyes to force out tears.

It was a serious stretch. Sometimes, I thought I understood stories better than the teacher—but I needed some excuse. Maybe she’d forgotten that.

Oh, Stewart, I’m so sorry. She patted my back again as we drove. I’ll try to help you and read with you at night. I’m sorry I haven’t done more.

It’s okay, Grams. I forgive you.

Success!

CHAPTER

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TWO

I looked up from the baby stroller at the empty cars and empty streets around me. A black lab with a leash dragging behind him ran to me.

Hey, what’s going on, boy? I asked with one pat to his head, but he wasn’t much for conversation and took off again, running free down the middle of Thurmon Boulevard.

Where was everyone?

Grams, I whispered.

I looked back at the running car stuck in the back of the van. I knew she wasn’t there, but I found myself looking in the front and back seats, like maybe she was hiding and waiting to say, Gotcha!

My eye twitched as I looked at the pile of ashes. That didn’t make any sense. That doesn’t make any sense!

What happened? I whispered. What?

An airplane broke the stillness as it flew a few thousand feet overhead. It was in a gentle turn heading towards the ground. I wanted it to level off, to pull out. But another part of me stared in fascination as the plane got lower and lower until somewhere near the edge of town, it disappeared. I’d never seen anything like it, a plane crash—not in real life. There was no explosion, no screaming, no evil villain taking credit for it, not even dramatic music playing. Twenty seconds later, a thin plume of black smoke began rising.

A new sound penetrated the soft hum of running car engines, car alarms in the distance, and dogs barking. The faint roar of a motorcycle engine grew louder and louder until it came into view far down Thurmon Boulevard. I thought of running behind the minivan, but my feet just stayed there as I watched. Finally, another person.

The chopper shot past at speeds I’d never imagined anyone going on Thurmon, not even the police. He hit the brakes and turned around back near the intersection. As the bike approached, the driver slowed, looking at me like a ghost. I suppose I was looking at him the same way as he cruised past. He made a large U-turn a second time and rumbled back, closer and closer until he shut the bike down ten feet away.

Zigzag.

He unstrapped the pointy helmet and tossed it onto the yard next to the van as he pulled his sunglasses down from his eyes. His